Page 46 of Waiting for the Rancher
At her words, everything tumbled back into his memory. They’d gone after Candy, he’d gone too close to the edge of the river, and he’d slipped in the rocks and hadn’t been able to catch himself.
He was suddenly aware of the pain that was shooting through his head, back, ribs, shoulder, arms... everything except his legs. In fact, he felt nothing in the lower half of his body. As he tried to shift his foot, he had the odd sensation that he didn’t even have feet anymore.
With a surge of panic mixed with determination, he struggled to push himself up.
“No, Maverick.” She tried to hold him in place. “You shouldn’t move. The doctor thinks you may have fractured your spine during the fall.”
He shrugged off her hold. Though his arms were weak, he made it to his elbows. Then, with a burst of desperation, he struggled the rest of the way until he was sitting.
Hazel was perched on the edge of the bed. The glow of a lantern on the bedside table revealed the worry filling her eyes.
Excruciating pain radiated up and down his spine. He didn’t think it was broken, but he’d definitely injured it. Had he permanently lost movement in his legs as a result?
He shifted again, and the pain—especially in his tailbone—nearly made him cry out.
“You’ve got to take it easy,” she chided softly. “You don’t want to make things worse.”
He’d watched many a man over his lifetime pick himself back up after getting injured, particularly his pa. There had even been the time when his pa had gotten bucked from a stallion and thrown into a pile of hay, where a pitchfork had impaled his leg. They’d still been living in Kentucky on the horse farm, and he’d been just a little tyke. But he’d never forgotten how his pa had stood up, pulled out the pitchfork, and limped away, even with blood saturating his trousers.
Through that example and plenty of others, his pa had taught him to expect the hardships and not to run from the pain. The true test of strength wasn’t whether a man could endure. Instead it was in how strong he could grow as a result of battling the pain.
Maverick ground his teeth together, then swiveled on the bed. His legs shifted only slightly, but it was enough to tell him that he hadn’t lost their use altogether.
Hazel stood, obviously sensing he wouldn’t be persuaded to stay still. She knew he’d never let himself be confined to a bed. At least, not for long.
Even so, her pretty face was lined with worry. “Be careful, Maverick.”
He wasn’t about to be careful. He was determined to get on his feet, and he didn’t care if he had to do so by sheer willpower alone—he was gonna do it. Summoning all his strength, he slowly began to move his legs, one small increment at a time. When he finally had them near the edge of the bed, the pain in his back was so intense he was dizzy. But he forced himself to keep shifting, dropping first one leg to the floor, then the next.
He wasn’t in his clothes, was instead wearing a light cotton shirt and underdrawers. He reckoned his clothing had been ripped and bloodstained, maybe even past repairing. Regardless of his scantily clad state, he had to prove to himself that he would get better, that he wouldn’t let the accident hold him down.
As he settled his feet against the braided rug that covered the wood floor, he paused at the sight of the colorful strands, then he glanced around, taking in the spacious room that belonged to Sterling. Why was he in the Nobles’ house and in Sterling’s room, especially since Sterling hated him?
It didn’t matter. He gave himself a mental shake and forced himself to concentrate on each tiny movement. He could hardly feel the rug beneath his toes, but he shoved himself up from the bed, wobbling like a newborn foal first standing.
Hazel hovered by his side, her hand out to catch him if he faltered. But she understood him enough to let him attempt to stand on his own without her help.
The pressure on his tailbone, though, was excruciating. Even though his legs were numb, he could feel his muscles spasming.
Before he could grab onto anything or even lower himself back to the bed, he felt himself going down. His knees buckled and his legs folded, dropping him heavily to his knees on the floor.
Hazel released a startled cry just as he cried out at the pain. It wasn’t a loud holler, but he hated the weakness in himself and clamped his jaw closed.
In the next instant, Hazel was kneeling beside him, grasping his arm. “Are you all right?”
He couldn’t speak past the pain.
“Let me help you back into bed,” Hazel quietly urged.
He shook his head.
Heavy footfalls sounded on the stairway and then slapped the hallway floor. Maverick didn’t have to wonder who the steps belonged to. They were familiar enough from years of hearing them.
A moment later, Sterling burst through the open door into the room. His face was scruffy, his clothing dusty, and a hat ring matted his hair. From not only his presence in the house but the darkness out the window, it was probably the supper hour.
Maverick drew in a steadying breath. No doubt Sterling had been out in one of the pastures and hadn’t known about the accident. Hazel, being the sweet woman that she was, had brought him up to the room intending to help but hadn’t given thought to what Sterling would think about taking over the bedroom.
Sterling swept his gaze from the bed to Maverick to Hazel and back.
