Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 754(@200wpm)___ 604(@250wpm)___ 503(@300wpm)
When I came back in the living room with the water a minute later, Charlie was mopping up the mess and Tuck was seated just behind Brent on the couch, as he held Brent’s arm straight. I watched as Tuck put his own elbow in the bend in the boy’s inner arm and gripped his hand. Then he used his other hand to hold Brent’s wrist and made a quick movement that caused Brent to cry out as the clear sound of a bone popping into place met my ears. Katelyn gasped and the sheriff gave a small jerk as Tuck let go of Brent’s arm and scooted back onto the stool. “That should do it,” he said. “Try to bend it and see how it feels.”
Brent was quiet for a minute, his eyes closed, pained expression slowly smoothing out. Then he lifted his arm gently and bent it up and then down. “Better,” he said.
Katelyn let out a small sob and brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh my gosh, Tuck. That’s it? It’s all fixed?”
“Yes, that’s it. But I’d like to put a cast on him, so he won’t knock it out of alignment again before it mends itself. I don’t know that that’s what’s typically done to be honest, but you have the materials, and it certainly can’t hurt.”
I walked carefully and purposefully over to Tuck and set the bowl of water on the coffee table that was pulled away from the couch to make room.
Tuck wrapped a piece of gauze around Brent’s arm. He was efficient and calm. “Do you want to wet the strips of plaster cloth and hand them to me?”
My breath hitched, nerves fluttering. But I nodded as I knelt, making a point not to grimace at the pull of the wound on my hip. That was nothing compared to the pain this little boy had been enduring for days. Plus, I could at least try to make up for being a klutz earlier and causing Tuck to lose his focus. He finished with the gauze and then reached his hand out for the first piece of plaster cloth. I dipped it in the water, squeezed lightly, and then handed it to him. “This might not be the prettiest cast,” he murmured as he began laying the pieces on Brent’s arm. “But it’ll do the job.”
Brent’s eyes had drifted closed, and he was breathing evenly as though he was beginning to drift to sleep. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Dad,” Brent said, his words slurring. The poor kid probably hadn’t slept well in days. Tuck and I worked quietly, getting into a rhythm. Dip. Squeeze. Hand over. “Put a piece over the edge of this one, would you?” Tuck murmured, inclining his head toward a strip he’d just placed down. I nodded and leaned closer to him, reaching my arm across his to lay the strip on Brent’s arm. I felt the heat of Tuck’s body and smelled the scent of his skin, my heart rate jumping as my hand jerked slightly and my fingernail scraped across Brent’s exposed hand. The boy startled, his eyes flying open as I dropped the piece of material and withdrew my hand quickly. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
Tuck sighed and rearranged the strip himself. Brent’s eyes drifted shut again, but I cringed as I saw that one of my intact nails had drawn a small bit of blood right above his thumb. Mostly, they were ragged and broken from all our hardships. Once these nails had been the height of fashion, and now they not only looked awful, but they also seemed ridiculous. Because they were the fingernails of someone who was expected to do very little, physically speaking. And doing very little was currently not much of an option.
Tuck lay Brent’s arm gently on the now-open sling across his chest. “It’ll dry quickly,” he whispered, standing and stretching his neck. I picked up the bowl of water and stood too as Katelyn stepped toward Tuck and threw her arms around him. “Thank you. We got so lucky that you’re here.” For a moment Tuck looked stiff and awkward, but then relaxed, accepting the physical gratitude. And I couldn’t help wondering just how long it’d been since he’d received an embrace of gratitude. Or an embrace of any kind, truth be told.
“I’m glad I could help,” he said when she stepped away. “It’s funny what hangs around in the cobwebs of your mind.” He smiled, and it was sweet and slightly bashful. My heart gave a strange bump, and I turned away to go dispose of the water, careful to avoid Charlie, who was leaning against the doorway looking bored.
Behind me, I heard Brent let out a soft snore. He was sleeping deeply and peacefully. And now he could heal.