suggested.
He flicked a red-faced glance back to her. “I can manage.”
“Or if you stood on tiptoe, that would help.”
He replied with a noise that was more a grunt than an answer. “I think I… oooph! …can just about—”
With just the tips of his longest fingers he managed to pull the box forward till he could get a grip on it—but by that time the box was tipping precariously on the edge of the high shelf. Ellie let out a cry of alarm and ran forward with her chair. It was only male pride keeping him from accepting help from her, and that was silly!
She sprang onto the chair and held one end of the box. “I’ve got it,” she told him. “If you’ll just let me hand it down to you—”
Just then, the door in front of Ellie banged open, hitting the chair and frightening her out of her wits. “Oh!” She cried in surprise and sprang straight up in the air like a startled cat, but when she came back down it was definitely not with feline grace. One foot lost the chair altogether and the other barely glanced down on the edge, so that the chair tipped away from where Roy was standing.
“Ooooh!” she cried again, realizing she was in trouble. Her right arm still was trying to keep hold of the silly box, while the other whirled in loopy circles in a doomed battle for balance. Roy’s eyes rounded in surprise when they registered that she was about to tip over. Now he had a dilemma. He could keep hold of the box overhead, or he could rescue her from a nasty fall.
Chivalry was by no means dead in Paradise, Nebraska. With self-sacrifice Ellie thought worthy of the best of Walter Scott, he let go of the box and with both hands grabbed at her. Ellie, however, was already in midfall, so that all he was able to grab was a hank of hair and some nightgown, causing Ellie to yelp both in pain and at the sharp rip! of her gown tearing. Fortunately, Parker—who had been the cause of the door banging open—stepped inside in time to catch Ellie before she fell.
But poor Roy! His letting go of the box had dire consequences, since it placed him directly under theheavy wood container as it came crashing down, first hitting his head and sending him reeling backward to the floor, then finishing its path of destruction by banging even more forcefully on the toe of his boot.
Sprawled on the bare floor next to the fallen chair, he released a howl of pain.
“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Ellie sprang to kneel next to him. She didn’t even need to see his annoyed glare to realize how foolish a question she’d asked. His poor head—a bump the size of a goose egg was already lumping on his temple beneath the line of his hair. And yet it didn’t seem to be his head that was bothering him. Or even his male pride, this time.
“My toe,” he gritted out, wincing.
Ellie looked down at his boot, wondering if anything could have penetrated the thick leather.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Parker asked, looking down at the scene with concern and just a touch of amusement. “Roy!” he scolded gently. “I thought I could trust you!”
Roy scowled defensively. “I was just getting a blanket!”
Parker’s brows rose in interest. “What’s the matter with the one in the cedar chest in the parlor?”
Roy grimaced as he attempted to stand. “I forgot—ouch!”
Ellie threw a worried glance at Parker. “We’ll have to get a doctor.”
“No doctors!”
Parker laughed. “Roy can’t stand Dr. Webster coming out.”
“The man’s an alarmist,” Roy said. “He’ll look at my bruised toe and order me to stay in bed for three months.”
“Well maybe you should.” Ellie’s consciencepricked her. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed in his own bed to begin with. “And I insist you stay here.”
He looked up at her with a frown. “And have you sleep out in that igloo with Ike?”
Parker chuckled. “ I’ll stay with Ike. Ellie can stay in my room.”
Roy frowned.
He flicked a red-faced glance back to her. “I can manage.”
“Or if you stood on tiptoe, that would help.”
He replied with a noise that was more a grunt than an answer. “I think I… oooph! …can just about—”
With just the tips of his longest fingers he managed to pull the box forward till he could get a grip on it—but by that time the box was tipping precariously on the edge of the high shelf. Ellie let out a cry of alarm and ran forward with her chair. It was only male pride keeping him from accepting help from her, and that was silly!
She sprang onto the chair and held one end of the box. “I’ve got it,” she told him. “If you’ll just let me hand it down to you—”
Just then, the door in front of Ellie banged open, hitting the chair and frightening her out of her wits. “Oh!” She cried in surprise and sprang straight up in the air like a startled cat, but when she came back down it was definitely not with feline grace. One foot lost the chair altogether and the other barely glanced down on the edge, so that the chair tipped away from where Roy was standing.
“Ooooh!” she cried again, realizing she was in trouble. Her right arm still was trying to keep hold of the silly box, while the other whirled in loopy circles in a doomed battle for balance. Roy’s eyes rounded in surprise when they registered that she was about to tip over. Now he had a dilemma. He could keep hold of the box overhead, or he could rescue her from a nasty fall.
Chivalry was by no means dead in Paradise, Nebraska. With self-sacrifice Ellie thought worthy of the best of Walter Scott, he let go of the box and with both hands grabbed at her. Ellie, however, was already in midfall, so that all he was able to grab was a hank of hair and some nightgown, causing Ellie to yelp both in pain and at the sharp rip! of her gown tearing. Fortunately, Parker—who had been the cause of the door banging open—stepped inside in time to catch Ellie before she fell.
But poor Roy! His letting go of the box had dire consequences, since it placed him directly under theheavy wood container as it came crashing down, first hitting his head and sending him reeling backward to the floor, then finishing its path of destruction by banging even more forcefully on the toe of his boot.
Sprawled on the bare floor next to the fallen chair, he released a howl of pain.
“Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” Ellie sprang to kneel next to him. She didn’t even need to see his annoyed glare to realize how foolish a question she’d asked. His poor head—a bump the size of a goose egg was already lumping on his temple beneath the line of his hair. And yet it didn’t seem to be his head that was bothering him. Or even his male pride, this time.
“My toe,” he gritted out, wincing.
Ellie looked down at his boot, wondering if anything could have penetrated the thick leather.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Parker asked, looking down at the scene with concern and just a touch of amusement. “Roy!” he scolded gently. “I thought I could trust you!”
Roy scowled defensively. “I was just getting a blanket!”
Parker’s brows rose in interest. “What’s the matter with the one in the cedar chest in the parlor?”
Roy grimaced as he attempted to stand. “I forgot—ouch!”
Ellie threw a worried glance at Parker. “We’ll have to get a doctor.”
“No doctors!”
Parker laughed. “Roy can’t stand Dr. Webster coming out.”
“The man’s an alarmist,” Roy said. “He’ll look at my bruised toe and order me to stay in bed for three months.”
“Well maybe you should.” Ellie’s consciencepricked her. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed in his own bed to begin with. “And I insist you stay here.”
He looked up at her with a frown. “And have you sleep out in that igloo with Ike?”
Parker chuckled. “ I’ll stay with Ike. Ellie can stay in my room.”
Roy frowned.
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