Suddenly A Frontier Father - Lyn Cote Wilderness Brides

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we dust,” Birdie informed her.

      “What do you sing?” Emma asked, intrigued.

      Birdie replied in song, “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ’roun’; Turn me ’roun’.”

      Emma couldn’t like the ain’ts, but the song sounded cheerful, and she liked the sentiment. Nobody was going to turn her ’round, either. She had her new course as Pepin schoolteacher set, and she would follow it.

      Soon she found herself sweeping up acorn tops and other evidence of squirrels. A thump against the side of the house startled her. Then she heard footsteps overhead. She looked up as if she could see through the ceiling.

      The sound of scratching came down through the fireplace.

      “What’s that, Miss Emma?” Birdie asked, also looking up.

      “I think Mr. Chandler may be cleaning out debris from the top of the chimney.” She approached the fireplace and craned her neck to look up inside it.

      Then she heard it—the sound of boots sliding down wooden shingles and a yell and finally a thump outside. Her heart lurched. “Oh, no!”

      Birdie cried out in fear and ran to her with Charlotte close behind.

      Emma hurried to the door and outside into the daylight, the girls at her heels.

      Mason lay on the ground, flat on his back, not moving.

      Emma gasped. How badly was he hurt? She rushed toward him and met Colton, who had run from the barn. Emma dropped to her knees, yet stopped herself from touching him. “Mr. Chandler?” she repeated his name several times.

      She looked across at Colton, who stood on the man’s other side, looking as worried as she felt. She leaned forward over Mason’s mouth and turned her cheek to feel his warm breath. She felt it. Relief ruffled through her. “He’s breathing.”

      Then she became aware of the fact that the two little girls were crying. “Don’t cry, Birdie. Tell Charlotte her brother’s breathing. He’ll be fine.” I hope.

      All Mason Chandler and Birdie had revealed today had captured her interest, her sympathy. But that was all she could give him. Nothing more. She was independent at last, teaching school, which she’d always wanted to do. She was grateful Mason had released her from their agreement to marry. She would help him now but keep her distance.

       Chapter Two

      Mason blinked. He couldn’t think. But he could see Emma’s face just inches above his. “You’re so good,” he whispered. “And you could have been mine.”

      Her eyes widened. “Mr. Chandler? Can you hear me?”

      Silly question. Of course he could hear her, see her. He realized then that he was lying on the prickly grass, looking up at the blue sky. Crowded around him were his girls and Asa’s boy. Why was Emma on her knees beside him? “What happened?” He moved to sit up.

      With her small hand on his chest, Emma pressed him back. “Take it easy. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of minutes. You fell from the roof.”

      He closed his eyes and the memory returned, his sliding off the roof. That breathless jolt of panic. “I stepped on a loose shingle and lost my balance.”

      “That could happen to anyone,” Emma murmured. She slipped her hand under his head. “You don’t have a bump. Does your head hurt?”

      “A bit.” He appreciated Emma’s trying to soothe his dented pride, but he noticed then that Charlotte was crying and that Birdie, with tears running down her cheeks, was comforting her. He stirred himself. “I’ll be all right, girls. Don’t worry, Charlotte.” He tried to work his fingers to sign but he couldn’t. “I’ll be all right,” he repeated. He watched Birdie sign this to his sister, but she continued to cry. He could see the fear on her face. I must get up and show I’m all right, he thought to himself. He tried to sit up again.

      Emma pressed him back once more. “First let’s make sure you’ve not hurt anything seriously.”

      He glanced up at her, very aware of her being so close to him. He hoped she hadn’t heard him say, “You’re so good,” or, worse, “You could have been mine.” He cringed inwardly, hoping he hadn’t said that aloud. The words were true but too personal and embarrassing in the extreme.

      “Start by moving each part of you and see if you feel any sharp pain,” she counseled.

      He didn’t want to obey. He just wanted to stand up, thank her for her help and hurry her along home. Her presence was bringing forth feelings he didn’t want to explore. But yes, he might have hurt himself, so her instruction made sense. He didn’t want to make matters any worse than they were. He obliged her, moving his neck and working down his body, moving each arm individually and rotating each joint—shoulders, elbows, wrists, knees.

      All was well till he tested his ankles one at a time. “Uhhh.” The pain-filled syllable was forced out when he rotated his right ankle.

      Emma glanced down. “I think you can safely sit up. But perhaps you should first push down your stocking so we can see your ankle.”

      Once again he obliged.

      “Oh, it’s swelling,” she said as they both stared at the flushed ankle. “But you were able to rotate it, so that should mean it’s just a sprain. It will heal in about a week without any further problem. When we were children, my brother suffered a sprain after falling from a tree. I know what to do.”

      Mason could not believe he was in this situation. And he’d fallen while she was nearby. Humiliation. “I have so much to do. I can’t be laid up.”

      “Well, we can’t do anything about that until we take care of your ankle.” She rose and rested a gentle hand on Birdie’s shoulder. “Explain everything to Charlotte and let her know this isn’t serious.” Then she turned to Colton. “Please run into the house and bring out a chair. Birdie, please go get the water bucket inside the door.”

      He tried to make sense of her instructions but the wind had been knocked out of him and he felt depleted somehow. I guess falling off a roof does take it out of a man. He grimaced ruefully.

      Soon after instructing Colton to stand behind the chair to steady it, Emma helped Mason sit up. “Now the chair is right behind you. When you’re ready to stand, I want you to put your hands on my shoulders so I can steady you as you push up onto your good foot. I’m sure you have the strength to stand, but favoring your ankle will put you off balance. So hold on to me.” Stooping, she positioned herself in front of him.

      He parted his lips to refuse her help.

      “Seeing you fall again will only upset Charlotte more,” she whispered in his ear.

      Her warm breath against his ear stirred him. And her words persuaded him to do as she suggested. “I’m ready.” He reached up and gripped her slender shoulders. He pushed up, staggered. She steadied him as he landed in the chair. A touch of vertigo and sharp pain in his ankle vied with his reaction to being so near Emma Jones. She smelled of roses. He closed his eyes momentarily, marshaling all his self-control against the pain and against the temptation to reach for her. He leaned against the back of the chair. “Thank you.”

      She stifled a chuckle.

      His eyes flew open in surprise.

      “Sorry.” She looked abashed and amused at the same time. “I caught myself just before I said, ‘My pleasure.’ It’s silly how certain words trigger other words, isn’t it?”

      He didn’t feel anything like smiling, but she drew one from him anyway. “I know what you mean.” He gazed at this woman who was surprising him in so many ways. She had a sense of humor. He liked that. Then he shifted in his chair slightly, and that tiny movement caused pain to shoot through his

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