out toward him a little more. “Do you like them?” she asked again.
“They’re lovely.”
Apparently this was the correct response, because her face split with a grin. “They’re for you. From me and Lulu.” She proudly held them out to him.
“Why, thank you. But who’s Lulu?”
The child held out her doll. “My dolly.”
He looked the doll in the “eyes.” “Very nice to meet you, Lulu.” Then he turned back to Joy. “The flowers are nice, but may I ask why you are giving me such a nice gift?”
“You rescued me and Lulu. You’re a hero.”
There was that word again. “It was my pleasure. But little girls really shouldn’t play in the street.”
“That’s what Mama told me, too.” Her tone wasn’t particularly penitent. “But I wasn’t really playing in the street. I was trying to catch Buttons.”
“Buttons?”
“That’s Miss Hazel’s cat. He likes to have me chase him.”
Nate let the girl’s interpretation of the cat’s motives stand. But he had a feeling Mrs. Leggett was going to have her hands full raising this one. “I see. But you still shouldn’t have gone out in the street.”
Joy pursed her lips in a stubborn line. Then she smiled. “I’ll put your flowers right here on the table where you can see them whenever you want to.” She put words to action, then came back to stand beside him. “Everyone is saying you’re a hero. What’s a hero?”
Now, how was he supposed to answer that? “First of all, I’m not a hero. I was just the first one to get to you. But to answer your question, a hero is a person who does something for other people who need help, without worrying about what it might cost him.”
“Oh.” She pondered that for a while then waved toward his bandaged arm. “Does it hurt a lot?”
He was touched by the worried look in her eyes. “I’ve had worse.”
She hugged her doll to her chest. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”
Another tricky question. He studied her woefully guilty expression, wondering how best to answer her. But before he could say anything, Joy spoke again.
“I’m sorry. And Lulu’s sorry, too.”
He smiled. “Apology accepted.”
She brightened and changed the subject. “Beans is in the kitchen with Aunt Betty. We gave him some of the scraps from lunch. Me and Mama brought him here so he could be close to you. Do you want me to go get him for you?”
“Not right now—”
The door opened behind the little girl, and Mrs. Leggett came in carrying a tray. He sat up straighter, his stomach reacting to the delectable aromas with a rude rumble.
Mrs. Leggett, however, was staring at her daughter rather than him. “Joy, what are you doing in here?”
Her daughter looked at her as if that was a particularly silly question and waved toward the makeshift posy. “I brought Mr. Cooper some flowers, see? You said we should always thank people who do nice things for us.”
He saw the woman struggle with whether or not to chastise the girl. “True,” she said, finally. “But bothering Mr. Cooper is not a good way to thank him. I hope you didn’t wake him from his nap.”
“She wasn’t bothering me,” Nate said quickly. “I woke up on my own. But it was nice to have such a pretty face to wake up to.”
And nicer still to have Mrs. Leggett’s smiling presence here with him. Even if that smile was currently directed at her daughter.
* * *
Verity smiled as Joy preened at Mr. Cooper’s compliment. He was a much more thoughtful man than she’d first assumed. She set down her tray and turned back to Joy. “We’ll discuss this later. Why don’t you go check on Beans?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Before heading for the door, Joy turned back to the patient. “Thank you again for saving my life, Mr. Cooper. And I think you’re wrong. You really are a hero.” And with those words she skipped out of the room.
Once Joy disappeared out the door, Verity turned to her daughter’s rescuer and shook her head. “I’m afraid Joy is much too impulsive. I hope she wasn’t bothering you.”
“Not at all.” He sat up straighter and she hurried to his side, setting the tray down and plumping pillows behind him. All part of being a nurse.
He inhaled deeply. “Whatever you brought in with you smells wonderful.”
“It’s that bowl of my aunt Betty’s chicken and dumplings I promised you. I thought you might be ready for something to eat.”
He smiled and she liked the way it softened his entire face. “You thought correctly.”
Verity lifted a napkin from the tray and handed it to him, then carefully set the tray on his lap. “How’s this?”
“Fine, thank you.”
Then, as she took the spoon, he frowned. “There’s no need for you to wait on me.”
“Are you sure?” She’d been rather looking forward to feeding him. “I know your arm and shoulder are injured.”
“Just on my left side. My right arm is fine.”
“Very well.” She surrendered the spoon reluctantly. But for some reason she wasn’t quite ready to leave. After all, she needed to keep an eye on him to gauge his condition.
“I locked up your shop when I fetched Beans,” she said. Then she waved a hand to the small dresser across from his bed. “Your change of clothes is in the upper drawer and the key is on top.”
“Thank you.” He scooped up another spoonful of the chicken and dumplings, his gaze never leaving hers. “How long did I sleep?”
“About four hours. It’s after one o’clock.”
He grimaced and she hurried to reassure him.
“No, that’s a good thing. You needed the rest. It helps you to heal faster.” He didn’t appear convinced, so she changed the subject. “How does your leg feel?”
“Better.”
Not a very descriptive answer. “Uncle Grover should be in shortly to change the dressing on your arm and also have another look at your other injuries.”
“Perhaps then he’ll see that I can manage well enough to go home.”
Why was he in such a hurry to leave them? There certainly wasn’t anyone at his place to rush home to. Instead of responding to his comment, however, she crossed the room to open the curtains. “Let’s let a little more light in here, shall we?”
When she returned to his side, she lifted the tray with the now empty bowl and smiled down at him. “Would you like some more?”
“Not now, thank you. But please relay my compliments to your aunt. That was very good, especially compared to my own cooking.”
Was he dismissing her? Perhaps he wanted to rest some more. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
He seemed to hesitate a moment, then raised a brow in question. “Something to read perhaps?”
That was unexpected. “Of course. What sort of books do you like?”
“What do you have on hand?”
“I’m afraid Uncle Grover’s library consists mostly of medical tomes and journals. I believe Aunt Betty has some books of poetry and some devotionals. I have a volume of poetry, some Shakespeare, Dickens and a few of