Another Chance (15 page)

"What do you suppose Jillian will do next?"  Scott asked between hammering.

Wade lowered his arm.  "What do you mean?"

"Do you think she'll leave Cedar Springs if she doesn't get work?"

He hadn't considered that option but he supposed it would make sense.  She needed income to survive.  Still, the idea of her packing and moving didn't sit well with him.

"I don't know," he answered simply.  "I suppose she could."

"Be a shame if she did," James said.  He straddled the wood, rested his hammer on his thigh.  "Who knows when we'll get another one?"

"And one as pretty," Scott added.  He'd moved into a position that would have made a monkey proud.  With one leg wrapped around a beam, he reached into his pocket, drew out some nails and placed them between his lips.

"Be careful.  I don't want you falling or we'll be picking nails from your cheeks for a week."

Wade looked down, a good fifteen feet.  His stomach clenched.  Not a good idea.  He knew better than to look down.  Feeling the world tilt, he wrapped his hands around the wood, hammer and all, and looked up.  Through the frame of the rafters, small puffy balls of clouds floated by lazily.  He concentrated on their movement until his stomach settled back into position.

"Hey, are you going to daydream all day or are you going to carry your weight?"

Wade pulled himself together and looked at James, who seemed as comfortable on the narrow board as he would in a saddle.  He took the jab for what it was, a distraction from his fear.  James had known since he'd offered to build him a tree house when he was six that Wade couldn't stomach heights.

"Yeah, keep your shirt on.  I just need to get some more nails."

Scott, having stopped to dig some out of his pocket, leaned over as far as his arm could reach.  "Here, take these.  It's almost supper time anyway.  That'll get you by for a few minutes."

Not daring to look down, Wade stretched to take the nails.  It wasn't enough.  Though only a few inches separated them, it may as well have been a mile.  Grunting, Scott shifted and tried again, but lost his balance.  The nails in his hands dropped to the dirt below.

"Shit!" he yelled.

Instinct, not logic, had Wade reaching for Scott's hand.  Managing to rotate and grab, Scott was able to stay up.  Wade wasn't so lucky.  In a matter of seconds his balance shifted too far to be righted.  It happened so quickly he didn't have a hope.  As his upper body swung down his legs slipped from around the wood.  His stomach plunged right along with the rest of him.   The ground came up fast and all he could do was close his eyes.

The impact hit hard.  Pain shot up his leg.  His ankle gave out and he fell to the ground.  His head smacked something cold and sharp.  His breath knocked out, he gasped and wheezed for air.  From above he heard shouts and shuffling.

"Wade!  Wade, can you hear me?"

He worked hard on getting his breath back but it seemed his lungs weren't working.  It was as though someone had smacked him across the chest with a wooden beam.  He tried inhaling but he sounded like a donkey braying.  Panic engulfed him.  His lungs burned.  The harder he tried, the more panicked he became and the less air came in.

Suddenly strong arms lifted him from behind.  Propped, Wade was at last able to draw in air.  He took several long breaths, letting whoever was behind him support his weight.

James moved into his line of vision, his face was pale.  "Are you okay?  You're bleeding."

"I think so."  Testing his theory, Wade looked from side to side.  Well, he hadn't broken his neck.  His arms were heavy and stung on the shoulder he'd landed on, but otherwise they worked.  His ankle, though, he knew.  If not broken, it was sprained badly.  As the rest of James' words sank in, something warm trickled past his eye and over his jawbone.

"How bad is it?"  Scott asked over Wade's shoulder.

Luckily he didn't loosen his grip or else Wade would have fallen again.  He was in too much pain to support himself.

James leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.  "Too much blood to tell for sure.  Let's get him in the house.  Once we get him cleaned up we'll have a better idea."  He sat back on his haunches.  "Are you ready to get up or do you need a few minutes?"

Wade felt like he'd been stampeded over, and his boot already squeezed his ankle.  If he waited much longer they'd never be able to get it off.

