The Amish Christmas Cowboy. Jo Ann Brown
didn’t want to know that. Everything she said, everyone she introduced him to, every moment while depending on someone threatened to make a connection to the farm and the community beyond it. To say that would sound ungrateful. He needed to focus on getting on his feet again so he could help with their next delivery.
As they knelt beside him, the two EMTs began asking him question after question. Ja, he replied, his right ankle hurt. No, he hadn’t heard a cracking sound when he stepped wrong. Ja, he’d stepped on it after feeling the first pain. No, it didn’t radiate pain except when he’d hopped to where he sat.
“Let’s get a look at it,” George said with a practiced smile. “Sorry if this hurts.”
That was an understatement. When George shifted Toby’s right foot and began to slip off his boot, the world telescoped into a black void of anguish sparked with lightning.
“Stay with us, Toby,” crooned Derek as he pushed up Toby’s sleeve and grabbed an IV needle and tube. “Slow deep breaths. Draw the air in and hold it and let it out. Nice and slow.” He kept repeating the words in a steady rhythm that was impossible not to follow.
The darkness receded, and the sunshine and the smells of animals and dirt rushed to awaken Toby’s senses.
“Back with us?” George asked.
“I think so.”
“Good. Breathe deeply. It’ll keep you from getting light-headed.” The EMT stuck the needle into Toby’s left arm.
Though Toby didn’t wince, he heard the kids groan in horror.
Sarah hushed them but gasped, “Oh, my!” when George rolled down Toby’s sock with care.
Her reaction was a warning, but Toby was shocked to see how swollen his ankle was. Twice its usual size, it was turning as purple as an eggplant.
“What’s happening here?” called J.J. as he reached the paddock with Mr. Summerhays in tow. Ned trailed after them like a half-forgotten pup. He must have gone inside to alert their boss to what had happened.
“A horse wanted to dance,” Toby replied with grim humor, “but he didn’t want me to lead.”
“Is he hurt bad?” J.J. looked past him to the EMTs.
“We’ll know when we get X-rays at the hospital,” George said.
“Hospital?” Toby shook his head. “Bind it, and it’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t realize you were a doctor, Mr. Christner.”
The kids giggled on cue, and Sarah smiled at the EMT’s jest. Yet, in her gaze, he could see her anxiety. He wanted to tell her not to worry about him, though he guessed he’d be wasting his breath. As much as she focused on the kinder, she might be the type to fret about every detail of every day.
The last kind of person he needed in his life.
If that was so, why did he keep thinking about how sweet it’d been to lean on her? She’d been strong and soft at the same time, a combination that teased him to learn more about her.
Toby shut his mouth before he could say something. Something that would make him embarrass himself more. He’d thought nothing could be worse than the pain in his ankle, but he’d been wrong. The only way to keep from saying the wrong thing again was to do what he always tried to do: say nothing.
Hushing the kinder, Sarah moved aside to let the EMTs stabilize Toby’s ankle. How useless she felt! If she’d had the training she yearned for, she could have helped him instead of having to wait for the rescue squad to arrive.
“Sarah?”
She looked at Mr. Summerhays, who crooked a finger to her. Telling the youngsters not to move or interrupt the EMTs, she went to where her boss stood by the paddock fence.
Without preamble, he said, “I want you to go to the hospital with him.”
“Me? But why?” The words were out before she could halt them.
“Someone needs to go.” He glanced at J.J.
Sarah understood what her boss didn’t say. He wanted to get his business with the Texan taken care of as soon as possible. With the racing season underway at Saratoga, Mr. Summerhays made it a practice never to miss a single race of his horses or horses that might compete with his.
“Ned could go,” she said.
“Ned?” When she looked past Mr. Summerhays toward the overbearing cowboy, he frowned. “We’re going to need an extra hand to get the horses settled.”
“The kinder... I mean, the children—”
He interrupted her. “Leave them with Mrs. Beebe. She can watch them for the rest of the afternoon.”
“Okay.” What else could she say? Mr. Summerhays was her boss, and he was the kinder’s daed.
He held out a cell phone. “Use this to call for a ride when you’re done at the hospital.”
“I have a phone.” She pulled out Alexander’s.
“Oh.” Mr. Summerhays looked puzzled for a moment, not recognizing his son’s cell phone. “Well, good. I trust you to make sure he gets the best possible care. I’ll call the hospital to let them know that I’m responsible for the bill.”
“Ja, sir.” Though husband and wife were too distracted with their pursuits to give their kinder the time and attention they craved, they were generous. “I’ll call you—” She halted herself when he raised a single finger. “I meant, of course, I’ll call the house when we’re done at the hospital.”
“I can go and get him,” J.J. said as he came closer.
Mr. Summerhays waved aside his words. “Nonsense. There’s no need for you to put yourself out. Sarah can handle it. She’s had a lot of practice dealing with small crises like this.”
Wondering if Toby would describe his injured ankle as a small crisis, Sarah nodded as the two men turned to go to the house. When Mr. Summerhays paused long enough to remind her the kinder should be left with Mrs. Beebe, Sarah nodded again. She was sure the cook was going to be annoyed. Mrs. Beebe had to prepare food for the household while the kitchen was being taken apart. She would be relieved when it was redone with the finishes Mrs. Summerhays had chosen before she left for Europe, but the end of the project was still weeks away.
Sarah gathered the kinder and led them toward the house, though she would have preferred to stay and watch George and Derek work. Taking the youngsters up the ramp into the kitchen, she wasn’t surprised when Mrs. Beebe, who was as thin as one of the columns, frowned.
“Now?” The gray-haired cook sighed as the kinder spread out in the huge kitchen, checking the many boxes stacked in every available space, blocking tall windows and cupboards waiting to be ripped out. “If they tip a cabinet on themselves, we’ll need another ambulance.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Summerhays—”
“Go and do what he asked.” Mrs. Beebe waved her apron at Sarah. “I’ll find something to keep them out of trouble.”
Hoping the cook would do better than she had, Sarah rushed outside. She bumped into J.J., who was with Mr. Summerhays.
“Steady there,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders to keep her from falling. “Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, too, did you?”
Assuring him that she was fine, she hurried toward the paddock. She reached it as the two EMTs were raising the gurney with Toby strapped to it. Seeing his straw hat in the dust, she picked it up and carried it toward the ambulance.