“That was fast,” she noted.
The hospital was barely five minutes away, driving normal speeds anyway. Her upper lip was drawn and tight, making him wonder why she wasn’t complaining more.
Greg picked up her hand—so cold—and squeezed it. “Ready? Soon I’ll have you in the hands of someone who can give you something to take away the pain. They’ll have you up and running in no time.”
“They’d better.” She closed her eyes. “I can’t be laid up long.”
“You’ll follow doctor’s orders, Tillie, even if it means closing the inn for a few weeks or months.”
Her eyelids shot open. “Nothing would make me close the inn, especially during the holidays.”
He didn’t want to upset her now. The doctor could talk some sense into her. “Where’s your wallet? You’ll need your insurance card, I’m sure.”
“In my bedroom. On my dresser.”
He ran through the house to the dining room and up the stairs to grab her purse. When he returned, he saw Derek’s lower lip trembling, and Greg squeezed his shoulder. “You did a good job, son.” This was a lot of responsibility for a little boy. “Now, take Miss Tillie’s purse and go hold the front door for us. We’re going to put Tillie in the Rover.” He scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the foyer.
“Mmph!” Her attempt to stifle a scream as he lifted her into his arms tore at his gut.
Feeling more powerless than ever, he said, “Scream if you need to.”
Her eyes and lips remained squeezed tight, but she shook her head. “I’m okay.”
He walked cautiously so as not to jar her head or ankle any more than necessary.
“Tillie, you’re going to be fine. I’ll have you there in no time.”
She gazed up at him, her brow furrowed in pain. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“Sweetheart, you’d never be a bother.”
After he walked through the door, he told Derek to grab the pillow from the floor and follow him. “Are the doors at the side of the house locked?” he asked her. She attempted to nod, her head resting against his shoulder, but groaned instead. She’d have a killer headache tomorrow, if not already.
Holding her felt so right, but he hated that it had taken something like this to get her into his arms.
When his two charges were buckled in, he retraced his steps to lock the front door and, seconds later, sat behind the wheel. He checked on Tillie via the rear-view mirror all the way to the hospital. Good thing he’d noticed it on the way to Bardstown, because she lay with her head against the seatback, eyes closed.
Tillie could lose the inn because of this injury. If only he hadn’t lied to her in the first place about his grandmother or had been home earlier as promised. He should have come clean from the start. Nothing good came from lies.
He’d be here a couple more days. Maybe he could help her with running the place and make amends. But what about the cooking and baking? From what she’d told him, the next eight weeks was her make-or-break season of the year. Maybe she could hire someone to do everything. But wouldn’t her returning guests expect her to fulfill those roles, as she’d done for more than a decade? How forgiving would they be?
Who cared? If they couldn’t see that this woman sacrificed everything for this inn, then they didn’t deserve her hospitality.
* * *
Tillie drifted into a pain-filled fog. Crossing the railroad tracks sent excruciating spikes through her head as well as her leg. In the emergency department, the triage nurse explained what they planned to do—an x-ray of her ankle and a CT scan of her head.
She came back from radiology to find Greg sitting across from her in the room, his brow furrowed. Derek slept, cradled in his arms. Greg’s reassuring smile warmed her heart.
The doctor came in a few minutes later. She wished she could crawl into Greg’s lap right now, too. Wait. You hardly know the man. All she needed at the moment was a hug. His arms had been so comforting when he’d carried her to the car.
Snapping out of it, she focused her attention on the physician. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” They’d given her something in her IV to make her more comfortable, and she was becoming seriously loopy. She didn’t want to stay in this euphoric state long, though. Perhaps this was how her mother had become addicted to opioids. With a genetic predisposition, she needed to be careful.
“The CT scan doesn’t show any sign of a skull fracture.”
She wasn’t even aware that was a concern. “How about a concussion?”
