Chapter Fifteen
Dressed in her housecoat and slippers, Amy tripped down the stairs early on the morning of Christmas Eve.
The Copper Mountain Courier was usually delivered by six-thirty, and she wanted to be the first to snag it.
She paused in the anteroom between the foyer and main door to tidy the boots that were strewn there.
Next to the boot rack was a basket of slippers in various sizes that had been knitted by Aunt Mable.
She went through that, matching the pairs the way she would socks, folding them into neat bundles.
She was aware these were delaying tactics.
Though she was anxious to see the article Larkin had written about Bramble House, she was also dreading it.
If it was unfavorable, she planned to hide the paper, hoping no one else would ask about it.
If it was good, well, she’d pass the paper around the breakfast table and breath a huge sigh of relief.
At this time in the morning in December, the sun wouldn’t be up for hours, and as Amy opened the door, the automatic lights on the porch went off.
She couldn’t see the paper anywhere. She peered behind her seasonal planters but still couldn’t find it.
Bundling her housecoat close to her chest, she ventured out onto the porch and peered down the steps, and there it was, rolled into a tube, secured by an elastic, on the third step down.
Honestly, was it too much to ask for the paper to be delivered to the porch?
What if it had been snowing? Amy placed one hand on the railing, but it was so cold, she quickly withdrew it.
Carefully she took her first step down and instantly lost control.
Her foot slid, her body tumbled. She had a second to think This won’t be good, and then she was pitching forward.
Automatically she shot out her hands to break her fall and felt something in her left wrist scream in agony.
Thanks to momentum, once she’d hit the stairs she continued to tumble, banging her left shoulder and hip hard before landing on the ground.
She ended up in a pile of snow next to the pathway.
Not soft, fluffy snow, but compacted, icy snow.
Though it was brutally cold, Amy had no thoughts of trying to stand.
Her wrist was still screaming—or was that her screaming?
She cradled her left arm close to her chest and drew her legs up to a fetal position.
The pain was all-encompassing, wave after wave hit her.
Please don’t let my wrist be broken, she prayed without hope.
It hurt so much, how could it not be broken?
She told herself to take a deep breath. She needed to collect herself.
Get back in the house, somehow, and call Chet for help.
But it wasn’t just her wrist that had been injured.
Her shoulder, her hip, those ached too, though not as badly as her wrist.
Then she heard her name being called, not once, but twice, by two different men. Her husband and her brother.
Then Chet called again. “Amy, are you conscious? Damn these stairs are icy. Hang on, I’m coming.”
And then he was by her side, laying a coat over her body. “What hurts, sweetheart?”
“M-mostly my wrist.”
“Is your back okay? Your neck?” This came from Carson, who appeared on her other side.
“Fine, I think. My shoulder and hip are pretty sore though.” The pain was strong but not excruciating anymore. She rose up to sitting and felt Chet’s arm come around her back.
“Let’s carry her inside,” Carson said.
“I can walk. I think.”
“Don’t rush it, Amy. Just sit for a minute. Your heart is going a mile a minute.” Chet turned to Carson. “That top stair is solid ice. There should be a bucket of sand on the porch somewhere.”
“On it.” Carson raced up the stairs, avoiding the icy patch. Grabbing the pail, he sprinkled a thick coating of sand over the top step. “Weird that just this stair is icy.”
“Yeah, especially when we haven’t had any snow since Robert cleared the stairs yesterday morning.” Chet put his face close to Amy’s. “How are you feeling now? Want to try and stand? Or should we carry you inside?”
“I want to stand.”
“Hang on. Carson, get on her other side.”
With both men supporting her, Amy was able to get her feet under her and stand up. “My legs are good,” she reported with relief.
“Lead her inside?” Carson asked.
“That was my first thought,” Chet said. “But her wrist is already swelling. I’d better get her checked out at the medical clinic.”
“But Robin!” Amy cried. “He’ll be waking up any minute. He may well be awake right now.”
“I’ll look after him,” Carson promised. “You guys should go now. This early in the morning you’ll get in and out faster.”
“At least let me get dressed,” Amy said. She was still in her flannel pajamas and housecoat. “And brush my teeth.”
But the men overruled her. Carson brought out her long wool coat and wool-lined boots, and the two men packed her into the passenger side of the car. Fortunately it was a short five-minute drive to the medical center.
