Robyn Carr - Bring Me Home For Christmas

“I said, stop the truck!”

“This is a bad place to stop!”

“Stop anyway!” she yelled back.

There wasn’t much of a shoulder, but he pulled over. The road was built up about three feet and ran between drenched fields that were probably lush with grain and corn in the summer. He stared at her.

“I made a big mistake here and I’m going to cut my losses,” she said. “I thought if we spent a little time together, we might get some closure so we could both move on, but it’s impossible if you’re going to be such an ass! I’m going back to where we were hunting. I’ll either sit with the guys or in the truck, but I’m not putting up with this bullshit anymore. I haven’t heard a word from you in years. You have no right to judge me or my behavior.” She opened the door.

“Becca, wait a sec,” he said, reaching toward her.

“Seriously, if you had anything to say to me, you might’ve called or maybe shot me an email or—hey! You could’ve ‘liked me’ on fricking Facebook! But I haven’t heard squat from you, so trust me, you have absolutely no right to even suggest who I talk to.” She made a derisive sound. “Flirty,” she muttered. “Of all the nerve.”

“Becca, no—” he said, reaching out to her.

“Denny, yes!” And with that, she stepped out of the vehicle, forgot it was such a long step down from her brother’s jacked-up truck, hit the very narrow shoulder with one booted foot, twisted her ankle, buckled, fell and rolled off that raised road and down to the mushy, muddy field below. And she did it all with a scream that included a very unladylike expletive.

In spite of himself, he laughed and lowered his head to the steering wheel. Well, he was an ass, like she said. And she never had listened. She was always full-steam ahead. He got out of the truck, walked around to her side and stood on the road, hands on his hips, looking down at her. She was sprawled, looking a little like she was ready to make a snow angel—in the mud. She glared up at him.

It was all he could do to keep from doubling over in hysterical laughter.

“I tried to stop you. I tried to tell you I’d take you back there…”

She blew a sputter of air through her lips to rid them of a splatter of mud. “Sure.” Then she sat up. “Screw you.”

“Come on,” he said, trying to carefully slide down the bank to help her. “You’re right and I was wrong. I have no right to tell you how to act or who to flirt with… I mean, talk to.” He smiled, ready to duck if a mud clot came at him. “All right, let’s just get you back to town so you can get out of those muddy clothes. I’m sorry, Becca,” he said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice as he looked at her. He reached a hand out to her. “Really, I’m—”

“Ah!” she cried, trying to stand. She grabbed her right leg. “Oh, crap!”

“What?” he said, jumping in the mud with her.

“Oh, God, I think I did something!” She reached for her ankle. “Damn, oh, damn! Oh, God!”

Denny crouched. “Maybe you sprained it,” he said. “I can’t look at it with the boot on. I have to get you up the hill and back to the truck. Then we’ll look.”

“On one leg?” she asked. Despite her sarcastic tone, tears of pain glistened in her eyes.

“Well, it would be easiest to just carry you.” He reached out to pull her upright. “Just put the weight on your good leg.”

“Denny…” she whimpered, giving in to the pain as she let him help her stand.

“It’s okay, Becca, just lean on me.” Once she was upright, balancing on her left leg, he wiped the tears with his thumb. “Over my shoulder, that’s the best way.”

“Noooo,” she wailed.

“It’s the best way for me to keep my balance getting up to the truck.” He gave her a little smile. “You used to think it was fun.”

She shook her head. “I used to think you were fun. I’m not sure I think so anymore.”

He bent at the waist, put his shoulder in her midsection and folded her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Try not to wiggle too much or you’ll topple us both.”

“Ugh,” she said. “God, it hurts! What did I do?”

He took a few wobbling steps up the hill and said, “Watch your head,” as he hefted her into the passenger seat. “Stay like this, legs dangling out. Sit tight.” He went to the truck bed, lifted Rich’s tool storage bin and found a tool with a sharp edge.

When he came back to her, she pulled her knees up fearfully. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to cut off your rubber boot, Becca. You don’t want me to pull it off—that would be awful. I’ll get you a new pair.”

“I don’t care about the boots! I just don’t want you to cut my leg off with that thing!”

“I’ll be very careful,” he promised.

“I’ve had a run of bad luck lately. Owwww!” she wailed as he carefully slid the slit boot off her foot.

Her foot dangled there at a very odd angle, pointing inward and limp. And it was already starting to swell. He lifted his eyes to hers. “Oh, man,” he said. “That doesn’t look too good.”

Becca tried to hold back her tears all the way to the hospital and Denny tried to see how often he could apologize for being a total idiot. “I have no idea why I baited you like that,” he said. “I really don’t know. I think I’m still a little upside down that my old girlfriend is here with the guys.”

“I don’t even want to hear it,” she said. “Where’s the goddamn mute button?”

Denny laughed.

It was a long way across the mountains, through Virgin River and down the mountain to reach Valley Hospital. Denny lifted her carefully out of the truck and carried her into the E.R. From the odd angle of her foot, Denny suspected a break, and E.R. staff agreed with him. They contacted the on-call orthopedist to come to the hospital.

One of the nurses started an IV and Becca was given pain medication and a sedative, making her much more comfortable. While Denny held both her hands in both of his, the doctor gave her a shot of anesthetic right in her ankle. Then he gave it a sharp pull, setting it right. Becca half rose off the E.R. bed with a cry; Denny pulled her up against him, holding her tight until the pain subsided again.

“We’re going to have to operate on this ankle, Becca,” the doctor said. “It’s a little too swollen right now, but we’ll elevate it, put an ice pack on it and in a few hours we’ll be able to do the surgery. You can stay overnight and go home in the morning.”

“Operate?” she asked.

“A small plate and screws.” He smiled. “You’ll be good as new.”

“I don’t want to stay all night,” she said. “I’m miserable!”

“I can appreciate that, but there’s no alternative. What you really need is to go to a room where a nurse can get you out of those nasty clothes and get you washed up, into a hospital gown and comfortable. I’ll come back in a few hours and we’ll fix you up. You’ll go home with a splint and crutches. I’m afraid you can’t put any weight on it for six weeks—that’s going to be the hard part.”

She shifted her eyes to Denny. “Denny?” she said softly in a shaky voice.

“Easy, honey, you need to get taken care of. While you get cleaned up and put on some dry clothes, I’ll call Jack’s and make sure Big gets a message.”

“Becca’s going to need clean clothes to leave the hospital in,” the doctor said. “Maybe you could do that while she’s getting cleaned up and I take care of the ankle.”

Denny lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “Would you like me to do that, Becca? Get you some clothes? Leave a message for Big Richie that you’re here?”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you later,” the doctor said, ducking out of the curtained cubicle.