“She’s a lot like her grandpa that way.” A tiny smile slipped from Grandpa’s lips as the worry tight in his brow seemed to lessen.
I stepped forward and gave him a hug. “It’s okay, Grandpa. Dusty wrapped me up so tight, I didn’t feel a thing.”
“I knew you were in good hands,” Grandpa said. “But you shouldn’t have been in there in the first place, either of you.” Before we could say anything in our defense, Grandpa smiled meekly at both of us. “But I thank you both, kindly. It was my fault. I should have torn that damn building down years ago.”
“We’re alright,” Dusty said. “Should we round up the calves and Jack and put them somewhere for the night?”
Grandpa looked at the animals lazily munching on snow-covered hay. “I’ll put Jack in the barn for the night, he’ll be fine. It looks like the calves are settled in with their mamas by the manger.”
Another coughing fit from my grandpa.
“Bob, just head inside. You too, Lucy. I’ll move Jack.”
Grandpa stamped his foot. “Nope. I’m doing it. You two get yourselves inside.”
With that he walked toward his horse, coughing again into the sleeve of his coat.
I sighed and turned to Dusty.
“Can you walk? Where did the heaviest board hit you?”
“My upper thigh.”
Worried, I grabbed his arm and tried turning him around, so I could get a look.
“Hey. Watch those hands.” Dusty jerked away from me.
“It’s just your leg, right?”
“Upper, upper thigh, okay.” He folded his arms.
“Your butt.”
“You’d probably love a quick peek, but I’d just feel cheap. You haven’t even got to first base yet.”
My instinct was to give him a playful push, but I hadn’t seen him move yet since standing. “I’m serious, can you walk?”
“I might need to lean on you.”
My breath hitched. I knew it. He was hurting. I moved in closer while he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I noticed he waited until Grandpa had walked Jack into the barn before he began to move, slowly. He walked as though he had been riding a horse for three days straight, so stiff in his movements and jerky in his steps.
“Where does it hurt?” I asked him, bracing myself under the brunt of his weight.
“My heart.”
“What?”
“My butt.”
My brows furrowed as we made our way up the front porch steps. “I thought you said…”
“My butt and my heart both hurt.”
When we reached the top of the stairs, I stopped and turned toward him, his arm still holding me close. “Why does your heart hurt? Are you feeling chest pains?” I pressed my hands over his chest as if I could somehow magically feel something. I didn’t feel any chest pains, but I did feel a solid block of muscle underneath that coat. He was less than a year younger than me. Of course, I’ve heard of stranger things happening, but…maybe a traumatic event like a building falling on you could trigger a heart attack?
His green eyes looked into mine, brimming with something. Mischief? “My butt will be fine. It feels like I just bruised my tailbone. I’ll probably have a wicked bruise. I’ll have to show you sometime.”
I couldn’t respond to his teasing while guilt wrecked me over his discomfort. Of his sacrifice. Of his even being here and helping all of us out. Of his warmth and his teasing. Of all the memories we had together. Of me realizing I never wanted the storm to end.