“I don’t understand why that step was so icy,” Amy said. “I saw Robert clear the snow off it yesterday and he assured me he was going to sprinkle sand as usual.”
“He did.” Chet’s mouth was set in a grim line. “I checked yesterday afternoon and the stairs were perfect. We had no snow or any kind of precipitation last night. Maybe someone spilled a cup of tea on the step, didn’t bother to clean it up, and the liquid froze overnight.”
Amy stared out the side window, not seeing a thing. Or maybe, she thought, someone deliberately poured water over that step intending for it to freeze. It was a horrible suspicion, and she wasn’t yet ready to share it with Chet.
“We’re here,” Chet said as he pulled into a parking space. “Wait for me to come and help you out of the car. The last thing you need is another fall.”
It wasn’t until Amy had been triaged, and she and Chet were sitting together in the waiting room of the medical clinic that Amy remembered she hadn’t picked up the Courier.
*
Carson watched as Chet and Amy drove off together. He sure hoped Amy was going to be okay. A broken wrist would definitely make her life a lot more complicated than it already was.
As he turned back toward the house, he noticed a rolled-up newspaper at the bottom of the stairs. That must have been what Amy was doing out here. She’d come to retrieve the Copper Mountain Courier.
He picked up the rolled-up newspaper and brushed off the snow.
Larkin’s article would be in here and he wanted to read it.
But first he had to check on Robin. After making sure he’d put enough sand on the top stair so that it was no longer icy, he went inside.
Even from down here in the foyer he could hear the sound of Robin crying.
He stashed the newspaper in the basket of knitted slippers in the anteroom and dashed up the stairs. On the second floor landing he almost ran into Larkin, who was already dressed, with her hair in a neat ponytail.
“Is that Robin?” she asked, glancing up toward the sound of the crying. She immediately corrected herself. “Of course it’s Robin. But where are Amy and Chet?”
“Amy fell on the porch stairs and hurt her wrist. Chet’s taking her to the clinic to get checked out.” He said the words fast, was already halfway up the next set of stairs by the time he’d finished the explanation. He could hear Larkin’s footsteps behind him.
“How badly hurt is Amy?” she asked.
“Sounds like she bruised her hip and shoulder. But her wrist is the worst. It might be broken.” He swung open the door to Amy and Chet’s suite and followed the sound of Robin’s cries to his little bedroom.
Robin was standing up, hanging on to the side of his crib, face red and eyes streaming with tears.
“Hey, buddy, you’re okay. Uncle Carson is here.” He scooped up the toddler, who rewarded him with an uncertain smile.
Larkin had found some tissues somewhere, and she handed him a wad to use to dry Robin’s tears. “He obviously likes you,” she said.
“He was just glad to be sprung from that crib.” He sought out Larkin’s gaze, wondering if she was still as angry as she’d been yesterday.
He hadn’t seen her since their confrontation at Ethel’s house.
After finishing the grouting yesterday, he’d driven home to Whispering Pines to check out the ranch and have a visit with his folks.
His mom hadn’t asked about Larkin, but he could tell she’d been concerned about him.
He’d avoided her subtle invitation to talk.
He needed to sort out his own feelings about Larkin first, and he was far from having accomplished that.
Because as angry as he’d been yesterday, he knew he still cared about her more than any other woman he’d ever met.
She was stubborn and independent, which could make her hard to get along with. But those qualities were also a big part of the reason he loved her.
Love. He’d been avoiding thinking that word, but now, watching as she brushed her finger over Robbie’s soft cheek, he had to admit that was exactly what he felt.
Larkin’s gaze shifted from the toddler to him. “I think he needs a diaper change.”
He gave a short laugh. Talk about being brought back to earth. When was he ever going to stop mooning over this woman?
“Okay, Robbie. Let’s get you out of that soggy diaper.” While he unzipped Robin’s sleeper, Larkin sang a song about an itsy-bitsy spider that made the toddler giggle and ask for “Mor! Mor!”
While Larkin continued to distract him with the song, Carson changed his wriggly nephew’s diaper. When he was done, Larkin looked impressed.
“You’re not bad at that.”
“It’s sort of like hog-tying a calf.”
She laughed, then suddenly looked sad. “There are times…” she began.
He desperately wanted to hear the rest of that sentence, but instead she forced a bright smile. “I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you, Robin?”
“I can make his breakfast. You probably have other things to do,” he said.