her back down.
“Where does it hurt?” Sara asked.
“My hip.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Reece exited the pantry, which at least made it easier for Sara to breathe in there. All that maleness crammed into such a small space was a little distracting.
“I’m sure it’s not serious,” Sara said, though she wasn’t sure at all.
It scared Sara to see Miss Greer like this.
Sara had worked at the Port Clara, Texas, B and B for more than ten years. The older woman wasn’t just her boss; she was family.
“What am I going to do?” Miss Greer asked. “What if I’ve broken something? You hear about old people breaking their hips and never coming home again.”
Sara wished she had an answer, or even some believably reassuring words, but she’d never been much good in an emergency. All she could think to do was hold Miss Greer’s hand and squeeze it.
Reece was already on the phone. He was calm, no sign of panic, and Sara took several deep breaths, trying to follow suit. The paramedics would come, and maybe they would determine it wasn’t a serious injury.
Then they could all laugh over the mishap, and Sara could clean up the pantry, fix the broken shelf and make soup and sandwiches for everyone.
She was glad Reece was here. He obviously knew how to handle a crisis.
She squeezed Miss Greer’s hand again. “How bad does it hurt?”
“It’s not too bad if I lie still,” the old lady said, but her brow was creased with tension.
Sara nibbled at her lower lip. Maybe Miss Greer’s hip wasn’t broken. Maybe she’d just…sprained it or something.
Reece returned and got down on his knees beside Sara. “The ambulance is on its way, Miss Greer. Can we do anything to make you more comfortable while we wait?”
“I suppose I should get ready for a hospital stay,” Miss Greer grumbled. “Sara, you go pack me a bag. I want my own nightgown so I don’t have to wear one of those things that’s open down the back so everyone can ogle your hindquarters. Reece, you go find my pocketbook. I’ll need my Medicare card.”
The woman gave orders like a general.
“One of us should stay with you,” Sara said.
“Why? I’m not going anywhere.”
Sara exchanged a look with Reece as she pushed to her feet, and tried not to smile. Miss Greer must not be in too bad a shape if she could still be ornery.
Sara had only been in Miss Greer’s bedroom a couple of times in all the years she had worked there. Her landlady was intensely private. The room was as neat and clean as a monk’s cell. Sara hunted around until she found an overnight case on the top shelf of the closet.
She reached for it, but it was a few inches too high.
“Let me get that.” Reece came up behind her and stretched his arms over her head, easily reaching the case. She felt the heat of his body almost, but not quite, touching her back, and her skin tingled with awareness.
Whether he meant to or not, he’d tempted her since he and his two cousins had moved into the B and B a few weeks ago to deal with an inheritance from their uncle.
Reece handed her the small, cloth-covered case. “Here you go. Do you know where her purse is?”
Sara looked around. “Ah. Hanging on the hook on the back of the door.”
She opened the dresser and haphazardly filled the suitcase with nightgowns, underwear and socks, because Miss Greer’s feet were always cold, even in summer. Reece, the fake alligator purse clutched between his large hands, watched her.
“What?” she said. “You think I’m doing it wrong?”
“She might like her clothes folded.”
“You think I should fold Miss Greer’s underwear?”
“She obviously likes things neat. Maybe you should pack a robe, too. And a toothbrush.”
“You want to do this?” she asked Reece, who seemed not entirely comfortable amid all the accoutrements of an old lady. He looked excruciatingly out of place surrounded by cabbage roses, lace doilies and the faint scent of violet water.
“No, no. I guess you’re doing fine.”
Apparently not, given his suggestions. “Why don’t you check on Miss Greer? I’ll be done in a minute.”
She did not need help packing—she did it all the time. Her best friend, Allie, teased Sara that she could live for six months in the Amazon with only what she could stuff into her backpack.
When Sara finished cramming the overnight case with everything she thought might come in handy, she returned to the kitchen, but she paused in the doorway to watch Reece and Miss Greer. He brushed flour off the elderly woman’s face using a handkerchief and a gentle touch. Sara couldn’t hear what he said to her, but his voice was low and soothing.
Miss Greer watched him with obvious adoration on her face. She reached up to pat his cheek, and he squeezed her bony hand, sandwiching it between his and holding it there, looking comfortable with the display of affection.
The slight irritation she’d felt toward Reece vanished. Any man who could show kindness and affection to an old lady who wasn’t even a blood relative—and look at ease doing so—was okay in her book.
Miss Greer treated him like a favorite grandson, and Reece sometimes even made the gruff old woman smile.
Sara strode into the kitchen. “Here’s your overnight bag. Can I do anything else? Do you want something to eat?” Nothing was hopeless if you had a big bowl of spicy tortilla soup in front of you, along with a thick slice of homemade bread and real butter.
“Thank you, dear,” Miss Greer said, “but I can’t eat right now. What am I going to do? A broken hip is serious business. I’ll be out of commission for weeks, and who’s going to run the B and B, I ask you, if I’m in the hospital? I have guests arriving today—six people!”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sara said. “I can handle things until you’re back on your feet.”
“What about your trip to California?” Miss Greer asked. “Anyway, the B and B is a full-time job and I can’t afford to pay you a salary. You do more than your fair share, given that I’m only paying you room and board.”
Sara did need money to live on, which meant she had to work other jobs sometimes, like the temporary gig providing meals at an independent movie shoot in California.
“That job has been postponed,” she said breezily.
“But what about the business end?” Miss Greer asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. “Sure, you can clean, and the customers seem to like the breakfasts you’ve cooked, but you’re a
