Second Chance Hero (3 page)

Chapter Three

F
or an agonizing heartbeat, as the wagon bore down on her daughter, time froze. Verity felt every irregularity in the pebble that bit into her palm, could taste the tang of blood from where she'd bit the inside of her cheek when she fell to the ground, could see the dust motes hanging in the air before her.

Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus. Please, Jesus.

She wasn't sure whether she was uttering the frantic prayer aloud or if it was just shrieking through her thoughts.

From somewhere a woman screamed, but all sounds, save for the wagon's relentless rumbling progress, seemed to come from a great distance.

Verity spotted the moment the wagon driver spied Joy and tried to turn his horses.

And still Joy didn't move.

Then, from out of nowhere, Mr. Cooper shot past her, and time sped up with a whoosh. He dived toward Joy, reaching her a heart-stopping split second before the horse's hooves would have trampled the child, and pushing her out of the way.

Without remembering having moved, Verity was suddenly kneeling in the road with her weeping daughter clutched tightly against her. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest and her breath came in near gasps. She'd come so close to losing her precious baby. She could still feel the stab of keening desolation that pierced her the moment she'd realized she couldn't get to Joy in time. This time the prayer she sent up was one of thanksgiving.

“Mama, you're squeezing too tight.” Joy's querulous complaint ended on a hiccup.

Verity had to fight down the hysterical bubble of laughter that wanted to leap from her throat. Instead she loosened her hold and pushed back just enough to examine her daughter, brushing aside a tendril of Joy's hair with fingers that trembled uncontrollably. “Don't you
ever
scare Mommy like that again.”

Joy shook her head, then hiccupped again as her tears stopped.

Verity was vaguely aware that Hazel stood at her elbow and that a crowd had gathered, but her attention remained focused on reassuring herself that Joy really was okay.

Fortunately, her daughter appeared more scared and confused than hurt. The stains and smears on her pinafore were dirt, not blood.

“I'm so sorry.”

Verity looked up into the pale, worried face of Nestor James, the wagon driver.

“Please tell me your little girl's okay,” he continued as he crushed his hat in his hands. “I didn't see her 'til I was practically on top of her.”

“It's not your fault, Mr. James.” Though her voice was still shaky, now that Verity knew Joy was okay she could be reasonable. “I should have kept closer watch over her. And it appears Joy isn't hurt—just shaken up. Thanks to Mr. Cooper.”

She looked around for the man who'd saved her daughter.

And only then realized he hadn't fared as well as Joy.

He was sitting up, his movements slow and stiff. There was a darkening bruise on his forehead, he held his left arm stiffly and his sleeve was ripped and stained with blood and dirt.

Sheriff Gleason had bent down to lend him a hand up.

Verity immediately intervened. “Don't get up yet, Mr. Cooper. Not until I've had a look at you.” There was no telling how badly he might be injured.

He gave her a startled look, which she ignored. Instead she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Keep an eye on him, please.” Then she turned back to Joy. “Do you hurt anywhere, pumpkin?”

Joy bent her right arm and lifted it for inspection. “I hurted my elbow. And Lulu got smushed.”

Quickly noting that Joy's elbow was merely scraped, Verity bent down and gave it a kiss. “There, is that better?”

Joy nodded, swiping at the dirt and tears on her face with her other sleeve. Then she handed the doll up to her mother. Verity obediently gave the doll a kiss, as well. “There. You should both feel better once you've washed up a bit.”

Then she gave her daughter a stern look. “Now, I want you to stay close to Miss Hazel while I check on Mr. Cooper.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Hazel took Joy's hand and gave Verity a nod.

Inhaling a fortifying breath, Verity turned to check on the condition of the man to whom she owed so much.

* * *

Nate Cooper watched the woman's sudden transformation with fascination. A moment ago she'd been understandably shaky, emotional, on the verge of hysteria even, over what had nearly happened to her daughter.

He would have thought that the sight of his sorry state would have pushed her even further toward hysteria. Instead, she seemed composed and even decisive. Which was something of a relief. He'd rather deal with an oncoming wagon all over again than with an overly emotional woman.

