“Just a bad sprain,” she assured him gently, knowing he was genuinely concerned. “It hardly hurts at all.”
Her leg was actually throbbing from her toes to her hip, but he didn’t have to know that. She tilted her face up to kiss his cheek when he gave her a hug, even though she knew he was as tempted to yell at her as he was to embrace her.
Satisfied that she was in one piece, he turned to the man hovering self-consciously in the background. Molly stood aside as her brother looked Kyle over, much as he had her. “Hey, Kyle,” he said finally, as casually as if they had last seen each other only a few days before.
“Hey, Shane.” Kyle stuck out his right hand with a touch of shyness that Molly found endearing. She noticed with underlying amusement that Kyle’s own Texas accent had suddenly intensified now that he was back at the ranch.
“You’re looking good. I was really sorry to hear about your injuries.”
“Thanks. I’m almost back to full speed.”
“Glad to hear it. Here, let me help with the bags.” Clutching his own bag, Kyle gave Molly’s over to her brother, then followed as they turned to head inside.
Molly wondered if Kyle noted the changes that had taken place inside the house since he’d left. They had redecorated at least once since then, of course, though the furnishings were still simple, sturdy and homey. Cassie and Jared both liked satin-finished wood furniture and painted walls. Lots of green, their favorite color. Plenty of comfortable and inviting chairs. And framed photographs covering nearly every vertical and horizontal surface, documenting twenty-five years of marriage and family.
Covered dishes sat on the table when Molly entered the big, country kitchen. “Kelly thought you might be hungry when you got home,” Shane explained. “If you don’t want anything now, we’ll put this stuff in the fridge and reheat it tomorrow.”
“That was thoughtful of her. Tell her thanks for me.”
“She would have been here to greet you personally, but the girls are already in bed, so she’ll see you tomorrow.”
Though Shane suggested that Molly stay in her parents’ bedroom downstairs, she insisted she could handle the stairs to her own room. Now that she w
as home, she wanted her own things around her.
Leaving the crutches at the bottom of the stairs, she clung to the banister and made her way carefully up to the second floor. The walls of the stairwell served as a photo gallery, lined with dozens of framed portraits and snapshots. Molly was aware that Kyle studied those pictures as he followed her and Shane upstairs.
She wondered if he was searching for familiar faces. He had met most of her extended family during his stay here, since the Walker clan tended to congregate at the ranch at every opportunity. Of course, everyone had changed during the past dozen years.
Shane dropped Molly’s bag in her room, then turned to Kyle. “The room at the end of the hallway is still used as a guest room.”
It was the room that had been Kyle’s when he’d lived with them in the predormitory period, back when the ranch had housed only one foster boy at a time. Kyle nodded and followed Shane down the hallway, leaving Molly alone to freshen up.
She sat for a moment on the edge of her bed, reacclimating herself to being home. She had the oddest feeling that she had been gone longer than six days—and that she had returned a different person than she’d been when she left.
The room, itself, hadn’t changed, of course. An iron sleigh bed dominated her bedroom. She had used a hand-pieced Lone Star quilt in dark greens and burgundies on cream for a spread, pairing it with a cream dust ruffle and multiple pillows in coordinating colors. The hardwood floor was warmed by a couple of thick rugs. An antique chest and matching double dresser with a beveled glass mirror held her clothes and personal items, and an old wooden icebox served as her nightstand, holding a wrought-iron lamp, a telephone and a clock radio.
Other than a few scented candles and a couple of family photos in antique frames, she had kept ornamentation to a minimum. There were none of the stuffed animals or riding trophies or childishly handcrafted decorations that had overfilled her girlhood room. The only relic of her youth that hadn’t been packed away was a favorite antique doll that sat in an old wooden rocker in one corner of the moss-green painted room. A writing desk was tucked into another corner, holding her notebook computer, a small printer and a stack of books and supplies for tutoring the boys.
This was her refuge when she needed time alone, her place to plan and dream and unwind. It wasn’t the room she’d slept in as a child; that one was downstairs, close to the master bedroom. She had moved into this room—the one that had been Shane’s before he’d built his own house next door—after she’d received her degree in Houston and had moved back home full-time while she looked for a permanent teaching position.
She had needed that transition from her childhood. While her family still occasionally treated her like “little Molly,” at least she thought of herself as an adult.
She glanced down at her braced foot, wiggling her toes inside her soft white sock. Starting tomorrow, she was supposed to start exercising her ankle, rebuilding strength and mobility, and she had been advised to see her own doctor in a few days to check the progress of her healing. Within a few weeks, she would be completely back to normal, with no physical evidence of her time with Kyle.
Only she would know how much she had changed on the inside.
Pushing herself to her feet, she moved gingerly toward the door. She heard Shane and Kyle talking as she reached the stairs. She looked down to see them standing at the bottom, Shane completely at ease, Kyle a bit stiff. Though she didn’t realize she’d made any noise, Kyle seemed to sense her presence, his gaze meeting hers as he glanced up.
His expression didn’t change, and she made sure hers didn’t, either—but something passed between them, anyway. Whatever it was, she hoped it had bypassed Shane’s usually acute radar.
Kyle started up the stairs, pausing in front of her. “We thought you might need help getting down the stairs,” he said, holding out an arm.
Touched by the courtesy, she braced a hand on his arm, using him to support the weight on her right foot as she descended the stairs. Shane handed her the crutches when she reached the bottom. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked, looking down at her foot. “We can give Joe a call—I’m sure he’d be happy to take a look at your ankle.”
“Tonight? Don’t be silly. That isn’t necessary.” Their cousin Brynn had married an orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Joe D’Alessandro. Molly had no doubt that Joe would see her—or even make the hour-long drive to the ranch if Shane called him—but there was absolutely no need.
“We’ll call him tomorrow, then,” Shane conceded. “Stop fussing. It’s just a sprain.”