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The sheriff climbed in beside him, presumably to keep him from falling out, then called to Nestor to get moving.
Nate gritted his teeth throughout the jarring, interminable-seeming ride to the clinic. Perhaps he would take it easy today. The workday would probably be half over before the doctor was finished with him, anyway.
When they finally arrived at the clinic, Nate was guiltily relieved to see Mrs. Leggett and an older man who was presumably her uncle step outside with a stretcher—he would have had trouble taking more than a few steps on his own. Mrs. Leggett had changed into a clean dress and wore a crisp white apron over it.
“Mr. Cooper, this is my uncle, Dr. Grover Pratt,” she said as soon as she was close enough to speak to him. “Uncle Grover, this is Mr. Cooper, the man who saved Joy’s life.”
Nate shifted. All this excessive gratitude was making him uncomfortable.
“Hello, young man. Let me add my thanks to that of my niece. That was a very brave thing you did, saving our Joy.”
“I’m just glad I was in a position to help her, sir.”
Sheriff Gleason clamped him on his uninjured shoulder. “Don’t let his modesty fool you, Doc. I saw the whole thing. Mr. Cooper here is a real hero.”
Dr. Pratt nodded. “Let’s start showing our appreciation by getting him inside, where he’ll be more comfortable.”
Sheriff Gleason and the wagon driver took the ends of the stretcher and Nate maneuvered himself onto it with a minimum of help. Mrs. Leggett stayed beside him as the men transported him into the clinic. Her hand rested lightly on his good arm, as if she wanted to make certain he didn’t fall off. The feel of her hand on him was...comforting. Then she looked down and gave him a reassuring smile. Almost as if she truly cared about him.
Was this all part of her job as the doctor’s assistant?
Stupid question—of course it was.
Once the men had deposited him on the padded table in the examining room, they took their leave. Nate sat on the edge of the narrow but sturdy table with his legs dangling over the side. By refusing to lie down, he felt marginally more in control of the situation.
To his surprise, Mrs. Leggett didn’t follow the men out. Surely she didn’t plan to assist in the actual examination?
“I have strict instructions to take extra special care of you.” Dr. Pratt cast a smile his niece’s way. “So let’s get to it.”
The doctor began to lay out some of his implements. “Verity, please help Mr. Cooper remove his shirt.”
Apparently she was going to stay. And participate. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.
But she didn’t seem the least bit disconcerted by her uncle’s request. Her expression remained pleasant but detached and her movements were businesslike as she approached him. Still...
“That’s okay, I can manage,” he said as he quickly started working the buttons with his right hand.
“Don’t be silly.” From her tone, she could be speaking to a wayward child. “This is part of my job. Besides, your arm is hurt and it’s best you don’t move it more than necessary until the doctor can take a look at it.”
By this time Nate had managed to free all of the buttons, but he let her help him ease the already-ruined shirt off his arms and shoulders. As he did so, he was very conscious of the old scars she would see on his torso. What would she think?
But it wasn’t until she’d laid the garment aside and turned back to him that he noticed any sort of reaction. Unlike the recoil or emasculating pity he’d expected, however, it was a wince and flash of guilt that she quickly suppressed.
Glancing down, he saw the ugly bruise that had formed on his left side, no doubt from his contact with the wagon. Had she not noticed anything else?
Once more wearing that businesslike, doctor’s-helper demeanor, she quickly moved around to remove the arm bandage she’d applied earlier. Her touch was every bit as sure and impersonal as before.
Once done, she stepped away and allowed her uncle to take her place.
“Well, Mr. Cooper, let’s take a look, shall we?”
Nate nodded. “Please call me Nate. And your niece didn’t seem to think it was too serious.”
Dr. Pratt smiled. “Verity’s got a good eye, but why don’t you let me have a look, anyway?”
As Dr. Pratt performed his examination, he took his time and made a point of letting Nate know what he was doing and why. It was all very different from the treatment he’d grown accustomed to the past nine years.
Even though Mrs. Leggett did her best to remain unobtrusive, Nate found himself very aware of her presence. Her movements were deft and sure, and she seemed to anticipate her uncle’s requests so that very few words were spoken between them.
Verity—that was a rather old-fashioned name, but somehow it suited her. And her daughter was named Joy. Both named for virtues. The jaded part of him wondered if they found the names a burden to live up to. Not the little girl, of course, at least not yet. But the mother?
After cleaning the wound and studying it, the doctor looked up to meet Nate’s gaze. “You’re going to need stitches, but I don’t see any reason why this cut shouldn’t heal completely with no lasting damage, other than a scar, as long as you take it easy the next few days.”
That was a relief. He could deal with one more scar. It would be difficult, though, to do his work without full use of his arm.
