Suddenly A Frontier Father. Lyn Cote

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СКАЧАТЬ question. Of course he could hear her, see her. He realized then that he was lying on the prickly grass, looking up at the blue sky. Crowded around him were his girls and Asa’s boy. Why was Emma on her knees beside him? “What happened?” He moved to sit up.

      With her small hand on his chest, Emma pressed him back. “Take it easy. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of minutes. You fell from the roof.”

      He closed his eyes and the memory returned, his sliding off the roof. That breathless jolt of panic. “I stepped on a loose shingle and lost my balance.”

      “That could happen to anyone,” Emma murmured. She slipped her hand under his head. “You don’t have a bump. Does your head hurt?”

      “A bit.” He appreciated Emma’s trying to soothe his dented pride, but he noticed then that Charlotte was crying and that Birdie, with tears running down her cheeks, was comforting her. He stirred himself. “I’ll be all right, girls. Don’t worry, Charlotte.” He tried to work his fingers to sign but he couldn’t. “I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He watched Birdie sign this to his sister, but she continued to cry. He could see the fear on her face. I must get up and show I’m all right, he thought to himself. He tried to sit up again.

      Emma pressed him back once more. “First let’s make sure you’ve not hurt anything seriously.”

      He glanced up at her, very aware of her being so close to him. He hoped she hadn’t heard him say, “You’re so good,” or, worse, “You could have been mine.” He cringed inwardly, hoping he hadn’t said that aloud. The words were true but too personal and embarrassing in the extreme.

      “Start by moving each part of you and see if you feel any sharp pain,” she counseled.

      He didn’t want to obey. He just wanted to stand up, thank her for her help and hurry her along home. Her presence was bringing forth feelings he didn’t want to explore. But yes, he might have hurt himself, so her instruction made sense. He didn’t want to make matters any worse than they were. He obliged her, moving his neck and working down his body, moving each arm individually and rotating each joint—shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees.

      All was well till he tested his ankles one at a time. “Uhhh.” The pain-filled syllable was forced out when he rotated his right ankle.

      Emma glanced down. “I think you can safely sit up. But perhaps you should first push down your stocking so we can see your ankle.”

      Once again he obliged.

      “Oh, it’s swelling,” she said as they both stared at the flushed ankle. “But you were able to rotate it, so that should mean it’s just a sprain. It will heal in about a week without any further problem. When we were children, my brother suffered a sprain after falling from a tree. I know what to do.”

      Mason could not believe he was in this situation. And he’d fallen while she was nearby. Humiliation. “I have so much to do. I can’t be laid up.”

      “Well, we can’t do anything about that until we take care of your ankle.” She rose and rested a gentle hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “Explain everything to Charlotte and let her know this isn’t serious.” Then she turned to Colton. “Please run into the house and bring out a chair. Birdie, please go get the water bucket inside the door.”

      He tried to make sense of her instructions but the wind had been knocked out of him and he felt depleted somehow. I guess falling off a roof does take it out of a man. He grimaced ruefully.

      Soon after instructing Colton to stand behind the chair to steady it, Emma helped Mason sit up. “Now the chair is right behind you. When you’re ready to stand, I want you to put your hands on my shoulders so I can steady you as you push up onto your good foot. I’m sure you have the strength to stand, but favoring your ankle will put you off balance. So hold on to me.” Stooping, she positioned herself in front of him.

      He parted his lips to refuse her help.

      “Seeing you fall again will only upset Charlotte more,” she whispered in his ear.

      Her warm breath against his ear stirred him. And her words persuaded him to do as she suggested. “I’m ready.” He reached up and gripped her slender shoulders. He pushed up, staggered. She steadied him as he landed in the chair. A touch of vertigo and sharp pain in his ankle vied with his reaction to being so near Emma Jones. She smelled of roses. He closed his eyes momentarily, marshaling all his self-control against the pain and against the temptation to reach for her. He leaned against the back of the chair. “Thank you.”

      She stifled a chuckle.

      His eyes flew open in surprise.

      “Sorry.” She looked abashed and amused at the same time. “I caught myself just before I said, ‘My pleasure.’ It’s silly how certain words trigger other words, isn’t it?”

      He didn’t feel anything like smiling, but she drew one from him anyway. “I know what you mean.” He gazed at this woman who was surprising him in so many ways. She had a sense of humor. He liked that. Then he shifted in his chair slightly, and that tiny movement caused pain to shoot through his ankle and up his calf. He held in a gasp.

      Charlotte moved to his side and pressed against him. He put an arm around her and kissed her forehead. He haltingly signed that he would be fine and she shouldn’t worry. Or he hoped that was what he said. His grasp of sign language still did not rival Birdie’s.

      Emma stepped away, primed the pump, filled the bucket and made him rest his foot in cold water up over his ankle. He noted that she tried not to look directly at him and wondered if it was just this situation. After all, she had volunteered only to dust, not to take care of him. Or was it just her not wanting to be here with him?

      “I know most people put sprains in hot water,” Emma said, standing in front of him, “but my mother always told me that cold water does best to reduce swelling. I hope Judith still has some goose grease. That works amazingly on sprains.”

      He nodded. The cold water was painful on his throbbing ankle. Goose grease. Good grief.

      Emma stood near him, scanning the area and obviously thinking. “Children, we need to do the chores. Mr. Chandler isn’t able—”

      “I’ll be fine. Just give me a few minutes—”

      “Mr. Chandler,” she interrupted, “of course it’s understandable that you don’t want us to do what needs to be done, but you are going to have limited mobility for several days.”

      He wanted to argue but the throbbing in his ankle underlined her words. He nodded, head down.

      She turned to the boy. “Colton, Mr. Chandler is going to need a crutch. I want you to go in the woods and find a young tree about this thick.” She curved her hands together, leaving about a three-inch-diameter opening. “Take a hatchet and cut it off and bring it here.” She turned to Mason. “While you’re soaking your ankle, you can fashion it into a crude crutch.”

      Mason nodded, pulling out his pocket knife. Disagreeing would be pointless and graceless. And he still felt shaken. I should have been more careful. Why couldn’t anything go right this year? His one hope was that the words he’d said upon regaining consciousness had been inaudible. So far Emma had given him no indication that she’d heard his much too personal words.

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