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She decided she hadn’t hurt anything major and other than a few scrapes and an injury to her pride, she’d be fine. But when she tried to get up she discovered she’d rolled her ankle too. Her weak ankle that she’d injured over and over again. It hurt like hell to put any weight on it, but she was fairly sure it was sprained, not broken. Not that it mattered since it was her left ankle, which would make mounting really difficult. She called Cinnamon, who ambled closer to her.
She talked soothingly to Cinnamon before attempting to mount. “What’s wrong with you, sweetheart? Shying for no reason. It’s not like you to jump at nothing.” Cinnamon snorted. “I understand, though. You were afraid you’d get hurt. So you…ran away.”
Just like she had when Nate admitted he loved her. Like she would have if Nate had told her ages ago that he was in love with her. He’d been exactly right about that. Furthermore, she’d known it. But knowing and admitting were two different things.
Fear had motivated Cinnamon. Wasn’t that really why she’d broken up with Nate? Fear of getting hurt? Not because he hadn’t told her but because he’d finally admitted that he loved her, and she’d done exactly what Nate had known she’d do. Run away.
She managed to mount by putting her right foot in the stirrup and hauling herself up to lie across the saddle, then take her right foot out of the stirrup to swing it over Cinnamon’s back. Her horse thought she was weird but not enough to balk at it. Besides, it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before.
She rode slowly back to the barn. Even going as slow as possible, her foot hurt like hell. She couldn’t prop it up on the saddle since that would hurt even more, but having it hang down was excruciating. Served her right for not paying closer attention.
Marshall was waiting as she rode up. “Where’ve you been? You missed meeting the new buyer.”
“Sorry. I had an accident. Cinnamon shied and threw me.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Only my ankle and my pride. Help me get off, will you?”
“The left ankle again, huh.”
“You got it.”
With Marshall’s help, she managed to dismount without doing too much more damage to her injured foot. He helped her into Ella’s office in the barn, guiding her to a chair.
“What happened?” Ella asked, getting up.
“She got thrown. Sprained her ankle.”
“It happens to all of us,” Ella said consolingly.
“I know, but I should have been paying attention.”
“You need to ice it,” Marshall said in his best big brother mode. “That boot needs to come off, too.”
She saw the glance he and Ella exchanged. “Oh, no. You are not cutting up my favorite boots.”
“They’re all your favorite,” Marshall pointed out. “You should have taken it off before it swelled. It’s not going to come off easily. It’s going to hurt like hell to cut it off, much less pull on it.”
“Gee, thanks for the useless advice.”
Ella had gone to her desk and retrieved a pocketknife while Marshall lectured Damaris. Knowing her brother, it was futile to argue. “Fine, but I’m not watching.” She turned her head away and braced herself but it hurt even more than she’d been prepared for. Even cursing Marshall didn’t help.
He simply laughed and said, “Now, now. That’s not very ladylike.”
Damaris told him where he could shove it.
“I think she’s pretty inventive,” Ella commented. “There were several I haven’t heard before. I’ll have to ask Chase if he knows them.”
“He should,” Damaris retorted. “I learned them from Cole so I know Chase must have heard them too.”
“Oh, that explains it,” Ella said. “Oil field cursing is different from cowboy—and cowgirl—cursing.”
Damaris responded with a particularly innovative curse, making Ella and Marshall laugh harder.
Marshall tried to convince her to let him take her to get the ankle x-rayed but she refused. “I’ll go tomorrow if it’s worse, but I don’t think it’s broken.”
Ella helped her to the cottage while Marshall took care of Cinnamon. Once Damaris was seated on the couch with her foot up and an ice bag on her ankle, Ella dug out the crutches and boot Damaris had kept from other injuries.
