“As long as you get your cooking done, whatever extra time you have is yours to use as you please.”
“Do you mind if I set up my ironing board in your kitchen tomorrow, or would you prefer I keep all my business on my side of the wall?”
“As long as it’s not in my way, do what works best for you.”
“Thanks. Now, you might want to step back. When I pull the plugs on these tubs, the water will likely slosh over on anything in the vicinity.”
She pulled the plug on the first tub, then moved to the second and did the same. Water came gushing out of both of them, flowing in wide, crooked rivulets toward the back of the lot.
The third tub, unlike the other two, sat flush on the ground. When she pulled the plug, not much happened.
“Looks like you’ll need to bail the water out of that one,” Everett observed.
“That’ll take an awful long time.” Not to mention more effort than she felt she could give at the moment. She could just kick herself for not thinking to elevate it a few inches off the ground before she’d filled it. Then she had an idea.
She looked to Everett hopefully. “Do you think, if I can lift the edge of this a few inches, you could shove a piece from the woodpile under it?”
* * *
Everett was affronted by her request. Did she think so little of him as to assume he’d stand by and let her lift that thing? He stepped forward, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll do the lifting, and you slide the wood underneath.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to—”
“Miss Johnson, I don’t have all afternoon to argue this with you. Now, let’s find some suitable pieces of wood, shall we?”
Once they found the appropriate pieces of wood, Everett moved to the large washtub and got his hands under the bottom edge to tilt it forward. Some of the water sloshed over the lip and, since he’d had the bad judgment to stand on the downhill side of the washtub, the already damp ground he stood on became soupy as the water flowed back his way. He winced as he thought about the damage to his shoes.
Daisy quickly shoved the first scrap of wood under the washtub. Grabbing the second piece, she quickly moved around him to slide it under the other side.
In her rush, however, she lost her footing and landed with a plop right on her backside. Her mutt ran up and managed to sideswipe Everett. Like a row of dominoes tumbling, Everett also lost his balance and pitched forward. Unfortunately, his left hand ended up partially under the tub, and to add insult to injury—literally—his body weight added more pressure to the already crushing weight.
The pain was immediate and excruciating. It was all he could do not to blister the air with his imprecations.
Through the haze of pain, he was aware of Daisy scrambling to her feet. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Your suit is—” Then she caught sight of his predicament and immediately grabbed hold of the tub and lifted it enough for him to pull his hand out.
The throbbing agony tripled. He gingerly tried to flex his fingers and was relieved when he was able to do so, albeit not without exacerbating the pain.
“That looks awful!” She stared at his hand, stopping just short of touching him. “Oh, this is all my fault.”
It felt awful, too. But he refrained from saying so. “Please, just let me sit here a minute and catch my breath.”
“Of course. You stay right where you are, and I’ll go fetch Doc Pratt.”
“Nonsense.” He took another long breath, attempting to think clearly. He gingerly moved his hand again and tried to smother his groan. “I can tell it’s not broken, so there’s nothing the doctor can do for it that time won’t accomplish, as well.”
“Shouldn’t we at least get him to look at it?” She pushed a damp wisp of hair from her forehead. “Please—it would make me feel better.”
Why did she think that plea would convince him?
But somehow it did. “Very well. But you’re not going to ask him to come here. It’s my hand that’s affected, not my feet.” He stood. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to his office.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
Did she think he’d renege if she wasn’t with him? But it wasn’t worth arguing over.
“Give me a minute to change into something dry. And if you’d care to do the same—”
“Don’t be such a fusspot.” She sounded almost angry. “A little water and mud won’t hurt anything, but not getting your hand looked at right away might.”
Did she just call him a fusspot? And did she really expect the two of them to walk through town with mud-plastered backsides? He wasn’t sure which offense he found the more egregious.
She swept out an arm with her finger pointed, like a general ordering his troops forward.
And without a word, he headed in the direction she’d pointed.
They walked the five blocks to Dr. Pratt’s office in silence. Everett was acutely conscious of his undignified appearance, and of the curious looks they were getting, but Daisy seemed oblivious. He hadn’t felt like such a spectacle since he’d been the subject of one of Reggie’s unorthodox trials last summer.
Trying to block that out, and prove he was not a fusspot, but rather a confident and fastidious gentleman, Everett focused on keeping a steady pace and not jostling his hand.
When they finally reached the doctor’s home, Daisy scurried ahead to knock on the door.
Dr. Pratt’s wife let them in and immediately escorted them to the wing that served as the doctor’s clinic. A moment later, Dr. Pratt was examining Everett’s now painfully swollen hand.
In the end, he confirmed Everett’s earlier prediction. “Nothing’s broken, but it’s going to hurt something terrible for the next few days. And I’m afraid you may lose the nail on your index finger.” He rolled down his sleeves. “But I don’t see any reason why those fingers won’t heal cleanly, assuming you take good care of yourself.”
“Thank you.” Everett gave Daisy an I-told-you-so look, but refrained from saying it aloud.
“Is there anything Mr. Fulton can do to ease the pain in the meantime?”
