Free The Widow of Saunders Creek by Tracey Bateman Page A

kitchen table.” Finally, a little sympathy. “Tilt your head back, and let me take a look. I had a first-aid course, so I’m well qualified to nurse you back to health.”
    I tilted my head back as she instructed, but I followed her with my eyes as she looked over my wound. She wiped away blood. “It might be broken. I can’t tell. Best put the ice on it.” So much for her stellar nursing qualifications.
    Outside, a clap of thunder vibrated the air and shook the house. The kitten gave a loud meow. He was too little to jump off the counter. A little moan of sympathy whispered through Corrie’s throat, and she hurried across the room, then gathered the little creature into her arms. She pressed it under her chin and slid her finger over his orange head.
    “You know they’re not really domesticated.” Good grief, I sounded like I had a speech impediment.
    “Well, this one is staying in the house with me.” She pressed her cheek against the kitten, and it struggled to get down. “You wait and see,” she said. “Within a week, all he’ll want to do is sit on my lap and cuddle.”
    I stared at her. Completely bemused—perhaps enchanted—by this woman who had most likely broken my nose, I could well believe she could make any creature love her.
Corrie
    The rain beat down so hard the rest of the day that Eli refused to let me drive him to Springfield to the emergency room. I even Googled “how to set a broken nose” and offered to jerk the cartilage back in place, but I couldn’t blame him for threatening me with bodily harm if I came anywhere near his face.
    I opened every window in the house. The curtains danced as the storm blew and blew, perfuming the house with the aroma of fresh rain.
    We stayed in the living room. The wood floor felt damp beneath my bare feet, but I couldn’t bring myself to close the window. The kitten lay nestled against me most of the afternoon. I hadn’t named him yet. So far, he hadn’t displayed any personality traits that would give me a hint as to what I should call him, so I called him Kitty. “You know that’s not very manly,” Eli said, raising himself up from the couch cushions to stare at me in disgust. At least I thought it was disgust, but I couldn’t be sure, considering the swelling and bruising.
    I gave a stubborn lift of my chin. “He’s a baby. I don’t think it matters at this stage.” I eyed Eli. “Lay your head back.”
    As we listened to the rain, I insisted Eli lay on the couch with his head tilted back. It was the least I could do to make sure the damage was minimal until we could get him to the hospital. “Do you think it’ll stop anytime soon?” I don’t know why I asked Eli. He wasn’t a weatherman or psychic, but I was sick of the constant rush of rain and was honestly starting to worry about Eli. I hated the idea of his nose being permanently bent. That straight, beautiful Roman nose must have been a family trait, because Jarrod had it too.
    “This is what we call a Missouri gullywasher.” Eli grinned around the ice pack. He’d been taking ibuprofen for the pain and swelling and keeping his nose iced. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was getting black eyes.
    “You hungry yet?” I asked, glancing at the clock and noting it was already after seven. “I’m starving.”
    He nodded. “I hate to admit it, but yeah, I’m starving too.” He took the ice pack from his nose. “How’s it looking?”
    “Like you’ve had one too many hits in the ring, Rocky.”
    He laughed, then moaned. “Ow, don’t make me laugh.”
    “Sorry.” I headed to the kitchen to see what I could whip up for us, wishing I hadn’t been such a glutton at lunch. I probably ate enough for three people. I opened the fridge and found eggs. It would take too long to thaw out meat. “I hate to be cliché,” I called, “but what are your thoughts on an extremely fancy and well-cooked omelet? I have fresh mushrooms, onions, red bell pepper, and a block of