“Well, I figured if anyone could stitch her up, it would be you.”
Even I felt the subtle dig, but Beverly replied gracefully, which surprised me. “Years of practice.” She leaned over me. “Make sure to get extra rest and be careful with that arm over the next few days. It will be sore.”
“Okay.” My response was garbled.
I felt the couch shift, then heard Owen’s deep voice off in the distance. He was likely saying goodbye to his mother. Opening my eyes, I examined the dressing on my wound, wondering how I could have done something so stupid. I’d been rewiring the fences since I learned to use the metal cutting sheers when I was ten. It was a stupid mistake I made, and now I was injured because of it.
Owen closed my front door and then sat beside me. The couch cushion dipped dramatically under his weight.
“Thank you, Owen.”
I leaned toward him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“You’re welcome, cricket. I was worried you’d go nuts once you realized I called my mom.”
“You did the right thing. I’m sure she appreciated it too.”
“Probably.”
We stared at the black screen of the television. The only sound in the living room came from the large clock on my wall that ticked quietly with each passing second.
“You know, you never told me why you were at my house in the first place.” I stifled a yawn, using the back of my good hand to cover my mouth.
“You’re exhausted. How about I help you get to bed, and we can talk about it tomorrow?”
Yawning again, I agreed.
He argued to carry me up the loft stairs, but I protested enough he let me go on my own. By the time I reached the landing, I was woozy again and even more tired than before. It took me twice as long to remove my clothes, since I had a numb hand and arm.
Owen called up to me twice to make sure I was okay.
“Yeah,” I mumbled as I finally released my bra and slid it down my arms. My sleepshirt rested around my neck as I tried to maneuver my arms through the holes. The first went through fine, but I struggled to get my injured arm through the opening. It took an extra minute, but thankfully I tugged the shirt down enough to cover my panties just as Owen climbed the stairs.
“Good. You’re dressed. Now, get into bed.” He brushed past me and tugged down the covers for me to slide in.
Once I was settled, he moved around the bed and sat down. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but then I heard two thumps. Shoes.
Then… he stretched his large body across the other side of my bed, on top of the covers.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping an eye on you.”
“Owen, that’s ridiculous.”
“Sorry, Mom’s orders. Now get some sleep. If you need some pain meds during the night, wake me up. I’ll get them for you.”
There was no point in arguing. Owen was just as stubborn as I was. Instead, I turned over and faced him, my injured arm draped over my body. Gently, he slid a small, decorative pillow under my arm to help it stay elevated, then turned to face me.
Any other night, I would have protested his staying over, or at least take the opportunity to stare at his handsome face. But as soon as my body relaxed in the bed, I was lost in slumber.
Chapter Ten – Owen
The sound of large machines outside the small house woke me from one of the best nights of sleep I’d had in a long time. Even better than some of the five-star hotels I stayed at with Vanessa.
Staring up at Aspen’s ceiling, I wondered how many missed calls or messages I’d find on my phone this morning. I purposely left it charging in the kitchen area.
Turning over, I saw Aspen was still asleep in the same position as the night before. Her eyes were pinched shut as if she was in pain, and knowing the stubborn woman, she was hurting but refused to ask me for anymore help.
It was a humbling experience to have her require my assistance last night. Just imagining what would have happened if I hadn’t been there was all I needed to finally call my mother.
That in itself was humbling enough for me. But just as I knew she would, my mother came at my first request for help. I remembered her having to stitch my wounds a few times growing up, when my dad got reckless with a pocketknife. Shaking my head, I ridded my thoughts of my mom having to stitch herself up when my father would go after her.
Stretching, I climbed out of Aspen’s bed, doing everything I could to keep from waking her up. As I slipped on my shoes, I watched her eyelids tighten even more and her lips flatten into a line.
Out of instinct, I shuffled over to her side of the bed and gently ran my hand across her hair. Her body immediately relaxed beneath my touch.
She really was beautiful, especially when she wasn’t out to get me. Though, those were some of my favorite memories. Her comment the night before about prom was something I was going to keep locked away for good measure. It was the most honest conversation I’d ever had with Aspen, and I knew she told me that in confidence. I wasn’t even sure if she would remember it when she woke.
Downstairs, I cleaned up the mess left in the bathroom from the night before, then left the house. The large farmhouse was my destination. I hadn’t been lying when I told her I cooked breakfast for me and my mom growing up.
Settling for something sweet, I went about gathering the loaf of bread, making a note to myself to restock it for Mrs. Easterly today. Then I gathered some eggs, milk, vanilla extract, and cinnamon.
It took me a couple of minutes to find everything I needed around the kitchen, but before long, I was making enough french toast to feed an army.
As I plated the first batch, I was surprised there didn’t seem to be anyone home in the house. With all the banging around I was doing, I would have woken everyone up. I glanced at the clock on the microwave and saw it was 9:30 a.m. Not too early in the morning, but definitely early for Aspen.
Just as I plated the last couple of batches and found the syrup, the sound of the front door slamming forced me to look down the long hallway leading to the front of the house. Mrs. Easterly and her three other daughters stared back at me in surprise.
