“Tell me, Roy, what don’t I know?” Cora demanded, her voice becoming shriller with each word. “I know that you walked away five years ago, didn’t even bother to let him know where you were going. I know you never returned home even though you were here, just ten miles away. I know that you never spoke to your father again and that you left him dying, wishing you were there by his side. He died wanting nothing more than for his only son to come home. And for what, Roy? You left the life you had in Lakewood and all of the opportunities your father offered you forthis?” Cora waved her hands around the sloppy sleeping quarters for emphasis.
A shadow crossed over Roy’s face, and his expression immediately hardened.
“It’s time for you to leave now,” he said coolly over his shoulder as he turned to walk away.
Cora continued her rant as she followed him out of the quarters, through the kitchen area, and back out into the bright, early afternoon sun. Even with his noticeable limp—another feature, along with the scar, that Cora noticed he didn’t have before he left Lakewood—his pace was too quick for Cora to keep up with.
“How can you be so callous and uncaring?” Cora shouted to his back, marching behind him. “He was your father! He—”
But her vicious onslaught about Roy’s lack of concern for his father’s wishes was interrupted when, in her distraction, her foot inadvertently slipped into a small hole in the dirt path that led away from the ranch hand quarters. Everything after that happened quickly—her ankle rolled, immediately sending a jolt of pain coursing through her foot and up her leg.
“Oh!” was all Cora could manage to cry out through the shock and pain, as her balance immediately gave way to gravity, and she collapsed in a heap on the dirt.
Chapter Four
Roy spun around as Cora Williams’ chattering abruptly ended and was replaced by a cry of pain. She was on the ground, her blue floral dress fanned out around her, her willowy upper body propped up by one hand while her legs lay bent to one side. If her face had not been scrunched up in pain, it would almost look as if she had simply plopped down for a rest.
He saw the hole in the ground to the left of her, the very one he had been meaning to get fixed so that no one would get hurt, and silently chided himself for his procrastination as he stepped toward her.
“Let me help you up,” he offered, holding out his hand. He may have been annoyed at her presence and wished she had never shown up here, but he was also not one to leave a lady injured on the ground. Chivalry was one value that his father passed down to him that he maintained, even if faith in God was not.
He also felt guilty that it was the hole he had failed to fix in a timely manner that caused her injury—and all because she had made the journey out here, alone, to deliver news about his father’s death.
News he still hadn’t quite processed.
“I don’t need your help!” Cora said as she swiped away his hand and stubbornly insisted on lifting herself up off the ground. Roy took a step back and raised his eyebrows skeptically as he watched her use her arms and her good leg to push herself up and raise herself to a standing position. However, as soon as she attempted to put weight on her right ankle, her balance once again became compromised, and she started to crumble back to the ground.
Roy quickly rushed to her side and grabbed hold of her arm to steady her. Although he was slightly annoyed at her hardheadedness, concern had taken hold as the dominant emotion. He realized that she was unable to put pressure on her injured ankle, meaning that she had likely sprained it pretty bad.
“Careful,” Roy instructed, more harshly than he intended. He was remembering his own accident that left him with a permanent limp. He could still recall, as if it were only yesterday, the sensation of being abruptly and violently thrown from the saddle, and the sickening crack his leg made when he landed.
Although Cora’s fall was minor in comparison, his own experience made him understand how crucial it was not to put strain on an injury. Although the medical care in Wheats Ridge wasn’t up to par of Lakewood, he also had to admit that his own obstinate refusal to quit working long enough to let his leg properly heal had contributed to his lasting gait.
“I don’t want your help!” Cora shouted, yanking her arm out of his grasp. Roy realized in that moment that he’d never met a woman quite as stubborn as this one.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Roy said, his exasperated tone a product of frustration mixed with fresh grief that he was struggling to keep at bay. Her continued presence was a reminder of why she was here in the first place, the reality of his father’s death starting to settle in his bones. “You can’t stand properly, and you’re just going to make your injury worse if you keep trying to put weight on it.”
As if proving his point, the next step Cora attempted caused her to lose her balance and cry out like a wounded animal once again. She would have wound up back on the ground had Roy not reached out and caught her just in time.
Refusing to entertain her stubbornness any longer, he wrapped his arm firmly around her waist. His sturdy arm provided the support she needed to stay upright.
“I’m taking you back inside,” Roy said firmly, leaving no room for her to argue. “And I would very much appreciate it if you would just cooperate instead of stupidly trying to walk on a sprained ankle.”
This time, surprisingly, Cora didn’t protest, and Roy was able to steer her toward back toward the ranch hand quarters. Her delicate frame pressed against his side as he guided her toward the door, her tiny waist fitting easily in the crook of his arm. A surge of electricity rushed through him, and Roy flinched, knowing what that meant.
Roy had never had the chance to have a steady girlfriend back in Lakewood under his father’s watchful eye, but he certainly did his share of flirting, and remembered that familiar, electric sign of attraction. He immediately pushed the idea from his mind and focused on getting Cora safely inside. He decided to brush off that tingling feeling of having her in his arms as a result of scarcely being in the presence of a woman—and never the presence of a beautiful woman like Cora Williams—in over five years.
The last thing he needed while trying to untangle these feelings about his father’s death was the distraction of feelings for a woman—especially a woman connected to the past he wanted to leave behind.
Cora, as if operating on instinct, leaned into Roy as he maintained his firm grip on her waist, and following his cues, she synchronized her steps with his until they were safely inside the ranch hand quarters. He guided her through the kitchen area and back to the sleeping area.
Roy sat Cora down on his small, wire-frame bed, swiping a pillow from the bed next to his and placing it at the foot of his bed, carefully lifting her leg to rest on top of it. Her leg was light in his hands, her skin soft to the touch. Roy forced himself to stay on task.
“We need to take off the shoe,” Roy said clinically, detaching himself from the fact that Cora was a beautiful woman, and focusing on strictly treating her injury. He began carefully untying the laces on Cora’s brown leather boot. Cora was surprisingly compliant, not protesting or giving him any of what had been her usual quips as he gingerly lifted her foot from the pillow and slowly removed the boot, careful not to jostle her injured ankle. Cora cringed, a visible indicator of discomfort, but she held back any sound. He could tell she was suppressing her pain, as if she was afraid to show vulnerability.
“Wait here, and don’t move,” Roy said calmly but firmly as he set her boot beside the bed. Cora didn’t reply but also didn’t argue, which Roy accepted as the best-case scenario.
Making his way toward the kitchen area, he shook his head in annoyance at the dirty dishes of the other ranch hands that were still lying abandoned on the table. Crumbs were scattered throughout the dining area, inviting every roach in the state to feast on the remnants of their meal. While he enjoyed his work on the ranch and most often felt like he fit in better here than in Lakewood, little things like this reminded him that in some ways he didn’t quite fit perfectly here, either. While he had never been known for immaculate cleanliness, he didn’t understand the other hands’ complete inability, or unwillingness, to clean up after themselves or take any pride in their living space.
