Chapter 18
The worst part wasn’t the throbbing in James’s leg or the way the wooden walking sticks dug into his armpits with every step—it was the way everyone looked at him like he might shatter.
His left leg throbbed with a steady pulse that matched his heartbeat, the splint heavy and awkward beneath his torn trousers.
Doc Morrison had come yesterday and done his usual thorough work—seventeen stitches to close the gash, a proper splint fashioned from pine boards and leather straps to immobilize the break just above his knee.
The laudanum had dulled the worst of the pain, but it also turned his thoughts to molasses and made him sleep through most of the daylight hours like an invalid.
He wouldn’t take the medicine today. He’d face the pain and fight through it.
The sound of quiet voices drifted from the kitchen, and he hobbled that direction. He needed something—anything—to occupy his mind besides his own frustration.
Mrs. Wang glanced up from where she sat beside a basket of mending, her dark eyes immediately filling with that careful concern he’d grown to hate. “James, dear, you should be resting that leg.”
“I’ve rested enough.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended, and Rose’s head turned from where she sat across the kitchen table, something that looked like a shirt spread before her.
The sight of her bent over needlework in their kitchen should have soothed something in his chest, but instead it only reminded him of everything he couldn’t do.
Couldn’t ride out to check the stock. Couldn’t help his brothers with the horses.
Couldn’t even walk across a room without looking like a decrepit old man.
“I need something to do with my hands.” He resettled himself on the walking sticks, trying to find a position that didn’t shoot pain through his knee. “Something useful.”
Mrs. Wang exchanged a look with Rose that made his jaw clench. He was twenty years old, not some child to be managed and coddled.
“Well.” Mrs. Wang turned back to her basket. “We were just finishing up the mending for today, but if you’d like to try your hand at stitching, there are some small gowns for Mandie’s baby that need hemming.”
Baby clothes. They wanted him to sit here sewing tiny garments while his brothers handled the real work of running the ranch. The image of himself hunched over delicate infant clothing, needle trembling in his big clumsy fingers, made something hot and bitter rise in his throat.
Rose bit her lip, and her shoulders shook slightly. She was trying not to laugh at him. The realization sent heat flooding through his chest—not the pleasant warmth he’d felt holding her in the cave yesterday, but something sharper and far more humiliating.
“You know I can’t do…” He gestured vaguely at the delicate needlework spread across the table.
Rose looked up at him, and there was definitely amusement dancing in those green eyes. “Isn’t there something you’ve been wanting to get done around the house? Or maybe in the barn?”
The barn. Of course there were always things that needed doing in the barn, but most of them required two good legs and the ability to move without these blasted sticks.
“There’s always wood to chop.” He spoke harsher than he’d meant to, but the image of swinging an ax, of doing something that required actual strength and skill, made his muscles ache with longing.
Rose’s expression shifted, the amusement fading into concern. “That’s probably not a good idea yet. Not with your leg.”
Of course it wasn’t. Nothing he wanted to do was a good idea anymore. He was trapped in this house like some parlor ornament while real men did real work outside.
He was being ill-tempered and petty. Yet between the pain in his leg and the thought of his brothers working out in the weather while he lay in bed, he couldn’t seem to fix his rotten mood.
“Guess I can hang those shelves in the barn.” He turned and started toward the front door.
As he stopped to pull on a coat, hat, and gloves, Rose’s steps sounded behind him. “Mind if I come out too? I’d like a bit of fresh air.”
He spun to gauge her expression. Those brows lifted sheepishly—almost hopefully—showed his suspicion was right. She wanted to come out and watch over him like a nursemaid.
“I don’t need you to coddle me.” He growled the words as he pulled on his last glove and reached for the door.
“Good. I wasn’t planning to.” Rose’s pert tone nearly made him pause.
But he resisted the urge to look back again and pushed through the doorway. If only he could stride across the porch and down the steps. The best he could do was hobble to the edge and turn sideways as he took one careful step at a time, each jarring movement shooting fresh pain through his leg.
Rose waited through his slow progress, but he didn’t look back at her. Didn’t want to see whatever expression she wore—pity, concern, or worse, that barely suppressed amusement he’d caught in the kitchen.
The barn loomed ahead, its familiar bulk offering the promise of honest work, something that might make him feel like a man instead of an invalid.
Inside, the familiar scents of hay and horses usually soothed his restless energy. Today they only reminded him of all the work he couldn’t do. He made his way toward the back wall where the leftover lumber was stacked, each step on the walking sticks a painful undertaking.
“Has there been a fire here?” Rose’s voice carried a note of surprise as she stepped into the barn behind him.
James glanced up from the lumber stack, following her gaze to the newer timbers that formed the frame above them.
“Early summer. Lightning strike during a bad storm.” The memory of that night still tightened his chest—the smell of smoke, the frantic race to save the horses, the sick certainty that they might lose everything their father had built.
And then Enoch’s injury. “We got the animals out, but lost half the structure.”
Rose moved closer, her fingers trailing along one of the replacement beams. “This new section looks like it will last forever.”
“That’d be nice.” He shifted the walking sticks to ease the pressure under his arms. “Been meaning to get proper organization back in here since, but there’s always something more urgent needing attention.”
That was the truth of ranch life—always another crisis, another pressing need that pushed the smaller improvements further down the list. Getting the barn organized had been nagging at him for months, one of those tasks that would make daily work easier but never seemed important enough to tackle when horses needed training and hay needed cutting.
“Where were you planning to put the shelves?” Rose moved toward the back wall.