“Well, the scan won’t pick that up, but you aren’t presenting with any symptoms that would give me great concern. Possibly a mild concussion, and as long as you don’t have slurred speech, numbness, persistent vomiting, or dilated pupils, there’s nothing to worry about.” The doctor faced toward Greg to wait for his response.
He nodded. “Should I wake her every hour?”
She shook her head. “Every three hours overnight would suffice. Ask her some questions about current events or dates and check her pupils. Otherwise, sleep is the best thing.” After making some notes in the computer in the corner of the room, she looked toward Greg again. “You’ll make sure to bring her in again if those symptoms start?”
“Absolutely.”
Greg was supposed to be leaving in a couple of days, so she doubted he’d follow through. No doubt she’d have to rely on others a lot to get through this mess.
Turning toward Tillie again, the doctor said, “You also have a Grade II inversion sprain of the ankle.”
Sounded serious. “Could you explain that in layman’s terms?”
“Sorry, it means when you fell, your ankle twisted inward, injuring the ligaments on the outside of the foot. It could have been worse, but you’re still looking at a good three weeks to a month of recovery before it will heal up. We’re going to stabilize your ankle with a boot tonight, and I’d like you to follow up in a few days with an orthopedic doctor. There’s one in Bardstown, as well as others in Louisville or E-town. Meanwhile, stay off both feet as much as possible.”
“That might be impossible. I have a house full of guests coming to supper tomorrow…” A quick check with the clock on the wall showed it was past midnight. “I mean, tonight.” Even worse.
The woman chuckled, but shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to want to be on your feet, but the orthopedic will let you know if you can bear weight during the first couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?” Was she serious? That would wipe out half the holiday season—the most lucrative half. Tillie glanced over at Greg again in desperation. “I don’t have time for this! The preservation society is due at my house in fewer than fourteen hours.”
“The only thing you need to worry about is getting that ankle healed before it gets any worse. Let me worry about the preservationists.” Greg’s stern words took her by surprise.
“But you don’t cook or bake.”
His brows knitted together. “I didn’t say I planned to do it all myself. But that ankle is your only priority.”
She groaned, frustrated that Greg wasn’t taking her concerns seriously. This calamity could effectively put her out of business or, at a minimum, deeply in debt. Why didn’t anyone understand what was at stake?
“Ms. Hamilton, we’re going to fit you with a boot in a few minutes, and we’ll send you home with crutches so you can get around in a few days. Now, lie back and rest until then.”
A tear trickled from each eye and ran down her temples into her hair. The more she thought about the prospect of being out of commission through most of the holiday season, the more difficult it became to breathe. Sweat broke out on her forehead.
Greg bent over her face, filling her field of vision. “Take a deep breath.”
She tried, but her chest had grown too tight. When his unrelenting stare bore into her, something made her give it another go.
“Good. You’ve barely taken a breath since the doctor gave her diagnosis.” He smoot
hed the creases from her forehead, an intimate gesture given her fragile emotional state. “You’re going to be fine, Tillie. Derek and I will wait on you when we get you home until we have to leave Wednesday, and then you can make arrangements to have someone help out. Now stop worrying.”
How his calm voice could reassure her when her world was falling apart, she had no clue. Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she nodded and attempted a lopsided smile.
The fog enveloped her brain, a result of the painkiller, and she closed her eyes. When she opened them once more, Greg and Derek were dozing together in the uncomfortable chairs. Feeling safe, for some strange reason, she allowed herself to drift off again.
“How are we doing, Ms. Hamilton?”
She blinked her eyes open to find a patient-care tech taking her vitals.
“Fine. A little sleepy.”
The woman laughed. “It’ll take a few hours for the drugs to wear off. However, it’s also two in the morning, so your body is wanting its sleep. Ready to have that boot put on so you can go home?”
“I guess as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Greg gripped her hand while they worked on her, all the while holding Derek who still slept. “Thanks for being here.”
“I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else when you needed me.”
