“Never in a million years will I ride on your back.” As though her dignity hadn’t
suffered enough! Prudence rose, putting
all her weight on her good ankle. “You
will help me walk.”
The stable master shrugged. “Fine, we’ll try it your way. Here, put your arm around my shoulders.”
He bent at the knees so she could reach around his neck. When he stood, Prudence’s feet dangled off the ground, and her ankle throbbed from the strain of being suspended in midair.
“That won’t work. You’re too tall. How about if I put my arm about your waist?”
“Fine.” He lowered her to the ground.
Prudence put her arm about his waist, and they started forward.
“Ow, ow, ow!” She stumbled. “That won’t work either. I can’t take enough of my weight off my ankle with my arm merely at your waist. You’ll have to carry
“Yes, Mr. Evan. Carry me.” Prudence said, glad for the darkness that covered the heat creeping up her neck.
“Carry you?” he said again, doubt in his voice.
He looked at the hill as though he could see through it to the land and house beyond. Then he turned to her and gave her a speculative perusal that reminded
Prudence of the look a farmer might give a prize hog.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. She wasn’t that heavy. He had lifted her into Bolt’s saddle like she was nothing.
“It’s got to be half a mile. I could carry you up a flight of stairs, but I couldn’t carry you for a full half mile.”
Prudence tried to brush the image of him carrying her up a flight of stairs out of her mind. The only stairs she could picture were those leading to her bedroom.
The image left her far more discomfited than her ankle.