Free Angel Creek by Linda Howard Page A

luck,” he growled, getting up from the table. “What I need is patience.”
    Tillie’s soft laughter followed him out of the saloon.
    Olivia lingered in the dry goods store until she saw Lucas exit the saloon and head back in the direction of the Double C. It was cowardly of her to hide from him when he had never been anything but polite, but the possibility of meeting him in the street with innumerable eyes looking on had made her feel slightly ill. She wouldn’t have been able to say a coherent word to the man, what with wondering about the whispering and conjecturing going on behind all the storefront doors. Nor had he looked to be in a particularly good mood. Even from a distance she had been able to see the dark scowl on his face. If Lucas was overwhelming when he was in a good mood, how much more intimidating would he be in a temper? She didn’t want to find out.

5
    M AYBE IF D EE HADN’T BEEN SO TIRED IT WOULDN’T have happened, but she had spent the morning replowing the garden, breaking up the huge clods of dirt into smoother soil, suitable for planting. The first few days of garden work were always the hardest on her, for her muscles had grown softer over the comparatively lax winter months. So when she climbed into the barn loft to fork down more hay for the livestock perhaps she wasn’t as alert as she normally would have been, and maybe her reflexes weren’t as fast. For whatever reason she didn’t see the cat, and she stepped on its paw. The cat squalled; startled by the noise, Dee lurched backwards and misjudged her step. She hurtled out of the loft to land flat on her back on the ground, her head hitting with a soft thud.
    For a long, agonizing moment that seemed like an eternity she couldn’t draw air into her lungs, and shelay as if paralyzed, stunned with pain, her sight growing dim. Then her insides decided to work properly, and she inhaled greedily despite her aching rib cage.
    It was another several moments before she felt able to take stock of herself. Her arms and legs moved without undue pain, and her sore ribs felt more bruised than broken. Her head was throbbing dully. If the ground hadn’t been covered with a thin cushion of straw, she had no doubt she would be in much worse shape than she was.
    The cat leapt out of the loft and meowed at her in rebuke, then disappeared around the corner.
    She staggered to her feet and managed to finish feeding the animals, but when she went back to the house she could barely climb the steps. Cooking seemed too much of a bother, so she didn’t. She merely cleaned herself up with a sponge bath and gingerly brushed out her hair. Her head ached too much for her to be able to tolerate the tight braid she usually put her hair in for sleeping; she winced at the thought. It was all she could do to pull on her nightgown and crawl into bed.
    She didn’t sleep well because every time she moved in her sleep her aching muscles protested and woke her up; but when dawn came, and she opened her eyes for good, she was relieved to find that the headache was gone. She would have been in a fine mess if she had sustained a concussion, but thankfully that didn’t seem to be the case.
    Still, when she tried to get out of bed she sank back with a stifled cry as a sharp pain laced around her ribs.She lay there panting for a few minutes before gathering herself and trying again. The second attempt was no more successful than the first.
    She was loath to try again, but she knew she couldn’t simply lie in bed all day. For one thing, she had natural needs that had to be attended to.
    The third time she didn’t try to sit up but rather rolled off the bed and landed on her knees, which probably added to her collection of bruises. She leaned against the side of the bed with her eyes closed, trying to summon the strength and determination to stand. Fortunately, getting to her feet was less painful than sitting up had been,