After they finished, she stared down the bed at the enormous black boot on her foot. How on earth would she get around in that thing, especially the stairs?
“You’ll be ready to go as soon as the doctor signs the discharge papers,” the nurse said. “Tomorrow, schedule an appointment for a follow-up this week. We’ll give you a prescription for a pain reliever.”
“No more opioids.” For decades, she’d avoided taking medications that would alter her faculties, perhaps a carryover from having watched her mother be stoned so many times from prescription pills. Whatever they’d already given her was the last she wanted.
“If you stay off that foot, you should do fine with a prescription-strength NSAID like ibuprofen—or even Tylenol, as long as you don’t exceed the maximum daily dose.” Tillie nodded her agreement, thankful she wouldn’t be given anything that would make her too groggy—or worse, addicted to the meds.
“If you’re having trouble sleeping, Tylenol PM might help. Keep the foot elevated as much as possible, and move around minimally for the first forty-eight hours.”
The bombardment of instructions overwhelmed her. “Not even—”
“Nothing. I’m going to see that you follow instructions.” Greg’s deep, authoritative voice had her glaring at him.
His bossiness rubbed her the wrong way, but she reminded herself that because of him she hadn’t had to face this alone. “I’ll be fine once I get home and in bed.” She stared at Derek a moment. How he could sleep through all of this, she had no clue. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you. Poor Derek needs to be in bed.”
“Trust me, this kid can sleep anywhere. I’ve watched him fall asleep at the table before when he’s up late and missed a nap, practically face first in his fries.”
“Ms. Hamilton,” the nurse said, entering the room with a folder. “We’re ready to discharge you. Is this gentleman going to be responsible for taking you home?”
“Yes, he’s a guest at my inn.” She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain their relationship.
“Because you were given a narcotic in your IV earlier, we’ll need him to sign the papers for you, agreeing that he understands the instructions for your post-care. Are you okay with him signing your discharge papers?”
She raised an eyebrow in question as she met Greg’s gaze, and he nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.” What would she have done if she’d fallen and Greg hadn’t found her? Or been here with her to take her home?
The nurse presented him with the papers, and after explaining the instructions to him again, as if he had missed a single word, Greg scribbled his signature.
“Now, let this man take you home and get you to bed.” Tillie glanced at the foot of the bed where Greg stared back at her, smiling. Heat infused her cheeks knowing he heard the words the same way Tillie had. “Unless you have a problem with that,” the nurse added when she didn’t respond.
Greg had become more than a guest even before tonight, but the thought of him taking care of her, including trips to the bathroom, made heat burn even hotter in her cheeks. The fact he was a handsome, sexy man didn’t put her any more at ease. Not that they’d be tumbling onto her mattress and making out or anything. But how would he maneuver her around the bend in the pie stairs to her room short of tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes?
She needed to rethink this. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”
“You let me worry about everything.”
While she had many acquaintances and even a few colleagues she could count on professionally, she had no one to depend on during a personal crisis like this. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to enlist help in keeping her inn afloat the next four weeks.
Fifteen minutes later, the nurse’s assistant wheeled her to the emergency entrance where Greg waited to pick her up while Derek slept in the front seat. Greg stretched her out across the rear seat again.
“I’m sorry to put you two out.”
“Stop apologizing. Besides, I bear some of the responsibility for this. If I hadn’t lost track of time—”
“Please, don’t be ridiculous. I’m always too impatient and strong-willed for my own good.”
He chuckled, but was gentleman enough not to agree aloud.
Tillie sat up so he could lock and close the door behind her then slumped against it. The small effort of getting into the SUV exhausted her. How would she ever manage to accomplish everything she needed to do today while having to be carried around like this and staying off her feet?
Behind the wheel, Greg checked on her over the seat before driving off. “Oh, I spoke with Vera Coomes while you were in radiology.”