James pointed with one of his walking sticks toward a section. “There. High enough to add rods underneath for the saddles to hang on.”
Rose stepped closer to examine the wall, running her palm along the smooth logs. “I can hold things steady for you.”
The offer should have been exactly what he wanted to hear. Instead, it grated against something raw in his chest. Rose helping him because he couldn’t manage alone. Rose stepping in to do work that should have been simple for a grown man.
“You sure you want to spend your afternoon playing carpenter?” The words came out way too harsh. Why was he taking his weakness out on Rose?
She turned to face him, and something in her expression made his gut twist. Not pity, exactly, but a careful gentleness that somehow felt worse. “I offered, didn’t I?”
He hobbled toward the lumber stack, his walking sticks slipping slightly on the packed dirt floor. The pain in his leg had settled into a steady throb that made every movement clumsy and awkward.
The boards he needed were on the bottom of the pile, of course.
He leaned one walking stick against the wall and shifted the upper planks with his free hand.
Each piece of lumber felt heavier than it should have, his balance precarious as he tried to maneuver the wood while keeping most of his weight on his good leg.
The walking stick slipped again, and he had to grab for the wall to keep from pitching forward.
Rose moved without a word to the other end of the board he wrestled with, lifting it clear of the pile. Her movements were steady, practical—no fuss or commentary about his struggles. Her kindness in the face of his rudeness only made him more angry with himself.
“Thanks.” The word scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
They worked in silence to extract the boards he needed, Rose anticipating his movements like she had when they were children. She’d always been able to read his intentions, to be exactly where he needed her without being asked.
He positioned himself against the wall where the shelves would hang, his walking sticks propped within reach. “If you can hold this level while I mark the spots…” He raised the first board, trying to ignore the way his leg screamed in protest when he moved.
Rose stepped close, her hands steady on the far end of the plank.
The scent of her hair—something clean and a little like flowers—drifted toward him.
Yesterday in the cave, that same aroma had filled his senses when she’d cried against his shoulder.
When he’d confessed his love and felt her melt against him.
Now she was close again, but the intimacy felt different—strained from his frustration and the awkward necessity of needing her help for something he should be able to handle alone.
He marked the first nail hole with a pencil, trying to concentrate on the task instead of the way her proximity made his pulse quicken despite his foul mood.
“There.” He lowered his end of the board and reached for his hammer. The tool felt familiar and solid in his grip, at least one thing that hadn’t changed since his accident.
Rose watched as he positioned the nail, her green eyes focused on his work with the same attention she gave everything. Something about her steady presence began to ease the knot of frustration in his chest, even as his pride continued to smart.
He swung the hammer, and the satisfying ring of metal on metal echoed through the barn. At least his arms still worked properly. He could still drive a nail straight.
“The other end now?” Rose moved to lift the board again without being asked.
They fell into a rhythm—Rose holding, him marking and nailing. His leg throbbed with each jarring impact of the hammer, but the familiar motions of building something useful helped settle his restless energy. This was work he understood, work that made sense.
As they positioned the second shelf, he stole a glance at Rose’s profile. The way she concentrated on keeping the board level, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in the same unconscious gesture she did as a girl when she was focused on a task.
“You know.” She didn’t look at him as she adjusted her grip. “This reminds me of when we built that tree fort behind the creek.”
The memory slid in like a gift. “You mean when you insisted we needed a proper floor instead of just branches?”
“Those branches were slippery. I was afraid someone would fall.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You said I was being too particular.”
“You were being too particular.” But he couldn’t help a smile too. “And we nearly broke our necks when the whole contraption collapsed.”
“Your mother was so angry.” Rose’s eyes sparkled with something that looked almost like fondness. “But Mr. Wang helped us build a much sturdier floor.”
It had been perfect. Their secret hideaway with its carefully fitted planks and the rope ladder Rose braided from old grain sacks. They’d spent countless summer afternoons in that fort, planning adventures and sharing the penny candy Mrs. Wang smuggled to them from town.
James positioned another nail, the familiar heft of the hammer steadying in his grip. “Wonder if it’s still standing. I haven’t been that way in a while.”
“Probably not. That cottonwood was already old when we built it.” Rose shifted to support the other end of the board as he worked his way across. “But I’d like to see, when the weather’s better.”
When the weather’s better. The casual assumption that she’d still be here when spring came sent something warm through his chest despite his persistent frustration. As though she truly belonged here, as though this was her home again.
The third shelf went up more smoothly, their coordination improving with each board. Rose anticipated exactly where he needed her hands, how to angle the plank so he could reach the nail holes without straining his injured leg.
“There.” He drove the last nail home, the sharp crack echoing through the barn.
Three sturdy shelves now lined the wall, ready to hold brushes, tins of salve, and all the smaller tack that had been cluttering the barn since the fire.
“I’ll add the saddle bars and nails for the bridles, then things will be a lot more organized.
” He motioned toward the wad of leather the extra bridles and harnesses had been reduced to.
Rose frowned at the tack. “Maybe I can give them a good cleaning too.”
She moved to the pile and lifted one of the bridles to examine it in the dim light. “Mrs. Wang might have some oil I could use.”
“There’s a tin in that crate by the door.”
As Rose settled on an overturned box with the first bundle of leather straps in her lap, he placed the first nail to use as a bridle hook.
When he finished pounding it in, the sound of a whinny in the yard snagged his attention. His brothers weren’t due back for hours.
He set down his hammer and reached for his walking sticks. Unexpected company these days couldn’t be good.