But what had she meant by
have a look at you
? Did she fancy herself a doctor? He'd seen the kiss-it-and-make-it-better approach she'd used with her daughter and the doll—not exactly by-the-book medicine. Though, come to think on it, he wouldn't be particularly averse if she wanted to try that method with him...

He quickly pushed that entirely inappropriate thought aside as the woman in question knelt down beside him.

“Before I do anything else,” she said softly, “I want to tell you how unbelievably brave what you just did was, and to let you know I'm so much more than grateful. You not only saved my daughter just now, but me, as well.”

The woman's moss-green eyes glowed with a gratitude that verged on hero worship. That shook him much more than the accident with the wagon had. He hadn't been on the receiving end of such a look since he'd lost his sister nearly a decade ago, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But hero worship was something he didn't want.

Or deserve.

He'd just been at the right place at the right time—nothing more. He'd seen Beans bark at the cat and send it running across the road. He'd then seen the child follow the feline. It had been pure instinct to go after her—nothing heroic about it.

“I'll be okay,” he said brusquely, waving the woman away with his right hand. “You should see to your daughter.”

The woman ignored his suggestion and began rolling up her sleeves. “Joy is fine, thanks to you. And that gash on your arm definitely needs some attention.”

Without waiting for a response from him, she glanced up at the crowd milling around them. “Someone get me a pail of water to clean this up. And I'll need some clean rags, as well.”

To his surprise, several individuals from the crowd nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. Then she turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Do you have a pocketknife I can borrow?”

The lawman never hesitated. He pulled out his knife, opened it for her and handed it over.

Nate raised a hand. “Now, hold on.” These folks might trust the woman, but he wasn't ready to let her cut on him. “What do you intend to do with that thing?”

Her brow went up and there was an amused twist to her lips. “Don't worry, I'm not planning to operate on you. Yet.” He was only partly reassured by her dry tone.

She took the knife and, with a quick movement, sliced his already ripped shirt all the way to the cuff.

He tried one more time to wrest control from the stubborn woman. “See, it's just a cut. I'll be okay. If it makes you feel better I'll go see the doctor.” He tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain shot through his left ankle and he winced involuntarily.

“You are
not
okay.” She put a firm hand on his right shoulder. “Don't move until I have a look at you.” Her expression softened slightly. “Don't worry, I do have some medical training.”

That would explain her air of authority. But was she serious? “You're a doctor?”

“Not exactly. But the town's doctor is my uncle and my late husband was a physician, as well. So you see, I've worked with doctors most of my life. I know what to do.”

The “not exactly doctor” turned to the dressmaker, who still held the little girl's hand. “Would you mind taking Joy back to your shop until I've finished here?”

“Of course.” Miss Andrews smiled down at the little girl. “Come on, sweetie, let's get you and Lulu cleaned up and then we'll see if we can find a cookie to snack on.”

The woman's gaze lingered on her daughter as the two walked away. But a moment later a young man set the requested pail of water at her feet and she turned to smile up at him. “Thank you, Calvin. Now would you mind running over to the clinic and letting my uncle know he'll have a patient shortly?”

“Yes, ma'am.” And with that the young man was off again.

Finally she turned back to him. “Since I'm about to tend to your injuries,” she said with a caretaker's smile, “I should probably introduce myself. I'm Mrs. Verity Leggett.”

Nate gave a short nod. “Mrs. Leggett. I'm Nate Cooper.”

“Now that we've gotten the pleasantries out of the way, let's get this arm cleaned up, shall we, so we can see what we're dealing with?”

He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of being examined by a female doctor, no matter how pretty or confident she was. It seemed vaguely ungentlemanly to put her through such unpleasantness. “There's no need to trouble yourself, Mrs. Leggett. I can get myself over to the doctor—”

She didn't let him finish. “I agree that my uncle should see you. And he will—just as soon as I make sure we have this cleaned up and the bleeding has stopped.”

She dipped a cloth in the water and then gently dabbed at the gash, cleaning away the dirt and blood with her right hand while she supported his arm with her left. Her touch was gentle but sure, and not at all unpleasant.

As Mrs. Leggett bent over him, he could smell the faint scent of honeysuckle on her, could see the glint of sunlight tease out touches of auburn in her mahogany hair. The feel of her hand supporting his arm as she gently cleaned the cut was warm and strong in a uniquely feminine kind of way.

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.