My Southern Bride (The Texas Two-Step Series, Book 4) (6 page)

Actually, moving was out of his grasp.

All he could do was wait for his breathing to calm, hope the throb in his ankle would subside, and stay in place so it didn't hurt quite so badly.

Needing to keep his mind off the pain, he turned his focus to Lori.

She removed her gloves, scarf and coat, careful not to shake the snow on the floor, then hung them up to dry on the rack by the back door. He had to give her credit. He hadn't known it was in her to soldier on like she had, through all that snow and wind, taking most of his weight, and in high-heeled boots to top it off.

And boy, she hadn't minded pointing out how
she
hadn't been the one to fall. Instead of raising his ire, the thought made him smile despite himself.

Apparently she had hidden strengths, or maybe it was just that the Palmer blood, although seemingly dormant within her, ran tough and resilient.

He hadn't yet made up his mind when she faced him. She stepped close enough her breath feathered his cheek. Their gazes met, and Monty Joe lost himself in the depths of her blue eyes. She reached out and unwrapped his scarf, her soft hands brushing the snow away. He gulped. When she unzipped his jacket and removed it, his imagination took flight.

It had to be pain that had him picturing her taking off his clothing, slowly, one item at a time. It had to be pain that had him imagining his doing the same for her. One layer at a time.

Somehow, without instructions from his brain to his body, his hand pushed the blond curls from her face, and his palm came to rest on her cheek.

Lori paused, and a brief expression of confusion clouded her eyes, but then she took his hand in hers and lowered it. "Let's get you to bed and take off your boots. I think you may be in shock, Monty Joe."

He was in shock, all right. Shock at how soft her skin had felt beneath his touch. Shock at how much he wanted to touch her again.

And when she pulled him forward, away from the wall, he was in even more shock at the pain bursting from his ankle to the top of his head.

For once the pain was a good thing. It cleared his head, letting him remember this was Lori. Selfish. Self-centered. Self-serving. Not at all a woman he wanted to mentally undress.

Lori pushed him to keep moving, taking as much of his weight as she could tolerate. Monty Joe didn't want to put too much of his bulk on her, because she was as tiny and dainty as a forest fairy, but he wasn't comfortable with how often he had to lean on her.

With one painful step after another, at last his bed loomed in front of him. He toppled face-forward across it.

"Turn over, Monty Joe." Lori placed her hands on his arm and tried to help.

He sucked in a long breath, then did as she instructed.

"That's better."

She was right. It was better. Getting his weight off his injured ankle lessened the pain. "Thanks."

"We need to get your boots off right away. Your ankle might already be so swollen the boot will have to be cut off."

"No way. These are my favorite work boots."

"Boots can be replaced. Feet not so much."

"I'll take them off."

"Go right ahead." Lori sounded exasperated, but the worried smile on her face told him otherwise.

Monty Joe struggled to raise himself to a sitting position. But it wasn't easy.

"Want some help?" Lori offered him her hand.

He ignored it. "I'm not a helpless invalid."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

Once he sat up fully, he reached down to take off the boot covering his left foot. He could usually tug the thing off with one quick movement. Now he was unable to bend his ankle into the right position. "Hmm. My foot isn't cooperating."

"What can I do?"

"Grab the toe and heel of my boot and pull. I'll yank from my end, and that should do it."

She did as he instructed, but when it was his turn to pull his leg out, the pain shot through him again. He gritted his teeth, determined. At last his foot emerged, and Lori fell backside first against the closet door behind her.

She pushed against the door to stand upright, wiggled the boot, and smiled. "Yay. It's off."

He'd fully expected her to whine or complain. "If hurting like the dickens is something to cheer about then, yeah, yay."

Coming closer to examine his injury, she said, "The good news is there's no exposed bone or blood."

"What's the bad news?"

"It's pretty swollen."

Monty Joe glanced down. Free of the boot, and about the size of a small melon, his ankle throbbed even more.

Again their gazes met. This time, though, he saw sympathy and worry in her eyes.

"A doctor ought to look at this."

"I'll get right on that."

"It could be broken."

"It's not. Just sprained."

"Then it's a really bad one."

Monty Joe shrugged. He'd received enough rodeo injuries to have a good idea she was right. The sprain
was
really bad. "It's not broken."

"Suit yourself." Lori started toward the door. "I'll be right back."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He shifted to lie on the bed properly, then shut his eyes while he waited.

For the next few minutes, sounds echoed through the house from cupboard doors and drawers opening and closing, first in the kitchen and then the bathroom.

Then blissful silence.

He didn't know how long his eyes had been closed, but when he cracked them open again, Lori stood at the foot of his bed. In her arms she juggled a glass of water, a bag of frozen peas and a bottle of aspirin.

"Oh, good," she said. "I was afraid you were asleep."

"I wish I were."

"Well, this should help." She placed the frozen peas on his ankle, and he struggled to keep from flinching at the coldness.

Next she shook two aspirin from the bottle and offered them and the glass to him.

