landing on top of the man’s waist and shoulders. He stuck his cold, black nose right into the crook of his neck.
Mr. Enright jerked as the dog’s weight squeezed the air through his lungs. He gasped as if needing more air and unable to receive it— but he was alive. Albeit just barely.
“Move, Rolf,” Sabrina ordered, shoving her dog out of the cart with both hands. Rolf didn’t take offense at being dumped to the ground. He sat up, his tail wagging as if he understood he’d performed a good service.
Her patient had settled back into his fetal position, his breathing labored but strong, as if he’d momentarily given up but now continued the struggle to survive.
His dark hair was pressed against his head in damp rings. Shadows emphasized the hollows of his face. If she didn’t act quickly, she could lose him.
“I’m moving you,” she said to him. “I’m taking you into the house.” She started climbing out of the cart as she spoke. “When we reach the back step, I will need your help. I can’t move you alone, and no one else is here.”
Her father would not approve. She should have spoken to him, but it was too late now, and she wasn’t about to keep Mr. Enright a moment longer out here in the stables. He needed good care.
Besides, her father was already so annoyed with her, he’d charged out of the house. Carting home a sick stranger would be just one more thing about her that irritated him.
“He and Mrs. Bossley can discuss this transgression as well,” she muttered under her breath as she picked the cart up by the shafts and began pulling it out of the stall. It wasn’t difficult to pull, just awkward, and she decided to see if she could guide it all the way to the back door without dealing with Dumpling.
For his part, the pony watched her efforts with interest, as if wondering if she found being hitched to the cart as much of a chore as he did.
Rolf trotted along beside her.
The dog’s interest in Mr. Enright’s well-being was very curious to Sabrina. She could only surmise that the man must be a halfway-decent sort if Rolf gave his approval. She hoped that was true. After all, she knew nothing about Mr. Enright. Why, he could be some brigand.
But he didn’t seem to be such a character. If anything, he struck her as a man who’d had a measure of bad luck. There were telltale signs, from the good leather of his boots with their run-down heels to the quality linen of his filthy and sweat-stained shirt. He needed some kindness.
Offering kindness could help her as well.
The cart’s height fit perfectly the top back step. She propped the door open.
Now came the hard part, physically moving him. She’d opened the cart door. All he had to do was step from the vehicle into the house. Simple really . . . if one were conscious.
“Mr. Enright,” Sabrina called, shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Enright, you must rouse yourself. Please. I can’t take you inside without your help.”
He didn’t budge. There was no movement. Not even the flicker of an eyelash.
She could ask for help from a neighbor, but for some reason, she was reluctant to do so. Perhaps because of the promise Mr. Enright had extracted from her. Perhaps because she felt her father should be informed first before she mentioned her patient to others.
Or perhaps because of her own stubbornness. Sabrina had rarely asked for assistance when she was tending her mother. She didn’t like to bother others, and, yes, her pride was involved as well. She was independent by nature. Doing a task herself was easier than letting others pry into her business.
She rushed up to her bedroom and pulled the counterpane off her bed. She took it downstairs and spread it on the floor by the door.
“Mr. Enright,” she called again, this time shoving his shoulder since he hadn’t reacted to her gentle shaking, “I need your help.”
Nothing. No response at all.
“ Please, Mr. Enright. ”
He seemed to settle in deeper.
Finally, she took a
Mr. Enright jerked as the dog’s weight squeezed the air through his lungs. He gasped as if needing more air and unable to receive it— but he was alive. Albeit just barely.
“Move, Rolf,” Sabrina ordered, shoving her dog out of the cart with both hands. Rolf didn’t take offense at being dumped to the ground. He sat up, his tail wagging as if he understood he’d performed a good service.
Her patient had settled back into his fetal position, his breathing labored but strong, as if he’d momentarily given up but now continued the struggle to survive.
His dark hair was pressed against his head in damp rings. Shadows emphasized the hollows of his face. If she didn’t act quickly, she could lose him.
“I’m moving you,” she said to him. “I’m taking you into the house.” She started climbing out of the cart as she spoke. “When we reach the back step, I will need your help. I can’t move you alone, and no one else is here.”
Her father would not approve. She should have spoken to him, but it was too late now, and she wasn’t about to keep Mr. Enright a moment longer out here in the stables. He needed good care.
Besides, her father was already so annoyed with her, he’d charged out of the house. Carting home a sick stranger would be just one more thing about her that irritated him.
“He and Mrs. Bossley can discuss this transgression as well,” she muttered under her breath as she picked the cart up by the shafts and began pulling it out of the stall. It wasn’t difficult to pull, just awkward, and she decided to see if she could guide it all the way to the back door without dealing with Dumpling.
For his part, the pony watched her efforts with interest, as if wondering if she found being hitched to the cart as much of a chore as he did.
Rolf trotted along beside her.
The dog’s interest in Mr. Enright’s well-being was very curious to Sabrina. She could only surmise that the man must be a halfway-decent sort if Rolf gave his approval. She hoped that was true. After all, she knew nothing about Mr. Enright. Why, he could be some brigand.
But he didn’t seem to be such a character. If anything, he struck her as a man who’d had a measure of bad luck. There were telltale signs, from the good leather of his boots with their run-down heels to the quality linen of his filthy and sweat-stained shirt. He needed some kindness.
Offering kindness could help her as well.
The cart’s height fit perfectly the top back step. She propped the door open.
Now came the hard part, physically moving him. She’d opened the cart door. All he had to do was step from the vehicle into the house. Simple really . . . if one were conscious.
“Mr. Enright,” Sabrina called, shaking his shoulder. “Mr. Enright, you must rouse yourself. Please. I can’t take you inside without your help.”
He didn’t budge. There was no movement. Not even the flicker of an eyelash.
She could ask for help from a neighbor, but for some reason, she was reluctant to do so. Perhaps because of the promise Mr. Enright had extracted from her. Perhaps because she felt her father should be informed first before she mentioned her patient to others.
Or perhaps because of her own stubbornness. Sabrina had rarely asked for assistance when she was tending her mother. She didn’t like to bother others, and, yes, her pride was involved as well. She was independent by nature. Doing a task herself was easier than letting others pry into her business.
She rushed up to her bedroom and pulled the counterpane off her bed. She took it downstairs and spread it on the floor by the door.
“Mr. Enright,” she called again, this time shoving his shoulder since he hadn’t reacted to her gentle shaking, “I need your help.”
Nothing. No response at all.
“ Please, Mr. Enright. ”
He seemed to settle in deeper.
Finally, she took a
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