beat by a mile.” Then he turned serious. “Which reminds me, would you mind letting Mrs. Ortolon know I may not be able to help her at the boardinghouse for the next several days?” He touched the bandage on his arm. “I definitely won’t be swinging an ax anytime soon.” He’d been doing odd jobs at the boardinghouse in the evenings for meals and pocket change to help him get by until his business was better established.
“I’m sure she already knows, but I’ll stop by when I leave here.”
“Thanks.” Nate brushed at a bit of lint on his coverlet. “Mrs. Leggett—she’s a widow, I take it.”
“She is. Her husband died a little over a year ago. She and Joy moved back here shortly after it happened.”
Some time had passed, then. Of course, he knew from his own experience that one never totally “got over” the death of a loved one. “So she wasn’t living here when he passed away.” He hoped she’d had friends, people she could lean on, around her.
Adam shook his head then shifted in his seat. “There’s something you should probably know if you’re going to be around Mrs. Leggett much—her husband’s passing wasn’t peaceful. He died of a gunshot.”
Nate froze for a moment as that sunk in. That must have been horrific for her. Had she witnessed it? Had Joy?
Then Adam cleared his throat and gave him a look that had a touch of sympathy in it. “It happened during a bank robbery.”
Nate dropped back against his pillow as all the implications of that news thundered down around him like a rockslide.
After Adam had gone, Nate retrieved his book, but he didn’t open it immediately.
Adam’s revelation changed everything. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t trespass on this family’s hospitality any longer than he already had, couldn’t bear to have Mrs. Leggett look at him with that admiration and gratitude, not knowing what he now knew.
Injured ankle or no, he’d make it back to his place. He just wished he’d thought to ask Adam to bring a wagon around to transport him.
Deciding to test his mobility, Nate threw off the bedcovers and stood, putting all his weight on his good leg.
Before he could try taking a step, there was another tap at the door. He clenched his jaw and sat back down on the bed, but left both feet on the floor. It might not be Mrs. Leggett. It could be Dr. Pratt or even Adam, returning to say something he’d forgotten earlier. “Come in.”
But, of course, it was Mrs. Leggett. She halted just inside the doorway and frowned at him. “What are you doing up?”
His frustration and guilt spilled out before he could stop them. “For goodness’ sake—I have a sprained ankle, not a bullet in my chest.”
Her recoil brought him up short. None of this was her fault. “I’m sorry, I’m just tired of being treated like an invalid.”
She recovered quickly. “Of course. But you do know that you have to take it easy if you want to heal properly, don’t you?”
“I do. But I don’t take well to mollycoddling. In fact, I can get absolutely churlish. Which is why I should head on back to my place now.”
That set her back again. “Nonsense. We’ve already agreed that you should spend the night here. Nothing’s changed.”
Oh, but it had. In fact, everything had changed. “I know what I said earlier. But now that I’ve had my rest, I’m thinking clearer and I believe it’s better if I go on home.” He shifted, feeling at a distinct disadvantage dressed in this ridiculous nightshirt.
She crossed her arm like a schoolmarm confronting an unreasonable child. “Uncle Grover, as an experienced physician, would certainly know better than you how to deal with your injuries. And he has stated that it’s important for someone to keep an eye on you for at least twenty-four hours.”
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