Tillie must have dozed off a little. What did he say? “How’d you find out about Vera?” The woman ran the preservation group she was hosting this evening.
“I asked at the nurses’ station. One of the benefits of being in a small community, I suppose. Everybody knows everybody else.”
“One of the pitfalls, too.” Soon the news would be all over two counties that their annual dinner had to be postponed or relocated yet again.
“Vera would still like to hold the meeting at your place, but only if you promise not to overdo it. Apparently, the Hideout is one of their favorite old houses in all of central Kentucky.”
On one hand, she was thrilled they were coming still, but she’d thought they returned so often because of her hospitality. Apparently, any host would do.
“Why the long face?”
How could he see her back here in the dark having her pity party? She met his gaze in the rear-view mirror, which he’d positioned at an angle so he could do that very thing. Perhaps he did the same when Derek was seated here. “Nothing.”
“Tillie.” His voice grew stern. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to know their plans wouldn’t need to be changed because of the accident. You’ll still have the revenue and happy guests from the event.”
“Oh, I do appreciate it! And thanks for calling Vera. I’m not sure I can sit idly by without pitching in.”
“Well, if you can’t make me that promise, then I’ll call Vera in the morning and tell her they need to meet elsewhere.”
She sat up, grabbing the front seat to pull herself closer. “You’ll do nothing of the sort! I’m still in charge of my inn.” Her voice sounded shrill even to her ears, but she needed to make this point unequivocally.
“You are, but you’ve been sidelined, Tillie, at least for the next few weeks. Time for you to delegate.”
She slumped against the door. While she hated to admit it, the evidence was staring her in the face. She needed to rely on others at least until she got the hang of
the crutches they’d sent her home with. “All right. Let them come. I’ll call Beckie Pritchard in the morning to coordinate schedules and divvy up responsibilities. Good thing I didn’t go to the zoo, because I already did most of the prep for the meal yesterday.” Of course, had she been at the zoo, she wouldn’t have fallen off a ladder. Greg was kind enough not to point that out.
They drove the last mile in silence as she made mental notes of what she’d need to oversee in preparation for the supper. Most likely, as long as she sat with her leg propped up, she’d be able to remain fairly involved.
A yawn escaped. So sleepy…
The SUV engine stopped, and she startled awake. A quick glance out the window told her she was home. She’d left her side-door keys on the sideboard, but Greg still had one to the front. How had she fallen asleep during such a short drive? She hoped she could mentally function today after the IV pain meds. She detested the way they made her feel.
“Stay right there. Let me get Derek out to hold the door for us.”
“I’ll help, Daddy!” He sounded wide awake now. Poor boy was going to have a tough time of it later today. He’d need a nap, but she had too much to do to indulge in one herself.
“Thanks, sport.”
With the front door unlocked and Derek holding it open, Greg returned for her. He rapped on the window, and she sat up so that she wouldn’t tumble out when he opened the door. One fall a day was plenty.
His strong arms wrapped around her back and under her knees as he extracted her from the vehicle. A whiff of his spicy aftershave—something sinfully delicious—assaulted her senses. Coupled with being pressed against his chest, his nearness sent her mind into a tailspin.
Afraid she’d forget because she didn’t have anything to write it down on, not to mention needing to get her mind off the man carrying her, she said, “Oh, in the morning, would you mind bringing up from the cellar a couple quarts of my homemade cherry bounce? This group always appreciates it.”
Greg met her gaze with a wry grin. “Cherry what?”
“Bounce. It’s an old-fashioned liqueur from colonial days. I first learned about it while touring the home of Ephraim McDowell in Danville a couple of counties away. It’s made using cherries, sugar, and bourbon and has to set for a couple of months before drinking. Mine’s well-aged and ready to be enjoyed.” She closed her eyes in embarrassment. Why did she feel as though she’d imbibed a healthy glassful at this moment? Must be the painkillers they’d given at the hospital. How long would they mess with her head and her ability to stay awake?
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