“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.” He pursued her, closing the distance between them. She was heading straight for a section of the pond that was barricaded with sawhorses.
“Lauren, wait!”
She didn’t look over her shoulder, didn’t know she was literally skating on thin ice until it cracked and gave way beneath her. With a cry of surprise, she fell through, but only up to her calves. Her right ankle buckled beneath her, but she regained her balance and held out a palm to stop Joe.
“Stay back!” she called to Joe, whose instinct was to lunge for her and bring her back to safety. “You’ll break through if you come close.” Her expression screwed tight. She must be in pain, or she wouldn’t be standing there soaking in the freezing water, one knee slightly bent.
“Here.” He took hold of a sawhorse and shoved it her way. “Use this.” He hated how helpless he felt, watching her struggle to step out of the water and back onto the thin ice, balancing on slippery skates.
Grasping the sawhorse for support and to redistribute her weight, she made her way to the end of it, then accepted Joe’s outstretched hand. He pulled her farther from danger, holding her steady against him. Already, she began to shake with cold.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she gasped. The snow that caught on her wet shins and skates didn’t melt. “I twisted my ankle somehow, but now I can’t feel it. My feet are numb.”
“Make way, make way!” Elsa’s voice cut through the crowd that was already forming around them. “We saw the whole thing.”
“I’ve got to get her home,” Joe said.
“Agreed. Come on, I’ll help you get her off the pond.” She and Joe kept Lauren between them while skating her to the edge and ontothe closest bench. “Ivy’s working on transportation, and I’ll return the skates. Here.” Kneeling, Elsa tore at Lauren’s skate laces while Joe quickly changed back into his shoes.
Joe ripped off his coat and wrapped it around Lauren’s legs, which were now without stockings, since Elsa had apparently peeled them off, too. He secured the coat in place by wrapping the sleeves around her legs and tying them. With numb feet and an injured ankle, she was in no condition to walk right now anyway.
“Get her home,” Elsa said. “We’ll be right behind you.”
A shrill whistle cut through the air. “Joe! Lauren! Your chariot awaits!” Ivy waved at them from where she stood on the lane thirty yards away. Behind her was a horse-drawn carriage, popular with tourists, big enough for only two passengers.
“Ready, princess?” Joe lifted her arms and looped them around his neck. She held tight, and he lifted her with an arm beneath her shoulders and another beneath her knees. He carried her to the carriage and settled her inside.
“The Beresford, Central Park West,” he told the driver.
“What do I look like, buddy? A taxi?”
“You are now.” Joe flashed his badge case to skip the argument. “Giddyup.”
———
Lauren wasn’t sure which was more shocking. The cold that had sliced through her skates and stockings or the fact that she’d been stupid enough to skate too close to the edge in the first place.
“Can you feel anything yet?” Joe held her coat-wrapped legs on his lap as the carriage trundled through Central Park. One arm around her shoulders, he rubbed his other broad hand over the folds of wool wrapping her lower legs, careful not to touch the injured ankle.
She shook her head. “Still numb.” The snow fell thick and wet, and she burrowed closer into Joe’s side. She was so very cold. Without a coat, Joe had to be freezing, too. “Do you want my scarf, at least?”
“Are you kidding? Forget about it.” He squeezed her shoulders. “We’re almost there, anyway.”
The horse wasn’t pulling past a trot, but the distance between the pond in Central Park and the front door of the Beresford was less than half a mile.
A minute later, the dear old beast exited the park, clip-clopping across Central Park West and slowing to a halt at the entrance of the Beresford on 81st Street. Joe paid the driver, hopped to the ground, and gathered Lauren in his arms once more.
As soon as they were inside the apartment, he helped her into her bedroom so she could change out of her skirt, which was wet at the hem, along with her coat.
“You should take a soak in the tub to warm up,” he called through the door.
“Nonsense. It’s just my feet that need it.”
“Then don’t put on stockings yet. We’ll soak your feet.”
After trading her damp skirt for a dry one with a hemline that fell to the knee, she grabbed a pair of stockings for later and hobbled back into the hall.
Wrapping an arm about her waist, Joe helped her to the living room and eased her onto the couch. “I’ll take care of you,” he said, and she believed him.