"I'm ready.  But I don't think I can walk on my left ankle."

Keeping his foot off the ground, Wade stood up.  Scott moved around to his side.

Hobbling, they staggered through large yellow rectangles the sun cast on the dirt floor.  Each hop was excruciating for Wade.  His ankle throbbed and his head pounded.  The sun beat down on the ground, causing it to look hazy.  Or was that just his head reacting to the blow?  Judging from the trickle, which was creeping into the collar of his shirt, the blood wasn't subsiding.

Feeling weak, he leaned heavily into Scott.  Wade's eyelids drooped and his head bobbed.  Somehow they shuffled along and it was with great relief when they reached the house.  But one thing stood in the way of him, a chair, and a long swig of whiskey.  The porch.  Raising his head he looked at the two steps as though they were the highest mountains.  They may as well be.  Horses stomped in his head, and he was light-headed.  His swollen ankle pressed against the leather of his boot and every time he inhaled all he smelled was blood, dirt and sweat.

The front door flew open.  "Wade!" his mother gasped.  "What happened?"

"Papa!"

Though he felt like he was wading through mud, Wade forced himself to talk.  He didn't want his daughter frightened.  "Button, I'm okay," he managed through teeth clenched in pain.

"Eileen, we'll need some water and a cloth or two.  Once we clean up the blood, we'll have a better idea of how bad it is."

"Annabelle," Scott said in the same gentle voice he used for horses, "could you get some pillows for your pa?  We're going to set him on the couch."

Though his vision wavered, Wade saw his daughter nod solemnly and run up the stairs.

"I'm okay," he managed again.  "I just need to sit a spell."

"We won't know for certain until you're cleaned up.  Might be we'll have to take you to town for stitches."

The idea of being jostled the whole way there and back had his ankle screaming and his head thumping.

"First, though, we have to get you up the porch.  You let us take your weight, just jump when we tell you."

Oh hell, Wade thought, but he nodded.  With his arms around their shoulders, they made it to the bottom of the steps.

"Okay, jump."

They took his weight and he landed on the first step.  Pain exploded between his ears when he landed.

"Once more," Scott encouraged.

Gritting his teeth Wade did as he was told.  Though he landed on his good foot both times, the jarring ripped through his body like lightning.

"Good, hard part's over," James said.

That was easy for them to say, Wade thought as he staggered through the entryway.  Suddenly that hard couch was looking mighty good to him.  And once he got there, no way in hell was he getting off of it to go to town.

"I'm not going," he muttered.

"Going where?" James asked as they lay him down.

"Town.  Not.  Going."

And then the pain got the best of him and the world went black.

Jillian stood on the Parker's porch, her heart drumming in her chest.  She'd needed to go home after the meeting, needed to calm down.  Her mind had been racing and she'd been trembling with emotion.  Going home had been her only thought.  She wasn't a stranger to narrow-mindedness, but it never failed to infuriate her.

After spending the rest of the afternoon in her barn with her animals, and feeling much better for it, she'd cleaned up, changed and ridden over to say her thanks.

But now, the idea of seeing Wade again made her nervous.  She hadn't stayed to see how he'd been treated, hadn't lingered to offer her thanks.  Did he think she hadn't appreciated his gesture?  Had the townsfolk unleashed their resentment on him and did he blame her for leaving him to deal with it alone after he was kind enough to come to her defense?

Well, she wasn't going to find out standing here.  Wiping her damp hands on her navy riding skirt she knocked on the door.  Through the wood she heard a hullabaloo--voices talking all at once, pots clanging and someone running?  Certain that they couldn't have heard her, Jillian raised her hand again.  The door swung inward but it wasn't the cacophony that struck Jillian, it was Scott's appearance.

Hair disheveled, face streaked with blood and dirt and his eyes looking especially large in his face, Jillian immediately thought the worst.

"Thank God," he breathed as he grabbed her arm and pulled her inside.

