Second Chance Hero. Winnie Griggs
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gripping the edge of the table on either side of him.
And he was honest enough with himself to admit he liked the feel of having her all around him. But, knowing she wouldn’t feel the same, he refused to take advantage of the situation.
He’d remain upright, no matter the cost.
With that in mind, this time he accepted the offer of a leather strap to bite down on.
Verity could tell Mr. Cooper was doing his best to avoid leaning against her. She saw his knuckles whiten as his grip on the table edge tightened, saw his muscles tauten to unbelievable levels, saw the sweat bead on the back of his neck. This couldn’t be good for that freshly stitched gash.
That reminder of his bandaged arm made her fingers tingle again. When she’d wrapped his arm earlier, she’d found it surprisingly difficult to maintain the polite detachment that usually came so easily to her. Instead she’d been keenly aware of the warmth of his skin, the sound of his breathing and the feel of his gaze on her.
That last had rattled her more than anything else. Why had he been staring at her with such intensity. What was he thinking? Did he believe it unladylike for a woman to do this sort of work? Or maybe he’d noticed her scar and was fascinated the way some folk were by such imperfections.
Uncle Grover asked him again if he’d prefer to have the boot cut off, but Mr. Cooper shook his head. Probably gritting his teeth too hard to speak, stubborn man.
A few excruciatingly long minutes later, he let out a single grunt of pain as her uncle managed to finally wrench the boot free. It was only then, as he reflexively sagged with relief, that he allowed himself to lean back against her.
She stood completely still, supporting his solid torso for the three heartbeats it took for realization to hit him. She knew the second it happened. He suddenly stiffened and then jerked upright again. Without turning, he tossed a mumbled apology over his shoulder. Was he embarrassed at what he might consider a show of weakness?
He removed the leather strip he’d been biting on and set it on the table beside him. Verity couldn’t help but notice how deep an impression his teeth had made.
She moved around to assist her uncle and winced at how red and swollen his ankle was. As her uncle went about his examination, she kept an eye on the patient. Mr. Cooper bore it stoically, but she saw the muscles in his jaw tighten each time her uncle put the least bit of pressure on the injury.
At last her uncle straightened. “Well, the good news is you have a sprain, not a break.”
“And the bad news?”
“You’re going to need to stay off of it for a while.”
Mr. Cooper frowned. That was obviously not what he’d wanted to hear. “How long?”
“If you want that ankle to heal properly I strongly suggest that you stay off of it for at least a week.”
Mr. Cooper raked a hand through his hair. “But it’s nothing that will keep me from my work?”
Uncle Grover gave him a severe look. “Only if you work sitting down.”
“I do. And I suppose I can use a cane to get around.”
“Crutches would be better. But with your bruised shoulder and the fresh stitches I’ve just applied to your arm, neither will be advisable for the next few days.”
Verity saw the rebellion in Mr. Cooper’s eyes. Then she realized that, like Hazel, he probably lived above his shop. Stairs would be very difficult, if not impossible, for him to navigate in his condition.
“What do you expect me to do in the meantime, just lie about?” His tone was short and clipped. “I have a business to run.” Then, as if he realized he’d been abrupt, his expression lost some of its hard edge. “I’m sorry. None of this is your fault.”
Verity disagreed. This was all her fault—he’d gotten injured because she hadn’t kept a close watch on her daughter. “Perhaps I can assist you in some way,” she offered. “I’m sure Uncle Grover can spare me for a few days.”
Before her uncle could confirm what she’d said, Mr. Cooper spoke up. “I appreciate the offer, ma’am, but I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll figure a way to work it out.”
Was he just being polite? Or was it that he wasn’t interested in having her around?
“You two can work that out later.” Uncle Grover’s stern look was aimed at them both. “For now, I would suggest Mr. Cooper stay here at the clinic, where we can keep him under observation.”
“I don’t think—”
Her uncle raised a hand. “If it’s money you’re worried about, don’t.” He met Mr. Cooper’s gaze with an earnest, direct look. “You were injured helping my great-niece—there will be no charge for anything related to your injuries.”
“That’s very kind of you. But—”
How did he expect to go anywhere without help? “The only place you’re going is to our infirmary.” She could see another protest forming on his lips so she tried again. “You need to listen to my uncle. With that knot on your head, someone should keep an eye on you, at least for the next twenty-four hours, and since you live alone, this is the best place for you. Besides, I believe you live in an apartment above your shop, is that correct?”
“Yes, but—”
Uncle Grover joined the debate. “Even if you could make that climb to the second floor—” his tone made it clear that was doubtful “—it’s not something you should be doing right now, not in your condition.”
Verity saw Mr. Cooper’s jaw tighten at the phrase “in your condition.”
“If need be I can bunk downstairs in the shop for a few days.”
“Young man, now you’re just being stubborn.”
“Besides,” Verity added, “we have a nice comfortable bed right through there.” She waved to a door in the far wall.
“It’s just a sprained ankle. I’m not some sickly bed patient.”
So his irritation stemmed from a bit of male pride. “Of course you’re not. We just want to make certain we take good care of you. Besides, meals are provided, and I promise you Aunt Betty’s cooking is something to look forward to. She has a pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove for lunch today.”
Without giving their patient a chance to argue further, Uncle Grover turned to Verity and nodded to one of the cabinets. “Please fetch Mr. Cooper something more comfortable to wear while I prepare a draught for him. Then you’ll need to step out so he can change.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the clothes I have on.”
Was the man going to fight them every step of the way?
“I was being polite,” Uncle Grover said. “Your shirt is now rags and the rest of your clothing is the worse for wear and, not to put too fine a point on it, filthy. For the sake of your health, and my niece’s and wife’s sensibilities, you need to change. There’s a clean nightshirt we keep here just for such circumstances.”
Verity hid a grin. Uncle Grover wasn’t averse to using a bit of blackmail to get his way, especially when he felt it was for his patient’s own good.
She placed a clean nightshirt on the table beside Mr. Cooper, then collected the soiled bandages and his discarded shirt and moved to the door. “I’ll take care of these and let Aunt Betty know we’ll have an occupant in the infirmary.”
Uncle Grover nodded absently. “Thank you, my dear.”
With a breezy smile for the still-glaring Mr. Cooper, she