As she bent closer to study her progress, that stray image of her kissing her daughter’s injury popped up in his mind again. Would she—
He abruptly pulled his thoughts back from that dangerous cliff. His reaction to her was a testament to how long it had been since he’d felt the gentle ministrations of a woman, nothing more. And he was certain she wouldn’t welcome any indications that he felt anything other than gratitude.
When Mrs. Leggett had the cut cleaned to her satisfaction, she leaned back and studied it. “You’re definitely going to need stitches, but I don’t believe you’ve cut anything vital.” She looked up then and met his gaze with a reassuring smile. “The bleeding has slowed, but I’m going to wrap it tight to make certain it doesn’t start flowing again before we get you to the clinic.”
When she had put action to words, she met his gaze again. “Now, your left leg seemed to be giving you problems when you tried to get up. Where does it hurt?”
So she’d picked up on that. “It’s my ankle, but I’m sure it’ll be fine in just a bit.”
She scooted over and took his booted foot in her hands, again disregarding the niceties of social behavior. Her gentle probing had him gritting his teeth, but he did his best to not show any outward signs of pain.
She gently set the foot back down. “It’s definitely swollen. I think we’ll leave the boot on until Uncle Grover is ready to examine it. But you shouldn’t be walking on it for now.” Then she met his eyes. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
His head pounded, his shoulder and ankle throbbed and he was starting to feel light-headed. Nothing a little rest wouldn’t cure. “No.”
Her raised eyebrow told him she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press. Instead she gave his good arm a light pat. “Don’t worry, we’re going to take very good care of you.”
Despite his reservations, he had to admit he liked the sound of that.
Mrs. Leggett made as if to stand and the sheriff was at her elbow, lending her a hand.
She smiled up at the lawman. “Thank you, Sheriff. Would you find some men to help carry Mr. Cooper over to the clinic? I’ll go on ahead to help my uncle get things ready.”
The sheriff tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
Carry him? “That won’t be necessary. I just need a little help getting up.”
She gave him a don’t-be-ridiculous look. “You won’t be doing any walking on that ankle, at least not until Uncle Grover takes a look at it.”
The woman wasn’t shy about giving orders. “Well, I certainly don’t intend to let myself be carried through town like a sack of flour. I’d rather hobble. If I could borrow a shoulder to use as support—”
“Your hurt ankle is on the same side as your hurt arm so it would be inadvisable to put any strain on it.”
She even talked like a doctor.
Before he could protest again, the man who’d been driving the wagon stepped forward. “I can take him to your uncle’s clinic in the back of my wagon, if you like?”
Nate clamped down an uncharitable stab of annoyance that the man’s words were directed at Mrs. Leggett rather than him.
But the doctor’s niece nodded, as if she, too, thought it was her decision to make. “Thank you, Mr. James, that will work nicely. I’ll leave this in your and Sheriff Gleason’s very capable hands.” And with another reassuring but rather condescending smile for him, Mrs. Leggett turned and walked into the dress shop. A moment later she stepped out again with her daughter held on her hip. With the little girl’s head snuggled against her shoulder, she marched down the sidewalk.
His eyes followed her progress until she turned a corner and disappeared from view. He still couldn’t quite get over her transformation into a coolheaded, would-be doctor. When she’d stopped in front of his store on her way to the dress shop, he’d gotten the impression that she was more diffident than decisive. But just now, she hadn’t had the least bit of hesitation about taking charge and issuing orders. And she also hadn’t been the least bit put off by either the blood, ugly gash or the fact that she’d had to kneel in the middle of the dusty street to minister to him.
Now that she’d tended to him, she’d changed back into the concerned mother again.
The movement of the wagon pulled his thoughts away from the puzzle Mrs. Leggett presented and onto more immediate matters. He watched as the men maneuvered the vehicle right up beside him, then braced himself to stand. His left side had taken the brunt of the blow. Both his shoulder and ribs felt as if they were on fire, and the gash she’d taken such pains to clean and wrap protested any time he attempted to move his arm. His ankle was the most problematic, though. She hadn’t really needed to warn him not to place any weight on it—the offending joint was doing a thorough job of that all by itself.
But as long as nothing was broken, he should be able to deal with the discomfort, even if it meant using crutches to get around. After all, he didn’t need the use of his legs to do his job. And he certainly couldn’t afford for this to keep him out of commission for long. He was still in the process of getting his fledgling business established.
Not that he regretted his actions. Better he get hurt than something happen to that little girl.
Sheriff Gleason bent down. “I think it best you shove your pride aside for now and allow us to help you into that wagon. Mrs. Leggett isn’t going to be happy if I let you put weight on that ankle of yours.” He grinned. “And right now I’m more worried about her druthers than I am yours.”
Nate nodded. Being helped into a wagon might not be the most dignified way to board, but it was a good sight better than getting carried through town.
The sheriff nodded toward one of the other men. “Jeff, lend me a hand here.” The two men positioned themselves on either side of Nate, then helped him up. The action shot a bolt of pain down his left side, and he had to clamp down hard not to let loose with a string of expletives. He’d spent too much time away from the company of God-fearing folk—he was having to learn how to act in polite company all over again.
The sheriff climbed in beside him, presumably to keep him from falling out, then called to Nestor to get moving.
Nate gritted his teeth throughout the jarring, interminable-seeming ride to the clinic. Perhaps he would take it easy today. The workday would probably be half over before the doctor was finished with him, anyway.
When they finally arrived at the clinic, Nate was guiltily relieved to see Mrs. Leggett and an older man who was presumably her uncle step outside with a stretcher—he would have had trouble taking more than a few steps on his own. Mrs. Leggett had changed into a clean dress and wore a crisp white apron over it.
“Mr. Cooper, this is my uncle, Dr. Grover Pratt,” she said as soon as she was close enough to speak to him. “Uncle Grover, this is Mr. Cooper, the man who saved Joy’s life.”
Nate shifted. All this excessive gratitude was making him uncomfortable.
“Hello, young man. Let me add my thanks to that of my niece. That was a very brave thing you did, saving our Joy.”
“I’m just glad I was in a position to help her, sir.”
Sheriff Gleason clamped him on his uninjured shoulder. “Don’t let his modesty fool you, Doc. I saw the whole thing. Mr. Cooper here is a real hero.”
Dr. Pratt nodded. “Let’s start showing our appreciation by getting him inside, where he’ll be more comfortable.”
Sheriff Gleason and the wagon driver took the ends of the stretcher and Nate maneuvered himself onto it with a minimum of help. Mrs. Leggett stayed beside him as the