Chapter 6
“I can walk, damn it,” Morgan said. His snarling declaration had the effect of forcing him to prove it.
Max and Jessop simultaneously ducked out from under the arms they were supporting and stood by to see what would happen.
Morgan’s next step would have put him on his knees if they hadn’t caught him.
“Sure you can, boss,” said Max.
Kneeling beside Jem on the outside of the corral, Jane found it painful to look at Morgan’s white-lipped grimace.
She put a hand on Jem’s shoulder and helped Jake get him into a sitting position.
Jem had had the wind knocked out of him when he felt flat on his back, but he had demonstrated to Jane’s satisfaction that nothing was broken, except perhaps his pride.
When he shook himself off and got to his feet on his own steam, Jane accepted the hand he held out to help her rise.
“Not lookin’ too good there,” Jem said following Morgan’s halting progress to the gate. This earned him a sour look that had absolutely no effect. “What do you suppose made her so skittish?”
“Maybe you juggling that bridle like a bear with a ball.”
“I wasn’t juggling. Just changin’ hands. I had a splinter in my—” Jem stopped, glanced at Jane, and in deference to her presence said, “Backside.” He pointed to the offending part. “Still do.”
Jake took a step back from his brother. “You’re on your own there. I’m not taking it out.”
Jessop and Max voiced similar sentiments as they helped Morgan move to the outside of the corral. Jake went to close the gate behind them.
Jane brushed dirt off her gown. “Is someone going to go for the doctor?” This brought every head turning in her direction at once. She was on the receiving end of looks that were mostly amused. The expression that didn’t live in the same state as amused belonged to her husband. He looked aggrieved.
Jem said, “Splinter’s just a bitty thing. Don’t need a doctor for that.”
Jake and Jessop snorted with laughter. Max and Morgan just shook their heads. The empathy Jane felt for Jem did not keep her from smiling.
“She’s talking about fetchin’ Doc Kent for the boss,” said Max. “You sure you didn’t rattle something loose in your head?”
“Oh.” The tips of Jem’s ears reddened as he addressed Jane. “Heck sakes, ma’am. The boss probably only has a couple of cracked or busted ribs and a twisted ankle. No cause to send for the cavalry.”
This elicited some snickering from his brothers and Max, but Morgan said, “Jem’s right. I don’t need a doctor.”
“The same way you don’t need help,” said Jane. “Yes, I see that. I’ll get the door.” She turned toward the house but not so quickly that she missed Morgan’s arched eyebrow and the rather astonished looks of all of his men.
At Jane’s direction, Jessop and Max supported Morgan all the way to the bedroom. They left him wobbling on one foot beside the bed and hurried out when Jane indicated they had done enough. She shut the door behind them.
“There’s no audience,” she said. “Sit. Down.”
Morgan sat.
Relieved, Jane’s cheeks puffed a little as she exhaled. “Good.” She approached the bed and held out her hand for his hat. When he gave it to her, she turned it over in her hands, examining it. “How is it that this did not get knocked off your head? Jem did not lose his either.”
“Cowboy secret.”
It was his flat, expressionless delivery that assured Jane his humor was still as twisted as his ankle. She dropped it on a post at the foot of the bed. “Are you going to wrestle that boot off yourself or allow me to do it?”
“If it comes off my ankle’s going to swell.”
“That is why if nothing is broken, I am going to get a pan of cold water, have you soak your foot in it, and then bind that foot tight for you. But the boot has to come off sometime. It might as well be now.” She thought Morgan was going to offer another objection, but then he took a deep breath and was obviously and painfully reminded that his foot was not his only injury.
Grimacing, he set one forearm tight against his ribcage.
“I will get the pan, water, and bandages,” she said.
“We will see how far you get with that boot while I am gone.”
“She-devil,” he muttered.
On the point of leaving, Jane turned and gave him her most indulgent smile. “If we are already come to a point in our marriage where endearments are an appropriate form of address, you should know that I prefer ‘devil’s handmaiden.’” She felt very good about leaving him speechless.
Only Jake was still present in the kitchen when Jane got there. He had drawn the short straw that meant he had to stay behind to help while the others returned to work. He assured Jane that she was not what made this duty a short straw; it was the boss. Jane appreciated the distinction.
He fetched a galvanized steel tub from the barn, cleaned it out, and filled it with water to which Jane added a portion of Epsom salts. It was too heavy for Jane to carry to the bedroom so Jake was engaged for that onerous task as well. He set the tub at Morgan’s feet and left without a word.
