tossing her onto a stool and yanking off her shoe, only to throw it aside in one fluid motion. “Where’s some ice?”
Marta pointed wordlessly.
Grabbing a dish towel, he filled it with ice chips, then wrapped it around Amelia’s ankle, ending by tying another around the whole. “There,” he said.
Amelia stared at her foot in consternation. “I can’t work with this on.”
“Good. Because you’re not going to.”
With that, he lifted her from the stool, carried her to the sofa in the great room, placed her on it, removed her other shoe and carefully propped both feet on a velvet pillow. He grabbed a chenille throw from the shorter divan, gave it a shake and settled it over her legs.
After giving her a threatening scowl that told her she’d better stay put, he turned on the gas to start the logs in the large fireplace burning.
“Anything else you need?” he demanded.
She shook her head.
“Breakfast,” Marta called out, observing all this from the kitchen doorway.
He nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
Feeling utterly stupid, Amelia stayed where she’d been plunked and wondered what she’d done to deserve this. Her ankle throbbed fiercely, the icy coldness added its own ache, and she felt really, really wretched.
“Marta says you drink tea.”
A cup was thrust under her nose. She took it, but not before giving the overbearing Samaritan a glare.
He grinned and disappeared into the kitchen. For the next half hour, Amelia watched as he brought out trays filled with muffins and loaves of Marta’s special breads, as well as bowls of fruit and yogurt, jars of homemade jams and jellies and the baking dish filled with apples. Soon the sideboard, which she used to let her guests help themselves buffet-style, was filled. Coffee, tea and juice were placed on a granite-topped table close by.
Right on time at six-thirty, breakfast was ready. Seth went into the kitchen and returned with a tray, which he placed across Amelia’s lap. The cook followed at his heels and gave Amelia a significant glance before handing him a second tray. Marta headed back to the kitchen while Seth hooked the rung of a chair with his foot and pulled it close to the sofa.
“Ahh, delicious,” he said, using his fork to cut off a bite of baked apple, and eating it with relish. “Aren’t you going to eat?” he asked, seeing her watching him.
Amelia picked up her fork. “I usually just have fruit in the morning.”
“You could stand to gain a pound or two,” he advised.
Huh, that was easy for him to say. If he only knew how hard she worked to keep the weight off!
But the scrambled eggs looked perfect, as did the sourdough English muffin, which Marta knew she loved. Not to mention the apple oozing with butter and sugar and cinnamon and sitting on a square of flaky crust. After the first bite, Amelia was lost. She cleaned up everything on the plate.
Seth removed the tray and refilled the teacup without a word, although one black eyebrow did arch upward a bit in a superior male manner. He checked the amount of melting in the ice pack on her ankle, gave a grunt that she assumed meant it was okay, and left to assist Marta.
For the next three hours, he kept the buffet supplied, her ankle iced and her cup full. Amelia hardly noticed the ache as guests came and went, all of them sympathetic over her fall, their curious glances going often to Seth as he returned to her side between every chore.
When the meal was over and the nature lovers were out hiking in the blustery wind, since, fortunately, the rain had stopped, she dropped off to sleep, content for the moment.
Shortly after noon, Beau Dalton entered the B and B, black doctor’s bag in hand. It didn’t take a lot of smarts for Amelia to know why he was there.
“Ah, the patient,” he said, smiling as he spotted her lying on the sofa like the heroine of a novel.
“Hi. I didn’t know doctors made house calls anymore. Or still had black bags, for that matter.”
He waved the bag at her. “Sure, that’s what makes us official.” He glanced hopefully toward the empty buffet table. “I was promised lunch if I stopped by. Got any of those baked apples left?”
Seth came out of the kitchen. “I saved you one, but it was a struggle. I had to arm wrestle two paying guests for it.”
“I’ll remember you in my will,” Beau promised. He came to Amelia and lifted the chenille throw. “Let’s see what the problem is with this ankle.” He whistled appreciatively when he saw the bruising.
“Bad, huh?” Seth asked, squatting beside his cousin.
Amelia waited anxiously for Beau’s diagnosis. He probed gently, moved her toes, tickled her instep by running his nails lightly across it, then studied the bruising again. Opening the bag, he removed a stretchy bandage and proceeded to wrap her ankle securely, making her whole foot nearly immobile. And impossible to fit into a shoe.
“Not bad at all, considering,” the doctor announced when he finished. “Keep the ice on it today and tomorrow. That’s held the swelling down nicely and will speed the recovery better than anything. As a nurse, I’ll give you a recommendation anytime, bro,” he told Seth. “In fact, I could use someone in the office.”
“Huh.” Seth only grunted in response to this amused suggestion.
“As for you,” Beau said, turning back to Amelia. “Stay off the ankle for at least a week, then take it easy about getting back to work. If it isn’t better by Monday, stop by for an X ray. Listen to your body,” he advised. “In a few days, we’ll start you on some physical therapy exercises so the joint doesn’t permanently tighten up on you. Six months and you’ll be as good as new.”
“Six months!” She was aghast. “I can’t lie around for six months. I have a ton of work to do. Honey and I are going to remodel the carriage house this winter.”
Honey was married to another Dalton cousin and rented the carriage house for a dance and exercise studio.
“No way,” Beau said quite cheerfully. “You can’t lift drywall or anything heavier than a mop bucket for the next several weeks. You’ve pulled some ligaments and it’ll take time for them to heal. If you’re careful and do the exercises, you’ll be fine. If not…”
Amelia felt her spirits sink as Beau shrugged, indicating it was up to her. Money was an issue. She’d managed to break even after three years and had made a profit during the four years since then, but it wasn’t a big profit. Other than part-time help, she did everything herself, which was how she’d been able to survive.
“She’ll do exactly as you tell her,” Seth said in his no-nonsense manner. “It was my fault she fell. I left my shoes beside the bed, and she tripped on them.”
A beat of silence followed this statement. It wasn’t until Beau glanced from his cousin to her, humor and speculation rife in his gorgeous blue eyes, that Seth’s words—and
