“I’m not getting better,” Morgan said. He let go as well, but slowly, the leftover warmth from his fingers making Jack shiver. “My strength comes and goes, but overall, I am not getting better.”
Jack had all kinds of ideas about what Morgan should do to improve his strength, but Morgan was his own man and certainly wouldn’t want advice from some transient he was letting sleep under his roof and who had caused all kinds of trouble.
“I’m going to start those exercises,” Morgan said, and he did not take a step back. “And take those pills regularly and make a note of when and how much.” He looked down at Jack as though he was trying to convince Jack as well as himself. “It’s just leg lifts and such. Gentle stretches. Walking. I can walk up and down the hallway. Take a few laps around the store. For fuck’s sake, why have I not been doing that?”
“Maybe you weren’t ready.”
Jack’s throat felt dry for some reason, but he couldn’t back up. Morgan wasn’t moving away, so what could Jack do about the fact that their thighs were just about touching, their hips, and that Morgan was so close, Jack could see the beads of sweat around Morgan’s temples?
He wasn’t going to throw himself at Morgan, no matter how tempted he might be, and he was gearing himself up to say something about it when he realized that Morgan was in pain. And perhaps needed care rather than Jack panting after him.
“Hey,” Jack said. “Why don’t you sit down.” He imagined how Mabel would manage the situation. “You got a notebook towrite stuff down in?” When Morgan nodded, Jack said, “Good. Where is it? And where’s the PT info? By the time I get that, I bet those pies’ll be done.”
“There’s a notebook in the desk in the office. Top drawer, I think.” Morgan let Jack guide him back to his chair at the table, from which he looked up at Jack. “And the PT stuff is still in my suitcase.” He sighed, shoulders slumping.
Though reluctant to move away from Morgan, Jack made himself back off. He checked the pies, then went to the chilly office, flicking on the light to find a pen and a small notebook in the left top drawer.
Back upstairs, the kitchen was so much warmer, it was like a blessing. He laid the pen and notebook on the table, cleared the spoons and bowls to the sink, and raced off to the bedroom, also cold and dark, where he rummaged around in Morgan’s suitcase like he had every right to.
He found the exercises, several sheets of paper folded up in a side pocket. He brought them in and put them on the table in front of Morgan. What he did to them or with them was up to him. Jack could only do what he could do.
Checking the pies, he announced, “These look pretty good. We can eat and then watch something in the parlor?”
“Why not both at once?” Morgan asked as he flipped through the notebook to find a blank page. He paused and looked up at Jack. “I didn’t mean for you to turn into my nursemaid,” he said. “Maybe I should have stayed in Denver. Let this place rot rather than come up here and get stuck in the snow.”
Morgan seemed unable to express what he couldn’t keep track of. And he was hurting.
Jack didn’t want to add to that. Didn’t want to make it worse than it already was, but in the meantime, he wasn’t going to stand by and do nothing.
“You’re doing fine,” he said. “Write down the pills you just took, and the time. I’ll get some ice for your knee and move everything into the parlor.” He smiled. “Including you.”
“Yes, thank you.” Morgan took a breath and rolled his shoulders back. He reached for the fold of papers. “These them?”
“Yep,” Jack said. He pushed them closer to Morgan. “Just go slow. Start slow, anyway?”
“I’ll do that,” Morgan said.
Jack could tell the pain meds were kicking in, which was a good thing. Morgan seemed like the kind of guy who, when he said he was making a change, would follow through. Jack would make sure he got a good start and didn’t overdo.
Morgan would get better. Jack would earn his money, and then he’d head west to sun and sand, leaving Montana, and Morgan, far behind him.
CHAPTER 23
morgan
It did stop snowing later that night, but it took a while for the plows to do their work. Plowy McPlowface even did a turn through the parking lot of the feed and grain, with both Morgan and Jack cheering the driver on. It wasn’t until Friday that the Montana road conditions app on Morgan’s phone told him the highway to Billings was clear enough to drive.
Jack needed new clothes, and Morgan had made up his mind that it was his responsibility to provide them. Mabel’s scolding might have had something to do with that, but he’d been thinking it, anyway.
“I need you to drive me to Billings so I can return that overdue library book,” he said after breakfast.
“You could mail it,” Jack said.
“Or I could drive myself,” Morgan replied. The truck was an automatic. “But with only one leg at the ready, it wouldn’t be safe.” He looked at Jack, playing his best card. “What if I get stuck? It’s barely one degree out there. I’d freeze to death.”
“You have a phone,” Jack said, actually crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’d freeze to death before help arrived.”
