Page 50 of Brian and Cora
"See?" Brian turned to the others, gesturing with one crutch and, in the process, nearly losing his balance. "She never stops."
But there was no real heat in his complaint, and the others laughed.
After Brian had demonstrated reasonable proficiency, he lowered himself back into his chair with obvious relief and swiped a hand across his brow. "There.” He leaned back. “I can manage on my own now. My nursemaid can return to town."
Taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, Cora couldn’t help an unprofessional feeling of hurt and disappointment that he wanted to send her away. She chided herself for the unprofessional reaction. I’m supposed to be pleased when a patient heals enough to not need my services.
"Absolutely not," Dr. Angus said firmly. "Ye need care for at least another two weeks. That leg is healing well. But one wrong move could set ye back weeks."
"Hank and Torin can look after me," Brian argued, though with less vehemence than Cora expected.
Hank shifted uncomfortably and avoided Brian’s eyes. "About that... I'm planning to spend the next few days in town. Maybe longer." He glanced at Elsie with such naked longing that Cora's heart squeezed. "I've been away too long already."
"You were helping catch outlaws," Brian pointed out.
"And then helping you," Elsie added softly. "I've been understanding, truly I have, Brian. But last week was so scary.Now..." She reached for Hank's hand. "Now, I'd like my beau back for a while. Please."
Brian opened his mouth, clearly ready to argue. But, apparently yielding to the entreaty in Elsie’s eyes, he shut it again. His gaze moved from Hank and Elsie's joined hands to Dr. Angus's firm expression to Constance's sympathetic smile, finally landing on Cora, who did her best to remain impassive. She held her breath, not sure what she was hoping for—to remain or to leave.
"Ten days," he said finally. “You can stay for ten days. But not a minute longer.”
Everyone turned to stare at him in astonishment.
"What?" He scowled at their shocked expressions. "I'm not completely unreasonable. I’m compromising at ten days. But if you all would prefer—” he said in an irascible tone “—I’ll narrow that timeline to one week."
"Ten days is all I need," Cora said, trying not to show her relief. Although, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d just told a lie. Something told her that ten days might not be nearly enough—though for what, she didn't dare examine too closely.
CHAPTER 15
Brian shifted in his chair, trying to find a position that didn't send spikes of pain through his leg. He'd overdone it with the crutches yesterday, showing off like some fool peacock, and now he was paying the price. Through the open door, he could see Cora on the back porch, bent over her lap desk, the morning sun glinting on her hair as she wrote. In a patch of sunlight, Sassy Girl was curled up next to her.
The sight of her industriously writing stirred something in him—an itch he hadn't felt since he’d been shot. During the posse’s adventures, he'd managed to jot down notes despite fatigue, rain, and then the pain and laudanum fog. Now those notes called to him, begging to be transformed into a more coherent narrative.
Leaning over, he picked up his crutches from the floor and maneuvered himself to his feet. He shifted the crutches into place, and hobbled to the door, carefully navigating around the furniture. He’d been outside a few times to practice walking with crutches across the porch and had learned to manage with speed. But, inside, the crowded room presented too many obstacles. He stopped just outside the doorway.
She looked up, holding her pen still, and watching him come through the door.
“Cora?” He hated how his voice came out begrudgingly when he needed a favor and strove for a more friendly tone. "Might I borrow your lap desk when you're finished?"
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "You can use it now. I writing to my friend Ivy and I can do that at the table." She tilted her head, studying him with those perceptive gray eyes. "Are you planning to write? Sketch?” She waved the letter to dry, wiped off the ink and capped off the pen, fitting them into place inside the desk, and closing the top.
“Write.”
“Do you want to sit out here while you do so?” She patted the arm of the rocker next to her. “The sunshine is lovely. I’m trying to savor every day.”
He cast a reluctant glance at the rocking chair. “Maybe in a few days if the weather is good. For now, the wing chair is more comfortable.”
She stood and walked around him to go inside and waited next to the wing chair.
He hobbled over, and then did the complicated shuffle that turned him about. After handing her the crutches, he sank into the chair, holding in a groan.
She gave him the lap desk. “Do you need stationery?”
After placing the boxy shape on his lap, Brian pointed to the bookshelf. “Could you please bring me that blue leather-covered book? The one on the right with no title? I’ll write in that. And also bring me that little brown notebook. The one you tucked away when you emptied my saddle bags.”
She searched the crowded shelves until she found the journal and the battered notebook and handed both to him.
“Thank you.” He held up the notebook, opening it to a random page to show the cramped, penciled writing. "Thislooks worse for wear because I brought it along and took notes during the posse's expedition. Now, I intend to write out a more ordered account while my memory’s still fresh and I’m no longer muddleheaded."
