“Will you help me stand?” she asked quickly, forcing that thought from her head.
“Of course.” One of his hands took hers while the other reached around her again, securing her around the waist.
Thiswasn’t helping at all, but Delia gritted her teeth against the warmth that fluttered through her insides at the feel of his hand against her waist and began to push herself up.
But the second she put weight on the foot that had buckled beneath her—the one that had caused her to fall—she cried out.
“Delia?” Max said as he pulled her against him.
Her face was flush against his chest, and she froze despite the pain. “It’s my ankle,” she finally managed to say. If she focused on the pain, she couldn’t think about how close she was to him.
“Can you walk on it?” he asked.
Delia tested it again, putting just a small amount of weight on it while clutching to Max. She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain shot up the inside of her leg. “I don’t think so.”
“Here.” He twisted so that he was in front of her. “Grab hold of my shoulders. I’m going to lift you up.”
“You can’t carry me all the way back to town,” Delia protested.
“It isn’t that far. I’m not leaving you out here alone while I get a horse. Hold on.”
She gasped as he reached down and grabbed her legs. Holding on for dear life around his neck, she was hoisted up like a little girl to cling to him as he carried her the rest of the way down the hill.
“Comfortable?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes.” She wasn’t about to complain, not when he was doing all the work. Even though it felt as if her heart would beat out of her chest, she was grateful not to have to hobble down the hill.
He didn’t pause at all to rest, and before she knew it, they’d arrived home. A couple of people had stopped to ask if she was all right as they’d reached town, and Delia was grateful that it wasn’t too far up the main road before they turned off to reach home. She tried to imagine the same thing happening in New York, and the thought was mortifying. But here, with Max . . .
It felt right.
Whether that had to do with the town or with the man carrying her, Delia didn’t know.
He let her down gently onto the settee in the parlor. “May I take a look?”
Delia hesitated before nodding. Gently, he lifted her leg and rested her foot in his lap. He unlaced her shoe, removed it, and then ran a hand over her swelling ankle.
Thankful for the stockings she wore as he traced the swollen joint, Delia swallowed. “It will be fine in the morning.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “If it isn’t, I’ll fetch the doctor.”
“There’s no need for that,” she said as he set her foot down.
“Yes, there is if it doesn’t improve. You might have broken a bone.” He stood up. “For now, you sit here and rest.”
“But supper—”
“Is already done. I saw the pot you had warming on the stove earlier. I can handle dishing it out and cleaning up.”
“But—”
Max leaned down, resting a hand on her cheek, and Delia’s protest died in her throat. “I promise I won’t set the kitchen on fire.” He smiled at her, and Delia couldn’t help but smile back.
When he let go and moved toward the kitchen, Delia set her hat on the nearby endtable and leaned her head back on thesettee. The pain pulsing in her ankle felt like nothing compared to the confusion in her head.
On the train out here, she’d hoped that Max would be kind, but she hadn’t expected his every word and every move to be something she looked forward to. And the way he’d looked after her . . .
It made her heart hurt more than her ankle.