The physician studied her a moment, then nodded. “I could provide him with laudanum if the pain gets to be more than he can bear, but—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Everett stood, ready to be done with this.
“In that case, I recommend some of this medicinal tea to help you sleep tonight.” He pulled a small packet from a glass-fronted cabinet. “And it would be a good idea to wear a sling to keep that hand shielded from accidental bumps until it’s less tender.”
As they walked back toward their offices, Daisy patted his arm as if comforting a child. “I’ll feed Kip, and then I’m going to fix you a nice dinner.”
“There’s no need for you to trouble yourself. I plan to eat some of the food left from earlier and then get back to work.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Do you really think you’re up to that?”
Her concern was beginning to sound suspiciously like mollycoddling. That fusspot comment still rankled. Did she think he was some milksop who couldn’t deal with a bit of pain? “Please don’t concern yourself,” he said stiffly. “Yes, I smashed some fingers on my left hand, but that’s more of an inconvenience than a problem.”
He saw the determination in her expression, but it was mixed with exhaustion. He wasn’t about to let her add to her own workload over some misguided sense of guilt. “Don’t you have some laundry-related chores to take care of?”
She nodded, but her expression remained mulish. “A little delay won’t hurt anything.”
By this time they’d reached her door, and he decided a firm tone was in order. “I appreciate your concern, but you take care of your business and let me take care of mine.” With a short bow, he turned and entered his own office.
An hour later, Everett wasn’t quite so sure of his ability to manage things, after all. His hand still throbbed painfully, and it seemed to have infected him with an unaccustomed clumsiness. It tu
rned out typesetting was considerably more difficult to do one-handed than he’d imagined it would be.
He bumped his injured hand, and his reaction resulted in type scattered across the floor. The echoes of his frustrated growl still hung in the air when his door opened. Daisy stood there, hesitating on his threshold, a small basket on her arm. What did she want now? “Can I do something for you?”
She stepped farther into the room, leaving the door open behind her. “I’ve done all I plan to do with the laundry tonight. I thought I’d check in to see how you were faring.”
“I’m fine.”
Her quickly suppressed wince let him know his frustration had come through in his voice. A low growl from the doorway drew his gaze. Her dog sat there, watching him balefully. Just what he needed right now—an edgy dog and an oversolicitous woman.
He turned back to Daisy and moderated his tone. “I’m doing all right, but I am busy right now.”
She raised the basket. “I brought some willow-bark tea—it’s my own special recipe. And I have an ointment that’ll help deaden some of the pain.” Her smile and tone had an uncertain quality to them, as if she expected to be turned away. “I know you don’t like to be fussed over, but there’s no point suffering any more than necessary.”
Everett heaved a mental sigh. “I suppose a spot of tea would be nice about now.”
He was rewarded with a generous smile as she hurried over and unpacked her basket at his desk.
He joined her there and watched as she quickly unscrewed the lid on a mason jar and poured its contents into a cup. “Here you go,” she said, offering it to him. “One cup of my special medicinal tea.”
He took a tentative sip and was surprised by the flavor. It had a slightly metallic tang to it, but there were notes of vanilla and some spice that was almost pleasant.
As she reached for the other item in her basket, she frowned at him. “I thought the doc told you to wear a sling.”
“I think it was more a suggestion than a directive.”
He could tell she wasn’t pleased with his response, but to his surprise, she let it go and pulled out a small pot. “If you’ll allow me, I’d like to massage this on your injured hand.”
He looked at her skeptically, not sure he wanted anyone touching his still-tender digits.
“I promise I’ll take it easy,” she said. “But this really will help ease the pain.” She dipped a flat wooden stick into the pot and scooped up the waxy-looking concoction. Then she extended her left hand expectantly, palm up.
He gingerly placed his swollen, painfully bruised hand in her palm.
She ever so gently began to spread the ointment onto his bruised skin. Her motions were deft, gentle, butterfly soft. The palm under his hand was warm and supportive.
In a matter of seconds, he began to feel a cooling sensation wherever the ointment touched, and then a blessed numbness.
She finally looked up, meeting his gaze. “How’s that?”
He found himself captured by the way the soft light brought out the bronze glints in her coffee-colored eyes. “Much better, thank you.”
With a pleased nod, she turned to replace the lid on her ointment pot.
He swallowed, then tried to hide his momentary discomfiture with a lighter tone. “You should go into the apothecary business rather than opening a restaurant.”
She smiled but shook her head. “I enjoy cooking much more. Besides, Turnabout already has an apothecary.”
She frowned as she took in the sight of the scattered type. “You’re working on getting the paper ready to print.”
“Of course. Tomorrow is Friday.”
“But your hand is injured. Can’t you delay the newspaper a day or so? I’m sure folks will understand when they hear what happened.”
That just showed how little she understood him. “That’s not necessary. I might be slower and clumsier than normal, but I’ll manage. I haven’t missed a deadline since I printed the first Turnabout Gazette, and I see no reason to start now.” It was a point of pride with him to get his paper out on time, every time.
