Free Long Road Home, The by Lori Wick

and peered at her. “I’m done.”
    “My name is Mrs. Finlayson.”
    Paul’s head came off the pillow with both eyes open and stared at her. “You sure came fast enough.”
    “I came in to set you straight about my name. I do not answer to Red.” The last word was nearly spit out between clenched teeth.
    “Whatever.” He didn’t seem to notice her anger. “I’m done eating.”
    Her anger was so great that Abby had to control herself to keep from ripping the pillows out from behind his head. She didn’t think she had ever been treated so rudely. Up until now she had taken for granted the respect her profession had afforded.
    As Abby worked, she began to look logically at the situation, cooling her anger swiftly as she righted the bed and room. Paul Cameron was a man with a deep hurt. Abby felt for him and whatever that hurt might be, but she could not condone the way he was handling it. Everyone had private pain to live with; she ought to know. But lashing out at God and the world in general was not the answer.
    Having taken a few seconds to think this through while she settled Paul back in the bed, Abby could once again address him civilly.
    “Mr. Cameron, I’d like to check your wrist.” She reached for his arm, but he pulled away.
    “It’s fine.”
    “I’d like to see for myself,” she countered patiently. And thus the argument went on, Abby calmly holding her ground by the side of the bed and Paul heatedly telling her to get out.
    With a movement born of pure frustration, Paul finally thrust his wrist toward her and waited with ill-concealed impatience for her to finish.
    Even in his anger he was surprised by her gentleness and watched closely as she unwrapped the wrist and probed the bones carefully with her small hand. Paul felt no pain until she turned his hand a few degrees. He stiffened a moment until he realized she knew of his pain and had immediately stopped.
    “Did the doctor tell you it was broken?”
    “He never looked at it, and I wasn’t awake to tell him it hurt.” This explained the strange wrapping of part of an old shirt on the wrist the day before.
    “Well, I’m sure it’s no more than a bad sprain,” she spoke as she expertly rewrapped the wrist. Abby gave Paul no time for objections a moment later when she lifted the covers at the foot of the bed to check his legs.
    Her movements were deft and professional, and Paul appreciated her not just throwing the covers off the way the doctor had done to cut off the legs of his union suit. Paul had not been sure what the doctor was going to do but he’d had to wait to find out. As soon as the doctor had touched Paul’s legs, he in agony had passed out.
    “How bad is the pain?” Abby’s quiet voice cut through his thoughts.
    “They throb all the time.”
    “One more than the other?”
    “The right more.”
    Abby paused in her movements and noticed for the first time he was speaking to her in a normal voice and how beautiful that voice was. She also thought him not bad-looking when he wasn’t scowling.
    When the covers were back in place, Abby spoke. “The breaks are not severe, but the fact that it’s both legs will keep you in this bed for a spell. Is there anything you would like? Some books or writing material?”
    Paul didn’t want her kindness. He resented even needing her help. He answered from behind the wall he had built up around his heart.
    “No.” His voice was curt. “And don’t start nagging on me.”
    Stung by his words, Abby exited the room with quiet dignity.

18

     
    Abby walked with a weary chuckle to her bedroom. She had gone back into the kitchen, determined to put the hurtful things Paul had said behind her, and had found the Becketts’ cook. Abby had jabbered on for who knows how many minutes to her, asking what the wonderful smells were that floated from the stove, praising her neatness, and really attempting to make a friend.
    Abby didn’t have the slightest inkling as to why the woman had done