The Groom Says Yes by Cathy Maxwell Page B

lesson from Rolf. She took both hands and all of her weight and pounced on him.
    Mr. Enright woke, his glassy eyes opening.
    “Stand up,” she ordered, as she lifted his arm and placed it around her shoulder. This man was solid. Weak but muscular. “Please, stand,” she encouraged, and to her blessed relief, he did.
    He unfolded himself and with her aid, stood in the rickety cart. For a second, they wobbled, then she pushed him forward. He grabbed the side of the door and stepped inside the house. She jumped after him.
    “You can lie on the blanket,” she said. “I’ll be able to drag you to the stairs.”
    Mr. Enright half turned to her and stared as if trying to make sense out of what she was saying, then he began a lurching walk down the hall.
    Sabrina was ecstatic. This was better than she had hoped. They managed to reach the stairs. “All right,” she said. “Let us climb them. One at a time.”
    He shot her a look that said he thought her quite mad and sat on the stairs, like a stubborn toddler who could not take one step more. He leaned his shoulder against the wall.
    For a second, she debated leaving him here. She looked around the rooms off the hall. The dining room was one of the smallest rooms in the house, and the table, chairs, and sideboard took up any floor space that could accommodate a man of his size. Nor would he fit in the tight space between the foot of the stairs and the front door.
    She could fashion a comfortable bed for him on the floor of the sitting room. Her pianoforte was in one corner, and there were chairs for conversation by the front window, but they could be moved. However, Sabrina didn’t want her father to walk in the door and see Mr. Enright until after she’d had a chance to explain his presence.
    So, how to guide him up the stairs and to the back bedroom that was reserved for guests?
    Mr. Enright solved her conundrum by turning on his own and half crawling, half climbing the stairs. She had to step lively to catch up with him.
    Nor was he truly conscious. A part of him was acting on instinct. He trusted her because he had no choice. He could not fend for himself.
    At the top of the stairs, he didn’t walk down the hall toward the guest bedroom by the attic door but turned sharply to the right and trudged into her own bedroom. He fell facedown upon her bed.
    Sabrina stood in the doorway, relief mixing with dismay. She had not had the difficulty she had anticipated carrying him up the stairs. However, he had chosen her bed. He could not stay there, and yet he appeared to have lost consciousness again.
    She walked to the bed. This room was her sanctuary, the one place in the house that was hers alone. The bed was a simple four-poster and could certainly bear Mr. Enright’s weight. However, she was very particular about the pillows and the sheets. Mrs. Patton and her father always accused her of being fussy about wanting her sheets clean and fresh. She liked plump pillows, too. She added feathers as she found them to the three pillows until they were just the way she liked them, and she did not share. Especially with someone who had his boots on her sheets.
    As if he read her thoughts, Mr. Enright rubbed his hairy face against the smooth pillowcase Sabrina had sewn and embroidered herself. He snuggled in deeper.
    And Sabrina’s frustration rose to the top. “You can’t stay here.”
    He didn’t move. He probably hadn’t heard her. However, if he could climb the stairs, then he could rouse himself to march down the hall.
    “ Come, ” she ordered, reaching for his arm to drag him out of the bed.
    He didn’t move.
    Worse, the fever had hold of him again. If anything, he was hotter to the touch than he had been before.
    Sheets could be cleaned, but she was not going to let this man die in her bed. Oh, no.
    She flew across the room to her washstand and poured water into the basin. The water had been sitting all day and was just the right temperature. She carried the bowl