The doctor moved on to examine Nate’s shoulder and side. Nate did his best to bear the probing stoically and not show any signs of discomfort. Mainly because he didn’t want to make Mrs. Leggett feel any guiltier than she obviously already did.
But a part of him admitted that he didn’t want to display weakness in front of her, either.
Finally, Dr. Pratt straightened. “Well, your shoulder and ribs are bruised but not broken. That knot on your head is of some concern, but so far you aren’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion. Now I’m going to take care of suturing your arm before we take a look at your ankle.”
Nate nodded. “Whatever you say.”
Dr. Pratt gave him a considering look. “I think this will go better if you lie down on the table.”
Without a word, Nate swiveled and swung his legs up on the table, then lay back. The doctor offered him a strip of leather to bite down on, but Nate shook his head. This wasn’t his first time to get stitched up, so he knew what to expect.
Mrs. Leggett, who had quietly laid out the necessary implements, stood beside her uncle as he applied the stitches, ready to assist as needed.
Nate kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling as the doctor went to work, refusing to utter so much as a whimper. But apparently he wasn’t as impassive as he would have liked, because about halfway through the procedure, Mrs. Leggett moved next to him and applied a cool cloth to his brow. Surprised by the action, he left off staring at the ceiling long enough to meet her gaze. She gave him an approving, sympathetic smile that somehow eased the pain of the procedure. A moment later she had slipped back into her less personal, bedside demeanor and returned to her uncle’s side.
When at last Dr. Pratt was done, he straightened. “You can sit up now if you like,” he told Nate.
Nate had to admit, if only to himself, that it hadn’t ended any too soon. It had taken all he had not to cry out a time or two. Only the fear that he would embarrass himself in front of Mrs. Leggett had kept him from doing so.
The doctor glanced toward his niece as he helped Nate sit up. “Verity, would you take care of wrapping his arm for me?”
“Of course.” She reached into a cabinet and pulled out a roll of gauzy-looking cloth.
As she had out in the street earlier, she used her left hand to hold his arm with a gentle firmness while she wrapped the bandage around it with her right hand. She kept her eyes focused on her work so he was free to study her at will.
Trying not to think too much about the warmth of her hand on his, he found himself fascinated by the lone wispy curl of hair that had escaped her otherwise tightly controlled hairstyle. It swayed and danced with her every movement, an incongruously playful counterpoint to her businesslike demeanor.
His fingers actually itched with the desire to reach up and touch it, to let it curl around his finger and see if it felt as impossibly soft as it looked.
Startled once again by the direction his thoughts had taken, he forced himself to look away and found Dr. Pratt watching him thoughtfully. He suddenly felt like a schoolboy caught in some mischief.
A moment later, Mrs. Leggett was done and she stepped back and gave him a smile. “There. How’s that? Not too tight I hope.”
“It’s fine, thank you.” Not that he would have complained even if it hadn’t been.
Dr. Pratt moved closer. “Now let’s have a look at that ankle.” The older man studied it a moment without touching him, then looked back up. “My recommendation is that we cut the boot off. Otherwise, you’re going to find this much more than uncomfortable. And if your foot is broken it could cause even more damage.” He spread his hands. “But the choice is yours.”
Nate frowned. He didn’t have the funds to spend on new footwear right now. And he was no stranger to pain. “Let’s give removing it whole a try first.”
“Very well. If you change your mind once I get started, though, you just have to say the word.” He turned to his niece. “Verity, please stand behind Mr. Cooper so he has something to lean back against if he needs to.”
With a nod, she did as her uncle asked, positioning herself at his back and gripping the edge of the table on either side of him.
And he was honest enough with himself to admit he liked the feel of having her all around him. But, knowing she wouldn’t feel the same, he refused to take advantage of the situation.
He’d remain upright, no matter the cost.
With that in mind, this time he accepted the offer of a leather strap to bite down on.
Chapter Four (#ulink_23e682e4-cd1f-5175-90f4-88aee61c5e75)
Verity could tell Mr. Cooper was doing his best to avoid leaning against her. She saw his knuckles whiten as his grip on the table edge tightened, saw his muscles tauten to unbelievable levels, saw the sweat bead on the back of his neck. This couldn’t be good for that freshly stitched gash.
That reminder of his bandaged arm made her fingers tingle again. When she’d wrapped his arm earlier, she’d found it surprisingly difficult to maintain the polite detachment that usually came so easily to her. Instead she’d been keenly aware of the warmth of his skin, the sound of his breathing and the feel of his gaze on her.
That last had rattled her more than anything else. Why had he been staring at her with such intensity. What was he thinking? Did he believe it unladylike for a woman to do this sort of work? Or maybe he’d noticed her scar and was fascinated the way some folk were by such imperfections.
Uncle Grover asked him again if he’d prefer to have the boot cut off, but Mr. Cooper shook his head. Probably gritting his teeth too hard to speak, stubborn man.