"James! Eileen.  Jillian's here!"

Eileen ran to the door.  Her eyes swam with tears.  Her face was ashen and there were bloodstains on the shoulder of her blouse.  From the parlor Jillian heard Annabelle crying.  Jillian's heart skipped a beat.  Dear Lord, what had happened?

"Oh, Jillian, thank goodness you're here!" her friend exclaimed.  "Wade's been hurt."

Jillian's heart jumped to her throat.  She didn't hesitate when Eileen pulled her into the parlor.  The first thing she saw was Annabelle, on her knees with her father's hand clasped within her own, her head resting on his chest.  James stood at the front of the couch, his hand on Wade's head.

She moved closer, sucked in her breath at the sight of the blood-soaked cloth in James' hand.

"What happened?"

James ran a hand through his hair.  "We were working on the rafters of the barn.  He slipped and fell to the ground.  I'm pretty sure he twisted his ankle 'cause his leg gave out when he landed.  He hit his head against a rock, got the breath knocked out of him but he was talking right up to the time we got him in here, then he passed out cold."

Scott's gaze was stuck on his dusty boots.  "I slipped and he reached to help.  That's when he lost his balance."

"Is my papa going to be okay?" Annabelle asked in a watery voice.

Seeing Wade's chest rise and fall in a smooth rhythm, his left boot already off, Jillian knelt next to Annabelle.  "See this," she said, pointing out the steady rhythm of his breathing.  "That's a really good sign.  If your papa was really hurt, his breathing wouldn't be that steady."

"But he's not waking up!" Annabelle whimpered.

"Well, sometimes that's the body's way of dealing with an injury.  As long as your papa's sleeping, he's not feeling any pain."

The girl nodded, but she didn't release her grip on her father's hand.

Jillian turned to the others, who had gathered behind her.  "Head wounds always bleed a lot.  He may look worse than he is.  We'll know once I get him cleaned up."

Eileen gasped, and, if possible, her eyes became even more haunted.  "I forgot!  I was supposed to have gotten some water to do just that but we'd just gotten him settled and I was on my way to the kitchen when you knocked.  And-"

James handed Jillian the cloth he'd been holding, then placed a hand on his Eileen's elbow.   "Come on.  I'll help," he said and guided her to the kitchen.

Scott seemed lost.  His gaze scanned the room, his hands clenched and unclenched at his side.  Knowing the best medicine was distraction, she sent him to unsaddle and tend to Hope now that her visit was going to be longer than she'd planned.

Jillian turned to Wade's daughter, whose blue eyes were fastened on her father.  Tears ran down her freckled cheeks and her sniffles seemed loud as a herd of horses in the otherwise still room.  Jillian knew that kind of pain, had felt its searing burn as she'd sat beside her own father's unmoving form.  But Wade was going to be fine and since it appeared as though everyone had been too scared themselves to reassure Annabelle, Jillian took the time to do so now.

But when she opened her mouth, Jillian realized she had no idea how to do that.  She'd never dealt with children other than answering their questions regarding her work.  Usually if an animal couldn't be saved, it was the parent left to do the explaining.  Jillian thought to her own experience, not so long ago, when her father lay dying and what had brought her comfort.  Jillian placed her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Annabelle, you're father is going to be fine, but it's important that I examine him to be certain."

"But I don't want to leave him!"

"I'd never ask that.  I know you want to be near him, that you need to see for yourself that he'll be all right.  But I need to wash him and have a closer look at that gash on his forehead."

Though Annabelle nodded her agreement, she didn't let go of her father's hand.

"I can't help him, Annabelle, if you're in the way," she reminded her gently.

"Do you promise I can stay?"

"I promise.  All I need is some room.  Maybe you could stand by his feet.  If you're careful, you can pull off his sock.  I'll need to look at his ankle once I'm done with his head."

"Won't that hurt him?" she asked.  She wiped her cheeks dry and Jillian was glad to see the tears had stopped.