Then he grimaced. “This is no more than what I deserve for getting off schedule. I should have had most of this set by noon instead of leaving it until this evening.” He wouldn’t look too closely at why that had happened.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “If you’re so set on this, then I’m going to assist you.”
Everett noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the hint of weariness in the set of her shoulders. She’d had an exhausting day—she probably hadn’t rested at all since they’d returned from Dr. Pratt’s office. She needed to get some sleep, not help him with his work.
Besides, just how much help could an untrained female be? “I told you, I don’t hold you responsible for what happened.”
“But I do.” She firmly tucked a tendril behind her ear. “I know I can’t do the job as well as you, but I can be your hands. You stand next to me and tell me what needs doing, and I’ll get it done.”
Everett thought about all he had left to accomplish before morning and was sorely tempted. But he didn’t want to take advantage of her. “I’ll be working quite late.”
That didn’t appear to weaken her resolve. “All the more reason I should help—maybe together we can shave a few hours off that time. Besides, I’ve stayed up through the night before and probably will again.”
Stubborn female. But all this arguing was wasting time. He gave a short nod. “Very well. Let’s see if we can make this work.” He moved to one of the wall sconces. “But first we should brighten this room up.” Dusk had fallen, and shadows were creeping into the room. He also opened the outer door wider and made certain the shades on the storefront windows were up. She could call him a fusspot if she liked, but he planned to take every precaution that no hint of impropriety was attached to Daisy’s presence here.
Daisy moved to the other wall and lit the sconces there.
Once the room was suitably illuminated and all hint of privacy removed, Everett showed her the articles that needed to be prepped and then walked her through the process. Then he painstakingly, letter by letter, instructed her on where to place the type and which type to use.
Daisy was surprisingly dexterous and took direction well. It was equally surprising that it didn’t take much longer than it usually did when he worked alone. But by the time they were done, the day’s events had taken their toll on both of them. Exhaustion had turned Daisy’s natural cheery outlook into a mild case of giddiness.
And he was tired enough to find it amusing.
When the last page was finally printed and placed on the drying rack, Daisy turned and stretched.
“We did it,” she said, as if it had been a monumental accomplishment. Then she giggled and did a triumphant little dance step. Unfortunately, she bumped into a nearby file cabinet as she did so.
She continued giggling as Everett reached out to steady her, and suddenly she was in his embrace again. Her giggling abruptly stopped as her eyes widened in surprise, and something else. Was his reaction equally telling? Because she felt every bit as good in his arms today as she had yesterday.
Everett closed his eyes to steady himself, but that was a mistake. His senses were immediately flooded with an awareness of her scent, her breathing, her warmth—of her.
After what seemed ages, but was probably only a heartbeat or two of time, they separated. There was no sign left of her giddiness, and bright spots of red stained her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry.” She didn’t quite meet his gaze. “I don’t know what—”
“No need to apologize. We’ve both had a long day.” Everett was glad his tone held steady. He cast a quick look at the open doorway and was relieved to see that, except for her dog, the sidewalk was deserted. It had been an accidental and totally innocent embrace, but others might not view it that way.
He put more distance between them, moving to the type cabinet. “Thank you for your help tonight, but
I think I can finish the rest on my own.”
“Yes, of course.” She took a deep breath and looked around, as if seeking an answer from his furnishings. Then she straightened and turned an over-bright smile on him. “I’ll take my leave, then.”
“Of course. Good evening, and it’ll be okay if you’re a little late tomorrow.”
She crossed to the door, her shoes beating a rapid tattoo across the floor. Out on the sidewalk, she gave her dog a quick rub. “Come on, Kip. Time to go home.”
Everett followed slowly, watching to see she made it safely inside her place.
She never so much as glanced back.
Everett closed his door and then lowered the shades and turned out the lights. What was wrong with him? He wasn’t interested in her in that way, yet this was the second time in as many days that he’d found himself holding her in his arms. And enjoying every minute of it.
They’d both been exhausted tonight, he’d still been in some pain and neither was thinking clearly. It had been nothing more than that.
Still, the memory of how right she’d felt in his arms lingered with him long after he’d climbed the stairs.
* * *
Daisy stared at the ceiling as she lay in bed. What had come over her? If she was being honest with herself, that embrace hadn’t been totally accidental, at least not on her part. She’d never hugged a man before—well, except for her father and that didn’t count. Yet now she’d found herself in Everett’s arms twice in as many days. And she was certain, just for a minute, that stuffy ole Everett had hugged her right back.
How was she going to face him tomorrow? She rolled over on her side. The trouble was, she couldn’t find it in her heart to regret either incident. There had been a curious mix of strength and gentleness in his embrace, as if he wanted to both cherish and protect her. It had been a foreign and altogether wonderful feeling.
But she knew it was wrong.
Dear Lord, I’m not sure what’s come over me, and I need Your help to be strong. I know You have a man in mind for me, and it can’t be Everett because we’re so different. I’m truly willing to wait for the right man, and I know it will happen in Your timing. I never thought of myself as fickle before, but maybe I am and that’s what You’re trying to show me—that it’s something in me I need to work on.
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