A few excruciatingly long minutes later, he let out a single grunt of pain as her uncle managed to finally wrench the boot free. It was only then, as he reflexively sagged with relief, that he allowed himself to lean back against her.
She stood completely still, supporting his solid torso for the three heartbeats it took for realization to hit him. She knew the second it happened. He suddenly stiffened and then jerked upright again. Without turning, he tossed a mumbled apology over his shoulder. Was he embarrassed at what he might consider a show of weakness?
He removed the leather strip he’d been biting on and set it on the table beside him. Verity couldn’t help but notice how deep an impression his teeth had made.
She moved around to assist her uncle and winced at how red and swollen his ankle was. As her uncle went about his examination, she kept an eye on the patient. Mr. Cooper bore it stoically, but she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten each time her uncle put the least bit of pressure on the injury.
At last her uncle straightened. “Well, the good news is you have a sprain, not a break.”
“And the bad news?”
“You’re going to need to stay off of it for a while.”
Mr. Cooper frowned. That was obviously not what he’d wanted to hear. “How long?”
“If you want that ankle to heal properly I strongly suggest that you stay off of it for at least a week.”
Mr. Cooper raked a hand through his hair. “But it’s nothing that will keep me from my work?”
Uncle Grover gave him a severe look. “Only if you work sitting down.”
“I do. And I suppose I can use a cane to get around.”
“Crutches would be better. But with your bruised shoulder and the fresh stitches I’ve just applied to your arm, neither will be advisable for the next few days.”
Verity saw the rebellion in Mr. Cooper’s eyes. Then she realized that, like Hazel, he probably lived above his shop. Stairs would be very difficult, if not impossible, for him to navigate in his condition.
“What do you expect me to do in the meantime, just lie about?” His tone was short and clipped. “I have a business to run.” Then, as if he realized he’d been abrupt, his expression lost some of its hard edge. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.”
Verity disagreed. This was all her fault—he’d gotten injured because she hadn’t kept a close watch on her daughter. “Perhaps I can assist you in some way,” she offered. “I’m sure Uncle Grover can spare me for a few days.”
Before her uncle could confirm what she’d said, Mr. Cooper spoke up. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll figure a way to work it out.”
Was he just being polite? Or was it that he wasn’t interested in having her around?
“You two can work that out later.” Uncle Grover’s stern look was aimed at them both. “For now, I would suggest Mr. Cooper stay here at the clinic, where we can keep him under observation.”
“I don’t think—”
Her uncle raised a hand. “If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t.” He met Mr. Cooper’s gaze with an earnest, direct look. “You were injured helping my great-niece—there will be no charge for anything related to your injuries.”
“That’s very kind of you. But—”
How did he expect to go anywhere without help? “The only place you’re going is to our infirmary.” She could see another protest forming on his lips so she tried again. “You need to listen to my uncle. With that knot on your head, someone should keep an eye on you, at least for the next twenty-four hours, and since you live alone, this is the best place for you. Besides, I believe you live in an apartment above your shop, is that correct?”
“Yes, but—”
Uncle Grover joined the debate. “Even if you could make that climb to the second floor—” his tone made it clear that was doubtful “—it’s not something you should be doing right now, not in your condition.”
Verity saw Mr. Cooper’s jaw tighten at the phrase “in your condition.”
“If need be I can bunk downstairs in the shop for a few days.”
“Young man, now you’re just being stubborn.”
“Besides,” Verity added, “we have a nice comfortable bed right through there.” She waved to a door in the far wall.
“It’s just a sprained ankle. I’m not some sickly bed patient.”
So his irritation stemmed from a bit of male pride. “Of course you’re not. We just want to make certain we take good care of you. Besides, meals are provided, and I promise you Aunt Betty’s cooking is something to look forward to. She has a pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove for lunch today.”
Without giving their patient a chance to argue further, Uncle Grover turned to Verity and nodded to one of the cabinets. “Please fetch Mr. Cooper something more comfortable to wear while I prepare a draught for him. Then you’ll need to step out so he can change.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the clothes I have on.”
Was the man going to fight them every step of the way?
“I was being polite,” Uncle Grover said. “Your shirt is now rags and the rest of your clothing is the worse for wear and, not to put too fine a point on it, filthy. For the sake of your health, and my niece’s and wife’s sensibilities, you need to change. There’s a clean nightshirt we keep here just for such circumstances.”
Verity hid a grin. Uncle Grover wasn’t averse to using a bit of blackmail to get his way, especially when he felt it was for his patient’s own good.
She placed a clean nightshirt on the table beside Mr. Cooper, then collected the soiled bandages and his discarded shirt and moved to the door. “I’ll take care of these and let Aunt Betty know we’ll have an occupant in the infirmary.”
