yelled, “I think he climbed the ladder in the hayloft and opened the door so the rain could douse the fire.”
Verity looked up and saw that the fire was out. “What’s he doing here? In our barn?”
“Don’t know,” Matthew said, “Joseph, help me get him into the house.”
Within minutes, Matthew laid the boy on the kitchen table. Verity asked Joseph to check on and reassure Beth so she could examine Alec. Verity listened to his heart and felt for a fever. No fever. But the boy had a black eye, bruises and a split lip. Had he been fighting? Why was he hiding in their barn? Sodden and chilled from her own wet clothing, she tried to rouse him but had no luck.
The thunder still boomed outside, but it was more distant now. “The boy worries me.” She looked toward Matthew and gasped. His hand was pressed against his forehead, blood flowing between his fingers. “Thee is hurt. What hurt thee?”
“Blasted horse knocked the stall door into me on his way out. Don’t worry about me.”
Wasn’t that just like a man? Blood pouring from his head, but don’t worry about him. Her exasperation moved her past her fear of the storm. She moved quickly to the pantry and collected her nursing equipment, a wash basin, a fresh towel and soap. “Sit.” She pointed to the chair.
Grumbling, Matthew sat. She lit an oil lamp on the table and leaned close to him, examining the gash.
“This will need a stitch or two. I’ve got some experience nursing. I’ll take care of it.”
“Just clean it and use some sticking plaster to close it.”
Ignoring him, she gently washed away the blood. It felt odd to be touching a man. His wet hair released the distinctive scent that was Matthew Ritter. She forced herself to focus on the gash on Matthew’s forehead. He sat very still, probably as uncomfortable with this nearness and touching as she was.
Finally she was able to turn away, drawing in a ragged breath. She’d nursed other men without this breathless reaction. Matthew should be no different. She emptied the basin out the back door and returned the medical supplies to the pantry.
The chair behind her scraped as Matthew rose. “What are we going to do about Mary’s boy?”
She looked out at the pouring rain. “This is not a night to go afield. We should get him out of his wet clothing and into a warm bed.”
Matthew swung the thin boy up into his arms and carried him upstairs. Hearing the creak of the rocker in her room and realizing Joseph was rocking Beth, she directed Matthew to lay the boy down on Beth’s empty white-canopied bed. Beth and Verity could share a bed as long as Alex needed to stay.
Verity gathered a clean nightshirt from Joseph’s room and brought it back to Matthew. “Here, put this on him. It will be too big, but it will be dry.” A pile of soaked clothes sat on the floor.
Matthew had lit the bedside candle and stood, looking down at the boy. His expression caught Verity’s attention. “What’s wrong?
Matt hesitated and then folded back the top edge of the blanket covering the boy. Verity gasped.
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