“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
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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
me.”
“Carry you?”
“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.
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