Page 7 of The Cowboy's Christmas
And she needed to come up with a plan, being faced with the prospect of handling the ranch chores in addition to the winter feeding on the nearby Anderson Ranch by herself while Deke watched the girls. Deke, being of the old school, would be eaten alive by guilt at the role reversal, and she would have a heck of a time going from tractor to hay trailer to tractor, loading, opening gates, feeding. But she could do it.
The doctor let out a long breath and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I’d say…weeks? Cracked ribs need to heal. At least two. Three if you can hold him down for that long.”
“Oh, I’ll hold him down.” Somehow.
“Good. We’ll have a better idea of where we are tomorrow.” The doctor lifted his chin as he made eye contact with someone behind Savannah, then met her gaze again. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning. I’ll still be on shift.”
“Thanks,” Savannah said.
“How will you hold Uncle Deke down?” Jessa asked after they’d said goodbye to the doctor, and he’d headed down the corridor.
“With difficulty,” Savannah murmured under her breath, before explaining in a more normal voice, “The doctor meant that Uncle Deke needs to stay indoors until he feels better, and Uncle Deke is going to want to do chores.”
“But he can’t.”
“That’s right.”
They turned down the corridor leading to Deke’s room, where Jessa started scooting her feet along the polished floor while Sophie did a skip step. Marching to their own drummers.
The drums stopped when they arrived at the open door to Deke’s room. Inside the room, Deke lay in the bed closest to the window, staring at the wall. He turned his head when Savannah and the girls crossed the threshold, his pained expression clearing when he saw his young nieces.
“Hey, it’s Spud and Tater.”
“Don’t call us that,” Sophie said with a broad grin as she let go of Savannah’s hand and approached the bed. Jessa followed, still scooting her feet. “We’re not potatoes.”
“That’s right. It’s Butterfly and Ladybug.”
“We’re not bugs, either.” Sophie tugged at his blanket to emphasize her point. “You can call us Princess Sophie and Princess Jessa.”
“And you can call me King Deke.”
The girls laughed and Savannah had to smile at the masterful way her uncle had kept questions at bay while reassuring the girls that he was fine. He didn’t look bad. No bruising on the parts of him that showed. No Band-Aids.
“Did you hurt your head?” Sophie asked.
“I fell on the ice and hurt my side, so they put me to bed.”
“When will you be better?” Jessa asked.
Deke met Savannah’s gaze. “Tomorrow.”
Savannah pulled in a short breath. Okay. So this was the way it was going to be. She turned to Sophie and Jessa.
“Why don’t you two wait on the bench outside while I talk to King Deke.” She dug into her tote bag and pulled out her tablet. “Sophie, you get to pick the game. Jessa, you can carry the tablet.”
Jessa took the tablet from her and with exaggerated care, carried it out the door to the bench in the hallway. Sophie followed and as soon as they were both seated, she took the tablet from her sister with only a minor amount of possessiveness. “We’ll take turns holding it,” she said as Savannah turned back to Deke. No argument ensued, so she was able to keep her full attention on the man staring at her with a stubborn expression on his face.
“Do you know how much I want to yell at you right now?” she asked, the worry in her voice belying the harsh words. “I know this wasn’t your fault, but—”
“You had a bad feeling.” he said gruffly. “I should have listened to you.” He was placating her, but she let it go. “The doctor wants me to stay overnight.” He spoke as if that was a pipe dream.
“And you’re going to, because I do not want to have to drive you back to town if something goes wrong tonight.”
“Fine,” he said grumpily. “But I draw the line at being an invalid for the next few weeks. This won’t be the first time that I’ve done chores with broken bones.”
“How old were you then?” She knew because her parents had discussed how he wasn’t healing as fast as he could after a bronc riding wreck because he’d refused to slow down. She’d been eight, which meant that he’d been—
“I don’t know.”
