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I nod and assure him I will.
“Operation Con the Con is underway,” Roscoe says with a laugh.
THIRTEEN
Lemon or Raspberry
HAMMER
Francesca locks her doors religiously, especially when she’s alone. She also has the drapes drawn in all the rooms except when she’s in her sunroom. It’s a habit she’s adopted. Her grandfather taught her well. He told her to keep her head held high and never let them see you cry. “They prey on your fear. They sense it like animals sense danger,” he told her.
It works for me that she’s being careful, but it sucks that it affects her so deeply. This morning, she handed me a key to her place. It threw me for a loop. That wasn’t something I saw coming for a long time. I was about to leave, but she stopped me at the door and slipped the key into my hand. I stared at it for a minute, prompting her to ask, “Is this okay? Too soon?” She tried to take it back, but I closed my hand around hers along with the key.
“I want it,” I told her. “This means a lot to me.” I tugged her close. My free hand found the back of her head, and I drew her mouth up to mine in a hard kiss. “Thank you, baby.” It was a great way to start my day.
Now, I’m back and call out for her. “Frankie, I’m home.”
“In here,” she cries out from the spare room. It was her plan for the day to get the room organized and make it into a proper guest room. I don’t really get it, since she left everything behind and has said time and time again that she doesn’t have anyone she wants to see from her old life. I take it that this is just her way of keeping herself busy.
I follow her voice up the stairs and find her teetering on a step stool wiping down the crystal chandelier. As I move into the center of the room next to her, she says, “Almost done,” and stretches onto her tiptoes. She loses her footing and would have fallen with a crash if I hadn’t reacted quickly, catching her. We drop onto the newly made bed.
Unfortunately, on our way down, she slams her ankle on the edge of the pine footboard, letting out an anguished cry of pain.
“Damn!” I swear. “I should have picked you up off the rung as soon as I saw you, but I didn’t want you to lose your balance. Let me see.” I slide down to take her foot in my hand. At the merest touch, she yelps.
“No. No. No,” she pleads. “Please don’t touch it.” She lets out a hiss as she tries to move it herself. It’s already starting to swell. Her eyes are tearing up, her jaw clenching as she tentatively touches her ankle.
“I’m going to carry you onto the couch,” I say. She doesn’t protest as I pick her up gently and carry her through the hall and back downstairs. I deposit her on a soft cushioned chair, then grab a throw pillow and lift her leg to rest on it. “Grabbing some ice,” I say before I rush to the kitchen to do just that.
“I’m such a klutz,” she moans.
Before placing the bag of ice on her foot, I warn, “This might hurt, but you’ve got to keep it on.” She gnaws on her lip, but nods, bracing herself. She breathes through the initial cold shock of it and perseveres. “I’m calling Saint.”
“No, don’t. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she grits out.
“It’s not nothing, and it needs to be seen,” I insist. ”No arguments, babe. I’m already kicking my own ass for not pulling you off that damn thing earlier.” I try the clinic, but Camille says that Saint has already left for home. I hate to bother him, but I can’t let Francesca go all night with this kind of pain.
I call Izzy. “Hey, sis,” I say, “I hate to ask, but is Saint home?”
“Not yet, but he should be walking through the door any second now. Why? What’s up?” Izzy asks. “You don’t sound right.”
“Francesca fell.”
“Oh my God. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, mostly. All except her ankle. It’s swelling up pretty badly.”
I hear a door shut. “He just walked in.” She speaks to Saint. “We have to go. Francesca hurt her ankle.” I hear Saint tell her to grab his bag while he changes. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. I’m packing up dinner for us,” she says before hanging up.
I snuggle in next to Francesca, holding her until Saint arrives.
It’s not long before Izzy and Saint are at the door. I let them in, and Saint goes straight for Francesca, lifting the ice and taking a closer look. Izzy heads for the kitchen and sets down several bags before coming to join us.
Saint moves her foot this way and that. “I don’t think it’s broken. I need to do an X-ray to be certain. Stay off it for the night, and keep it elevated. Regular pain meds should see you through until morning,” he concludes.
“I’m sorry about this,” Frankie says. “Hammer insisted I have it looked at tonight. This is such an inconvenience.”
“Nonsense,” Izzy pipes up. “I brought dinner so we can hang out here and have a family night. I hope you like homemade macaroni and cheese.”
