Page 43 of Hidden Nature

A lot to be thankful for, she reminded herself. And more if she could manage another walk outside.

Pleased she felt reasonably steady and rested, she went back downstairs in time to hear the shouts ofTouchdown!and the moans of those rooting for the opposition.

She turned in time to see Jonah’s little boy, Austin, let out a war cry as he chased Mop—a ball clamped in his mouth, dark eyes lit with fun—into the home office.

She detoured—not the place to play tug—and got to the door in time to see the little guy slip and fall flat on the floor.

“Oops,” she said, then moved in. “You okay, pal?”

He sat up, eyes big and teary, and raised up his arms.

She didn’t think, simply reached down and lifted him.

She felt the pop, the sudden stab of pain as the breath went out of her. Her legs gave way.

She didn’t drop the boy, but it was close, and crumpled on the floor. She struggled to get her breath back as the four-year-old’s tears began to fall.

“What was that?” Drea turned into the doorway, then sprinted. “Sloan.”

“Take him. Take him.” Her hands shook like her voice. “I didn’t think. I didn’t think.”

“Stay right where you are.”

Hauling Austin up, Drea rushed out, and Sloan tried to take stock. Gingerly, she slid a hand under her sweater, found her chest dressing wet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Drea rushed back, knelt down. “How bad?”

“Goddamn it, my own fault.” Her breath wheezed in, wheezed out, but the pain stayed. “Popped some stitches. And I think maybe strained a muscle. Maybe, shit, shit, tore one.”

“How bad are you bleeding?” Without hesitation, Drea yanked up her sister’s sweater. “Okay, okay, not a gusher. Stay down. I’ll get our things, take you to the ER.”

Sloan felt her own tears building. “I’m screwing it up.”

“You’re not. We’re going to do what we need to do.”

Of course, everyone would have crowded into the room if Dean hadn’t shooed them off.

“I’ll drive,” he said.

“No. Dad, I’ve got this. And I’ll take care of her.” Drea put on her coat as Elsie helped Sloan into hers.

“It’s not bad,” Sloan assured them, though she didn’t know for certain, since it hurt to breathe, much less talk. “Stupid of me, that’s all. I didn’t think about it, just hauled him up. He’s about five times five pounds. They’ll stitch me up and I’ll be back. Save me some pie.”

Still, her father insisted on carrying her to the car, and cars had to be moved and shifted so Drea could back out.

“I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” Drea told her. “You picked up a kid because he was crying. I get it.”

“I knew better. I should’ve sat down on the floor and held him.”

“You didn’t.” Eyes straight ahead, Drea handled the winding roads like a Formula 1 ace. “You’re wired to help someone who needs help. Beating yourself up isn’t going to accomplish anything. Just like you said all the right things back there about being right back, having pie.”

“It could be true.”

“We’re going to hope it is.”

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