Free South of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 2) by Nanette Kinslow

hurried to meet him and marveled at how well he was doing.
          “You’ll be walking perfectly fine in no time,” she commented, stepping in a circle around him.
          “I suppose that using the leg was the best thing after all,” he smiled, embarrassed.
          They walked slowly to the house together. Emma was flattered that he had come out to meet her.
          “Timothy says the mill reopens tomorrow,” she ventured.
          “Yes.” Roland rubbed his goatee thoughtfully.
          “How are you feeling about that?”
          “Good. A little nervous, but good,” Roland replied. “That mill has been in Tim’s family for three generations. Before last summer there had never been an accident. Now the mill has more modern equipment, better ways to stop the blades and most of the building is new. It’s what I do, and what we all do, and we do it well. It’s who we are and it’s fitting that it should reopen,” he explained. “I’ll be glad to get back to work, I’m not one that does well feeling useless.”

 
     
    Chapter Twelve
     
     
           E mma scrubbed the unfinished room thoroughly and laundered all of the blankets and sheets, hanging them to dry in the hot sun. She gathered several soft-colored flour sacks from the kitchen and draped them casually across the top of the windows, giving the home a cozy, comfortable look. She sorted out kitchen cabinets and washed clothing, all the while keeping a shopping list on the sideboard for things she would need to maintain the man’s house: clothespins and soaps, dusters and rags.
     
          As she brought in the linens she watched Roland leading the mare around the yard while her filly followed her closely. He brushed the horse and spoke to her gently, then pitched fresh straw into the stables. She saw him stop regularly and rub his leg thoroughly and decided to add the ingredients for a strong liniment to her list. Once he started working regularly he’d appreciate a comforting poultice after a long day, she thought.
     
          She called him for lunch in the early afternoon, afraid he would overdo trying to keep out of her way. He kicked back in the chair, stretching out his leg while he ate.
          “Have you ever tried a compress on that wound?” Emma tasted her cool sandwich.
          “No, I never did much for it. I haven’t been using my leg all that long.”
          “It might bring you some comfort, even help the healing. I’ll make you up one from the herbs I gathered this morning if you wouldn’t mind.”
          Roland bit into his sandwich eagerly, the crisp cucumber and thick slice of cool ham a refreshing combination. “How would it work?” he asked absently.
          “I’ll make up a poultice and press it to the wound. Where exactly is the wound?”
          Roland scowled. “It’s probably not a good idea.” He looked down at his leg thoughtfully.
          “Why not? I can wrap it on, just over the knee right?” she asked innocently.
          “Hardly,” he choked. “I expect it would be someplace that you’d rather avoid.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
          “Oh,” Emma blushed profusely. “I thought it was, um, lower.”
          “No,” he replied huskily.
          Emma put her hand to her face and watched him, gathering her nerve. “Tell me about it.”
          “It was a large splinter, hot from the lightening. Shot right into me.” He stood up suddenly and walked stiffly out to the porch.
          Emma followed him out soundlessly and put her hand on his shoulder. “I have no desire to make you uncomfortable, Roland,” she spoke close to his ear, her chin nearly on his shoulder. He could smell her freshly shampooed hair and feel the gentleness of her touch. “I see you struggling to get past the pain. I want to help, not embarrass you or make you uncomfortable. Please, Roland let me do