Free The Longing by Wendy Lindstrom Page A

problems. It may not be his fault at
all.”
    “It most certainly is his fault! His bad
decisions drove his mill into debt, and it could damn well drag
mine with it.” Kyle grabbed her wrist and tugged her away from the
table. “If you need proof of that we can take a trip to his mill
right now and I’ll show you the mess he has made.”
    The absurdity of her situation washed over
her and Amelia’s emotions spiraled out of control. It would be so
easy to sink to the floor in a laughing, weeping ball of idiocy,
but something stronger burned inside her and shoved aside
self-pity. She’d had enough. She refused to be a victim any
longer.
    Every man in her life had manipulated her or
let her down. From the moment of her birth, she’d lived her life
under someone else’s rules. She’d adored her father and appreciated
his support, but she’d lived by his standards, not her own. After
her affair with Richard she traded her freedom for a minuscule
monthly stipend and a pristine reputation as a teacher. Now,
because of a mistake in her past, one man’s arrogance, and another
man’s bad decisions, her reputation and security were on the verge
of destruction.
    Amelia jerked her arm, but Kyle kept her
wrist captive. “Leave my apartment!” she demanded, refusing to be
pushed or manhandled ever again. When Kyle still didn’t release her
wrist, Amelia swung her foot straight into his shin.
    Air whistled in between his clenched teeth
and a sickly expression washed over his face as he swayed on his
feet, but it was the low groan of pain and his hand clutching for
the bedpost that made Amelia realize what she'd done.
    “Your leg! Oh, my God. Kyle, I'm sorry.”
    His entire body trembled and perspiration
covered his face as she guided him onto her bed, but he didn’t say
a word. He clenched his fists in his lap until his knuckles turned
white. His chest heaved and he squeezed his eyes shut, but the
suspicious sparkle of moisture on his dark lashes rent Amelia's
heart.
    “Kyle,” she said softly, touching his taut,
damp cheek. “I'm so sorry. I forgot about your injury.” He didn't
respond and Amelia wasn't sure if it was because he was so angry or
because he was in too much pain to do so.
    She grabbed a freshly laundered towel off her
linen stand and soaked it in the bucket of water she’d just drawn
from the well. When she turned toward the bed, Kyle was sitting
with his head tipped back against the wall, his eyes tightly
closed. “I'll need to lift your pants leg.”
    He didn’t respond.
    Amelia raised the lightweight denim as gently
as possible. When she saw Kyle’s shin covered with black tissue and
swollen to the point of deformity, she nearly wept with remorse for
her rash behavior. How stupid she’d been. Swallowing back her
nausea, she applied the cold, dripping cloth and apologized for the
discomfort when he flinched. Her eyes blurred with tears and she
cursed herself again for her inconsiderate act. It wasn’t his fault
her father was in debt, that her life was falling apart.
    He let out a shaky breath. “Do you have
another wet cloth?”
    His voice came out graveled and slow, and it
was apparent he was in no condition to lean over and hold the
compress to his leg. She glanced around the room, but there was
nothing to use to pin the cloth in place. Amelia plucked a pin from
her hair and slipped it over the area where the two ends of the
fabric crossed. With the reinforcement of four more hairpins the
rag stayed in place. She crossed to her linen stand, unmindful of
her hair trailing down her back.
    She wet a fresh towel, wrung the excess into
her potted plant, which was the only living thing allowed to share
her tiny apartment with her, then returned to Kyle's side. After
folding the towel, she pressed it to his forehead.
    “Thank you,” he said, his voice strained.
    Amelia didn't answer for lack of an
appropriate response. No matter how many times she apologized, it
would not lessen the pain she’d