Fergus II seemed nothing but pleased to be receiving such attention. He turned his head and licked Christian’s nose. Sarah smiled. She slipped the opening over the dog’s head and arranged the bit of wool she’d already knitted over the dog’s shoulders, or whatever the doggy equivalent of shoulders was. Her hand brushed against Christian’s, and a jolt went through her body.
She glanced up into his eyes. He was looking at her.
She dropped her ball of yarn and the dog jumped off the sofa.
Christian leaned closer, his mesmerizing eyes never leaving hers. His lips hovered over hers.
He was going to kiss her. And she wanted him to. Oh, how she wanted him. She leaned forward. Waiting. Waiting.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she murmured against his cheek.
“Anything.” His breath was a hot brand against her lips.
“Did you really have a pistol that first night?”
“Yes.”
Just before his lips touched hers, the front door burst open and Mr. Fergus came barreling through it in a snowy heap of plaid.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sarah leaped up from the sofa and ran to the man whose overcoat was completely white with snow. Fergus II ran toward his master, too, barking. Mr. Fergus was nearly frozen. Bundled up in a huge coat with mittens and a scarf, his face bright red, lips pale blue, he was shuddering uncontrollably.
“How in the world did you make it?” Sarah asked, horrified, shutting the front door against the high wind and swirling snow.
“Bring him over to the fire,” Christian called to Sarah.
Sarah ushered the shivering man over. Mr. Fergus was obviously alone. “Where’s Mrs. Goatsocks?” Sarah asked in a shaking voice, fearing the worst.
“She had to stay behind at the doctor’s house,” Mr. Fergus managed through chattering teeth.
Breathing a sigh of relief that the news was not worse, Sarah sat the man down in front of the fire. Then she ran to the bedchamber to pull the extra quilts off the bed. She came back quickly, dragging them behind her, and bundled him up even more. Meanwhile, Christian pulled bricks out of the fire and placed them near Mr. Fergus’s feet. Sarah concentrated on making the old man comfortable. There would be plenty of time to ask him about Mrs. Goatsocks later.
Once Mr. Fergus was adequately bundled up, Sarah set the kettle on again to make him tea while Christian continued to place bricks in the fire, pulling them out with tongs to set them by the older man’s feet as soon as they were heated. Twenty minutes later, a normal color was slowly returning to Mr. Fergus’s face and his lips were no longer blue. Fergus II was snuggled on his lap, obviously pleased to have his owner back.
“Thank ye kindly,” Mr. Fergus said to Sarah as he sipped the tea she’d made him. “And thank ye, Master Christian.”
Christian nodded. “I’m glad to see you in one piece, Fergus.”
“You’re more than welcome, Mr. Fergus,” Sarah said. “Please, can you tell me what happened to Mrs. Goatsocks?”
“That woman is a handful,” Mr. Fergus said, shaking his head and settling back against the sofa. He resettled the dog in his lap, too. “But I don’t wish bad luck on anyone, especially not this time of year. Turns out her ankle was more than twisted. She broke the thing.”
Sarah gasped. “No!” She put a hand to her throat.
Christian winced.
“Yes,” Mr. Fergus continued. “The doctor wrapped it up tight and told her she had ta keep ta bed and not move it so much as a pace until it’s good and healed. A month or more.”
Sarah sat back on her heels, stunned. The wind had seemingly been knocked from her chest. “She’s not coming back?”
“She carried on something fierce, I must tell ye, after the good doctor broke the news ta her. Said she planned to crawl back here ta ye on her hands and knees if she had ta.”
“Oh, my goodness.” Sarah put her hand to her mouth. “That sounds like something Mrs. Goatsocks would say.”
“Took both the doctor and his wife ta convince her ta stay. In the end, I think she only agreed because she tried ta walk on that blasted ankle of hers and she couldn’t. Only succeeded in making it worse.”
Sarah shook her head sadly. “Poor Mrs. Goatsocks.”