"I told you I'm not an invalid."

Considering the stubborn expression crossing her face, further resistance would be useless.

"Fine." He washed down the aspirin, then handed the empty glass back to her.

She leaned across him, her hair tickling his nose, then tugged a pillow from the other side of the bed down to his foot.

Very carefully, almost tenderly, she raised his leg and foot. He bit back the mounting pain until she positioned the pillow more comfortably beneath his ankle.

"There." She stood and gave him a quick visual exam. She pulled the covers to tuck him in, then nodded. "It's about bedtime. Do you need anything else? Another pillow maybe?"

"I'll be fine." His tone came out gruffer than he'd expected, but then, it had been a long time, decades, since anyone had looked after him like this. He didn't hate it.

She turned to leave.

"Lori?"

She spun back.

"Thank you."

"I'm glad I was here to help. I wish I could do more."

"I suppose a good night kiss is out of the question." He meant it as a joke, but a small part of him liked the idea of a kiss right about now.

Lori shot him a sarcastic glare, but he barely noticed because of a memory flitting through the fog of pain. Her face in his hand. And how much he'd liked it.

Lori blew him an air kiss and shot out of his bedroom like a wild filly.

He didn't call her back this time. If he had, and she'd returned, he was certain he'd have found a way to steal that kiss.

Chapter 7

Worry kept Lori awake long into the night. Would Monty Joe's ankle be okay in the morning? Would the snow ever stop? Would she ever fall asleep?

Each time she almost drifted off, Monty Joe returned to her thoughts. How he'd seemed determined to keep his distance, but hadn't been able to resist for long. How he'd been out of sorts at first, but when he forgot he didn't like her, he'd been very good company. How devoted he was to his family and animals, and took his responsibilities seriously. And how she'd reacted to the feel of his strong, muscled body leaning into hers...

She shouldn't go there.

The man could be both tough and tender, but he simply didn't like her. The realization of how much she had grown to admire him hurt, because liking a man who didn't like her spelled nothing but future heartache.

In the morning, the snow would stop and she'd be back on her way home to Dallas. To all the last-minute details for the golf tournament fundraiser. Plus she had classes with the literacy organization to look forward to.

She had plans, and none of them included Monty Joe.

When at last she fell asleep, she dreamed of golf, her family and a man with a goat. Images of the spreadsheet she'd made with all of the tournament preparations filled her mind. Would Carolyn find it? Would she make sense of it?

Then the dream centered on the goat. Why was Monty Joe's goat in her dream of her future life? In that future life, she was very good at her job, helping people both indirectly and directly. Small children were seated in a semi-circle surrounding Billy and Lori. The children took turns reading aloud—and behind them hovered Monty Joe, looking oh too cocky and oh too handsome in his cowboy hat, jeans and boots.

A loud noise woke her early, too early, the next morning. The digital clock on the dresser read 4:45 AM.

She glanced about the dark room, gathering her wits. The boom had come from downstairs and had been heavy enough to shake the walls. Monty Joe?

Leaping from her bed, she dashed down the stairs and to his bedroom.

Although the room was dark, enough light came from the den that she could make out Monty Joe's empty bed. As she scanned the room, she found him on the floor, one long leg stretched out in front and the other bent as he tried to lift himself up.

"Are you okay? Did you fall out of bed?"

"Not exactly." He let out a mild curse. "Ankle."

"Need anything?"

"Nope."

"Can I at least help you up?" she asked.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded as if he'd made up his mind. "I need your help, all right, but it's not for me."

"You sure look like the one needing help right now."

"You can help me stand. I have to go out to the barn and take care of the animals."

She reached forward and helped him to his feet, but he leaned as heavily on her as he had the night before. "I don't think you're going anywhere."

"Lori, this is a ranch. Even if I were dying, I'd drag myself to tend to my animals."

"Lucky for you, then, that I'm here. I can take care of them."

His brows shot up in disbelief.

"Don't be mean. I grew up around animals, and I'm sure I can take care of yours."

"Lori, I've been to your family's place. Remember? Your father has a foreman and several hands that tend to your animals. I bet you've never even given your horse more than a carrot or sugar cube."

Even though he wasn't exactly right, he was close, and his jibe hit home. Tempted to allow him to find out how well he'd do without her supporting his weight, she reminded herself that she'd be grumpy, too, if she were the one with an injured ankle. "Be that as it may, I'm what you have to work with. I'm strong, capable and willing. Now, do you want to go back to bed?"

"I want to take care of my animals—" He paused after taking one look at the frown she shot him. "I guess I'm not getting my way."

She shook her head.

"Can you help me into the living room?"

"Let's go." She tightened her grip around his waist and tried, hard, not to react to his muscled torso, to the feel of his arm wrapping around her, to the leathered scent of him. But despite her best attempts, as they slowly made their way out of the bedroom, some delighted part of her reveled in the warmth of his body so close to hers.

It wasn't that it was Monty Joe.

It couldn't be.