“What did you do to him?” Morgan asked when Jake was gone.
“Do to him?” Jane dropped the bandages on the bed. “Nothing. Shall I hold up a mirror so you can see the scowl you are casting?”
If anything, Morgan’s scowl deepened. “I got the boot off.”
“I see. And the sock, too.” She knelt beside the tub and held out her cupped hands. “May I?”
His heavy sigh was both sufferance and surrender. He slid sideways to avoid hitting the tub and gingerly lifted his injured foot. He placed the heel in her hands.
Jane carefully pressed her thumbs against his flesh, feeling her way over and around the bones of his ankle and foot, hoping she would know that something was out of place by touch alone. She made an effort to portray more confidence than she actually felt.
When she looked up, she saw Morgan’s teeth were clenched.
A muscle jumped in his jaw. The scar at the corner of his mouth was a very white crescent.
“I’m sorry.” She guided his foot to the salt bath and gently lowered it.
She heard him suck in his breath as cold water washed over his skin. “It seems as if nothing is broken.”
“I know it’s not. You had to be convinced. I didn’t.”
“You are right,” she said. “I did.” She nudged the tub closer to the bed so he could rest his foot at a more comfortable angle. “What about your ribs?”
“What about them?”
“Alex broke some ribs falling down the stairs, and—”
“Clumsy?”
“Drunk,” said Jane. “Dr. Stiles swaddled his chest in bandages.”
“No swaddling.”
“But—”
“No swaddling. You can wrap up the ankle. Nothing else.”
“All right.”
“I’ve had cracked ribs before. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes.”
He was quiet a moment, studying her upturned face. “I don’t trust you when you’re too agreeable.”
“That places me in a rather awkward position then. I am not disagreeable by nature, although there are some who would say differently.”
“Cousin Franny.”
“She would be one, yes.”
It was insult, not injury, which made Morgan grimace. “I don’t think I like being painted with the same brush.”
Jane gave him a helpless shrug and nothing else as she stood.
She went into the adjoining room and washed her hands.
When she returned, she was carrying a basin of water, a washcloth, and soap.
A towel was slung over her shoulder. She set the basin on the bedside table and handed Morgan the cloth and soap.
“You might as well clean up,” she said. “Do you want your nightshirt?” Jane gave him no quarter, even when he stared at her as though she had suddenly sprouted the three heads of Cerberus.
Morgan jerked his thumb in the direction of the window behind him. “There are still a couple of hours of daylight left.”
“I am aware.”
“I am not an invalid.”
“No, that would be overstating it, but you are injured, and that is sufficient cause for you to remain in bed. You employ four capable men.” She held up a hand when she saw he was about to interrupt.
“Very well. Three capable men and Jem.” It probably wasn’t what Morgan intended to say, she thought, but it did raise his reluctant smile.
“They are all going about your business and theirs now, and none of them will think less of you for staying here.”
“They might not think less of me, but I sure as hell will never hear the end of it.”
“That cannot be true. To a man, they would be happy of my attentions.”
“They would wallow in your coddling like pigs in mud, but that’s because you’re not married to any one of them.”
“My, but marriage changes so many things. I had no idea.”
Morgan’s green eyes glinted as he eyed Jane more sharply.
Her artless expression did not waver.
They were at an impasse.
Jane said, “I’ll come back in half an hour and examine your foot again.
If the swelling has lessened, I’ll bandage the ankle.
” Her eyes moved past Morgan to the books on the stand at the opposite side of the bed.
Without asking if he wanted a particular one, she retrieved both.
“I’ll leave these here in your reach. The time will pass more quickly if boredom does not set in, and reading will distract you from the pain. ”
Morgan grunted softly. “I doubt it. Slamming a shovel against the back of my head might do the trick.”
“Is that what happened to Jem?”
In spite of the pain, Morgan’s lips twitched. “No, that’s what being in love with Renee Harrison’s done to him.”
“That’s good to know.”
“About Miss Harrison?”
“About love.”
* * *
Jake was sitting at the kitchen table when Jane reappeared. He started to rise, but she waved him back. “How is he?”
“Annoyed, frustrated, and on his way to mad.”
“Then he’s doing pretty well.”
“That is what I was thinking, but you are more familiar with his moods.” She put a kettle of water on the stove. “He says that if he stays in bed you won’t let him forget it.”
“He’s probably right, but that’s because we have so few opportunities to take a poke him.”