herself off the seat. Mud sniffed the rubber-tipped crutch, then sat back on his haunches to observe. Sliding her injured left foot awkwardly, trying not to bump it, Dixie hopped back to clear the car’s threshold—and a stab of pain in her battered ribs caused her to drop a crutch, nearly doubling her over. She swallowed back a yelp. If Parker knew about the bruised chest, he’d get even surlier.
After retrieving the crutch, she turned to find him and Mud standing side by side, two anxious faces in the yellow porch light. The sight made her smile.
“It’s
okay
, guys. Bones heal. I’ll be fine in no time.”
“Until the next job,” Parker said. “The next cut, scrape, broken bone, gunshot wound—”
“I’ve never been shot.” She maneuvered the crutches under her arms and took her first step toward the house.She’d never realized 120 pounds of human flesh could be so heavy.
But she could do this. She could.
Parker slammed the car door and walked behind as she approached the porch. Mud sniffing worriedly at her splint. She hadn’t a clue how to get up the steps.
“Why don’t you put your car in the garage?” she suggested. Carl had offered to drive her Mustang home from the hotel, but it wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
“The car’s fine.”
“Didn’t you just wash it? The wind smells like rain.”
“Dixie, if you fall, you’ll break another bone.”
“I’m not going to fall.” I
hope.
Mud tramped up the stairs ahead of her, as if to show the way. Then he turned and studied her misshapen foot again.
Approaching the first step, Dixie hesitated.
“Go ahead and unlock the door while I figure out how to do this.” Did she put the crutches on the step and swing up? Or try to lever herself up, pulling the sticks behind her? Maybe she should just sit down and scoot up backward on her butt.
“Crutches are useless going up stairs,” Parker said. “You have to hold the rail and hop.”
“Hey, that’s right. You’ve used these things before.” As a kid, after a tractor accident. She grinned at him, hoping for a smile back. No dice. “So what do I do with them while I hop?”
“Both in your left hand, hold the rail with your right. Or just
hand me
the friggin crutches.”
“Parker, I’d rather practice the whole thing while you’re here to coach me.”
He nodded grudgingly.
Balanced on her good foot, the unwieldy splint crooked behind, she transferred both sticks to one hand and grabbed the stair rail. It was awkward, but she managed to mount the three steps to the porch, then reposition the crutches and clump to the door.
Inside, she suddenly noticed how much furniture Kathleenhad squeezed into the cozy living room. When her adoptive parents died within two years of each other, Dixie had inherited the house along with the family pecan farm. Amy, less nostalgic and more practical than Dixie, received the summer home in Maine. Dixie adored the old Texas farmhouse, loved every dusty collectible inside it, but at the moment it looked as inviting as an obstacle course for combat training. On a side table, one of Kathleen’s miniature needlepoint maxims framed in ornate silver had never seemed more appropriate: A
Worm Is the Only Creature that Can’t Fall Down.
Parker moved ahead, clearing a path, while Dixie eased tentatively forward.
“Ow!” She’d misjudged the jutting edge of a table and cracked her splint against it. Hurt like a sonofabitch.
Mud sniffed at the table, her foot, the crutch stem, and managed to stay precisely in her path as she continued toward the kitchen.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Anything.” What she wanted most was to sit down, but her stomach felt as hollow as a gourd. “Something simple. Is there pizza in the freezer?” She usually kept an emergency supply of frozen pizzas and Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits.
“You don’t think a broken foot’s enough to keep you awake tonight, you want indigestion, too?” Parker’s tone was as
After retrieving the crutch, she turned to find him and Mud standing side by side, two anxious faces in the yellow porch light. The sight made her smile.
“It’s
okay
, guys. Bones heal. I’ll be fine in no time.”
“Until the next job,” Parker said. “The next cut, scrape, broken bone, gunshot wound—”
“I’ve never been shot.” She maneuvered the crutches under her arms and took her first step toward the house.She’d never realized 120 pounds of human flesh could be so heavy.
But she could do this. She could.
Parker slammed the car door and walked behind as she approached the porch. Mud sniffing worriedly at her splint. She hadn’t a clue how to get up the steps.
“Why don’t you put your car in the garage?” she suggested. Carl had offered to drive her Mustang home from the hotel, but it wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow.
“The car’s fine.”
“Didn’t you just wash it? The wind smells like rain.”
“Dixie, if you fall, you’ll break another bone.”
“I’m not going to fall.” I
hope.
Mud tramped up the stairs ahead of her, as if to show the way. Then he turned and studied her misshapen foot again.
Approaching the first step, Dixie hesitated.
“Go ahead and unlock the door while I figure out how to do this.” Did she put the crutches on the step and swing up? Or try to lever herself up, pulling the sticks behind her? Maybe she should just sit down and scoot up backward on her butt.
“Crutches are useless going up stairs,” Parker said. “You have to hold the rail and hop.”
“Hey, that’s right. You’ve used these things before.” As a kid, after a tractor accident. She grinned at him, hoping for a smile back. No dice. “So what do I do with them while I hop?”
“Both in your left hand, hold the rail with your right. Or just
hand me
the friggin crutches.”
“Parker, I’d rather practice the whole thing while you’re here to coach me.”
He nodded grudgingly.
Balanced on her good foot, the unwieldy splint crooked behind, she transferred both sticks to one hand and grabbed the stair rail. It was awkward, but she managed to mount the three steps to the porch, then reposition the crutches and clump to the door.
Inside, she suddenly noticed how much furniture Kathleenhad squeezed into the cozy living room. When her adoptive parents died within two years of each other, Dixie had inherited the house along with the family pecan farm. Amy, less nostalgic and more practical than Dixie, received the summer home in Maine. Dixie adored the old Texas farmhouse, loved every dusty collectible inside it, but at the moment it looked as inviting as an obstacle course for combat training. On a side table, one of Kathleen’s miniature needlepoint maxims framed in ornate silver had never seemed more appropriate: A
Worm Is the Only Creature that Can’t Fall Down.
Parker moved ahead, clearing a path, while Dixie eased tentatively forward.
“Ow!” She’d misjudged the jutting edge of a table and cracked her splint against it. Hurt like a sonofabitch.
Mud sniffed at the table, her foot, the crutch stem, and managed to stay precisely in her path as she continued toward the kitchen.
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Anything.” What she wanted most was to sit down, but her stomach felt as hollow as a gourd. “Something simple. Is there pizza in the freezer?” She usually kept an emergency supply of frozen pizzas and Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits.
“You don’t think a broken foot’s enough to keep you awake tonight, you want indigestion, too?” Parker’s tone was as
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