Hardy chuckled. “You’re all right, boy,” he said.
Clint removed his sock and studied his injured foot. It was red and already swelling, but the skin hadn’t been broken. He touched the skin, feeling around, as he’d had some medical training.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, truly contrite now. She stripped the soiled gloves from her hands and pulled on clean ones from the bag, then she knelt next to him and examined his foot. “We’ll stop by the doctor when we reach Covenant Falls...” Her voice faltered. She was close to him, too close. His eyes were a rich, dark brown. Almost black. Challenging. Too challenging.
“No need,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
She shook her head. “I want X-rays,” she insisted, trying to keep her voice steady. “I might lose two good friends if I don’t take care of you, and so far I haven’t done very well.”
“I’ve had a lot worse injuries,” he said. “Maybe not as humiliating. I have met the enemy, and it is Isobel.”
Stephanie couldn’t help but grin.
“You do smile,” he said.
“Occasionally,” she replied. “Can you stand? I’ve been stepped on several times. It’s an occupational hazard. I know how much it hurts.”
“But obviously not fatal.”
Dang, but he was getting to her. No. No. No.
She held out her hand. He took it, and heat ran through her like an electrical charge. He rose easily, even gracefully, although he gritted his teeth as he put weight on the injured foot. He took a step and nearly buckled, his face draining of color.
His clothes were filthy. Hay tangled in his hair and dirt smudged his face. He smelled like the wrong end of a cow.
Yet, he looked far more attractive now than he had standing in new clothes at the bus stop. The rueful half smile was all too beguiling.
Didn’t make any difference. She’d worked too hard to get to where she was today. She was a terrible judge of men. Twice, she’d allowed outward appearances to blind her. A third would prove her the fool she’d felt at the end of both of her marriages. Now she ran like hell when her body tingled with even a little initial attraction.
She couldn’t run right now. She had agreed to pick up Clint Morgan and now she felt responsible for what had just happened. Hell’s bells, she was responsible. Josh was not going to be pleased, and he and his wife were among the few people whose opinion she valued.
She inwardly shuddered as she thought about telling him. Josh planned to be waiting at the cabin. Now the meeting would be at a doctor’s office.
Hardy had watched with concern. “You’re welcome to come inside and clean up a bit,” he said.
Clint inspected his clothes, and his eyes lit up with mischief.
“I’m good,” he said. “Dr. Phillips and I will be a matched pair.”
She groaned. She looked almost as bad as her charge. “We’ll stop at the doctor’s office just to make sure nothing is broken.”
“Nothing is,” Clint assured her.
“I would rather have a doctor tell me that,” she replied stiffly. “I’m responsible...”
His gaze hardened. “You are not responsible. Hardy is not responsible. I’m responsible for being so damned clumsy. I volunteered, remember. I’m not a hothouse flower.”
Anger, mixed with frustration, laced his voice. She nodded, backing off. She well knew the frustration of feeling helpless.
“Okay. Can you get into the van?”
He nodded, then shook Hardy’s hand. “I hope you don’t have more problems with Isobel.”
Hardy grinned. “I’m afraid she needs a few lessons in gratitude. I, however, don’t. You need anything, you have a friend here.” He turned to Stephanie. “You should hire him. You could do a whole lot worse. And send me your bill for Isobel. Include any charges from Doc Bradley.”
She stared at him for a moment. Hardy was usually cantankerous and argued about every bill. “Will do.” She eyed Clint. “Need some help?”
“A shoulder, maybe,” he said, and she detected amusement in his eyes.
She was trapped. She suddenly wondered whether he sensed her reluctance and had used his foot as an excuse to touch her. But she had offered, and she owed him. She put her arm around him and together they hobbled to the van. “Maybe I should change,” he said, peering at the wet stains on his pants and wrinkling his nose at the accompanying foul odor. “I have clean pants in the duffel.”
Hardy had already headed for the ranch house. Had Clint waited until Hardy had returned to the house before making that decision? Maybe she was just too suspicious. “You can change in the back of the van,” she said. “I have a couple of calls to make.” She hesitated, then asked suspiciously, “Do you need any help?”
“Maybe to get into the van. Not to change,” he said with that oddly attractive upward turn of the left side of his lips. The half smile was crooked and endearing. Vulnerable. And as tempting as forbidden fruit.
She was in trouble. She needed to keep her distance from Clint Morgan. As soon as she helped him into the van, she closed the door without another word. She walked over to the fence, called Doc and told him she would be there in thirty minutes, then she called Josh for the second time.
“We’re a bit more delayed,” she said. “There’s been a little accident and I’m taking Mr. Morgan to Doc Bradley’s.”
A long silence at the other end, then, “What kind of ‘little’ accident?”
“A heifer stepped on his foot.”
Another silence.
“And...” Josh prompted, inviting a fuller explanation that she was loath to give over the phone.
“I’m pretty sure nothing is broken. Just want to be sure. He also...umm...kinda needs a bath.”
“What did you do, Stephanie?”
“You know Hardy Pearson. One of his cows was in trouble. A twisted stomach. Mr. Morgan offered to help. Isobel stepped on him.”
“Who in the hell is IsobeI?”
“The heifer. She’s one of Hardy’s prize breeding stock.”
Still another long silence. It was Josh’s quiet way to indicate he was not happy. “I’ll meet you at Doc Bradley’s,” he said finally and hung up.
Her passenger must have had enough time to change. Then she spotted the new-looking loafers near the fence. She picked them up and headed to the back of the van. She knocked. No way was she going to barge in.
The door opened. Clint Morgan hadn’t changed his soiled shirt, but now wore a new pair of khakis. His feet were covered only by socks, and his thick dark hair was rumpled, as if he’d just combed it with his fingers. His eyes were the color of rich dark coffee, and they appeared far more alive than before the heifer affair. Instead of reflecting pain, they practically danced with mischief.
An unwelcome warmth spread through her. She willed it away. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t trust him. Hell’s bells. She didn’t trust herself.
He stepped down on his good leg, then put an arm around her shoulder for the short hobble to the front of the van. Once again, she felt trapped. He was too close.