Miracles in the Village. Josie Metcalfe

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      ‘Shouldn’t think you needed to,’ Ben said dryly, pushing him through the car park to his BMW. ‘I would have thought you’d got Fran doing that for you, on the minute every minute. She was beside herself, you know, when she realised how dangerous it might have been.’

      Mike gave a rusty chuckle. ‘She wasn’t alone. When I heard that tree go—well, let’s just say I won’t be taking chances like that again.’

      ‘Good. I’m glad to hear it, and I’m sure she will be. Right, shift across and I’ll get rid of the wheels while you settle yourself.’

      Easier said than done, he realised. God, how could anything so simple be so profoundly awkward? It took him ages, while Ben stood holding the wheelchair and telling him to take his time.

      But so much? Finally there, he slumped back in the seat, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat, and concentrated on getting his breath back. Not easy with his ribs screaming in protest.

      He was shocked at how hard he’d found it, how even such a comparatively minor injury could have taken such a toll on him. And once he was at home, he’d have to go up and down stairs. How the hell was he going to manage that? And bathing, for crying out loud. He’d have to shower with his leg in a bin bag.

      He gave the cast a jaundiced look and wondered for the umpteenth time how he could have been so stupid. It was going to be weeks before he was fixed—months, even. Certainly a couple of weeks before he could do anything even remotely useful on the farm. Even the dreaded paperwork would be too much for him at the moment.

      He swore under his breath, hauled his broken leg into the car, swung the comparatively uninjured one in beside it and eyed the bruises with disgust.

      Pity he couldn’t have worn trousers to hide them a bit, but he didn’t have any that would go over the cast, so he was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and his Technicolor injuries were all on display.

      Well, not quite all of them. His body under the clothes was also black and blue all over, a million points of pain and mutilation. He’d caught a glimpse of the bruises over his cracked ribs in the bathroom mirror this morning and had nearly had a fit. Fran would take one look at him in the nude and run, if she had any sense. Probably just as well, because he didn’t have the strength to argue with her about how stupid he’d been and just now she wasn’t wasting a single opportunity to lecture him.

      He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the seat. He just wanted her to come home and hug him. He’d missed her so much, and his family had all been in telling him off, so their visiting times had hardly been cosy, intimate occasions.

      ‘Come on, Ben,’ he muttered. ‘Take me home.’

      As if he’d heard him, Ben opened the driver’s door, slid behind the wheel and shot him a smile. ‘Sorry about that. Somebody wanted the chair and then couldn’t manage to get her husband into it. As he was having a heart attack, I didn’t feel I could leave them.’

      ‘Of course not,’ Mike said, trying for a smile and probably producing a grimace.

      ‘Right, let’s get you home.’

      He hadn’t heard anything so good in ages.

      ‘Mike?’

      Fran ran lightly up the stairs, crept down the landing and pushed open the bedroom door, tiptoeing round the bed so she could see his face.

      He was fast asleep, his lashes dark crescents against his cheeks. He looked pale under his tan, drained of warmth, and she bit her lip and blinked back tears. He looked awful. Washed out and exhausted, and it made her want to cry.

      She’d been fighting the urge since it had happened, moaning at him about being stupid when all she’d really wanted to do was curl up in his arms and howl her eyes out.

      She backed away, meaning to leave him alone, but her foot hit the creaky board and his lids fluttered open, those gorgeous brown eyes fixed on hers.

      ‘Hi.’

      ‘Hi,’ she replied softly, perching carefully on the edge of the bed and giving him a shaky smile. ‘Welcome home.’

      His answering smile was tired but contented. ‘Thanks. It’s good to be back.’

      ‘How long have you been home?’

      He glanced at his watch. ‘Two hours? Ben gave me a lift.’

      ‘Ben?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘That was kind of him. I thought Joe or your father would do it.’

      Mike shrugged. ‘He was there, he offered, and they were busy.’

      ‘Can I get you anything—a drink?’

      He shook his head, his eyes intense. ‘Not yet. The first thing I want is a hug from my wife without an audience.’

      ‘Oh, Mike …’

      She kicked off her shoes, lifted the quilt and slid carefully under it, turning towards him as his arms reached for her and he gathered her up against his chest with a sigh. She breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of him, a strange mixture of hospital and warm, earthy man, and she squeezed her eyes shut and slid her arms carefully round him and hugged him.

      He grunted, and she froze, lifting her arms away. ‘Mike?’

      ‘It’s OK. I’ve got a few bruised ribs.’

      She lifted the quilt back and propped herself up, staring down at the vicious bruises over his side and back, a huge spreading stain of vivid, deepest purple where the branch had fallen on him, the bruises so many they’d all run together in a great blotchy sheet. She hadn’t seen them before, because he’d been in a T-shirt and boxers in the hospital, but now, with his T-shirt removed and just the boxers on, she could see them, and they brought tears to her eyes.

      ‘Bruised?’ she questioned sceptically, a give-away shake in her voice. ‘Is that what you call it? Just … bruised?’

      His smile was a little crooked. ‘Well, the odd rib might be cracked.’

      She shut her eyes again and lay down, keeping her arms well away from his ribs, one hand lightly resting on his shoulder, her face cradled against his chest. It rose and fell slowly, then stopped, and she looked up and saw his lips pressed hard together.

      ‘What is it? Are you OK? Where do you hurt?’ she asked, panicking, and he turned his head and stared at her, his eyes raw with emotion.

      ‘It’s just so good to be home—to hold you,’ he said, and she was stunned to hear a catch in his voice. ‘I’ve missed you.’

      ‘Oh, Mike …’ She broke off, the words dammed up behind the tears, and she lifted a hand to his cheek, letting it linger as she feathered a kiss over his lips. ‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she said, knowing that they weren’t just talking about this last two nights but the months and months before, the aching void since things had been good between them, natural and relaxed and just plain happy.

      A sob broke free, and his arms tightened around her, easing her closer. ‘Don’t cry,’ he murmured gruffly. ‘I can’t bear it when you cry. It tears me СКАЧАТЬ