But at least he was a strong one-armed man, and with great exertion and not a little inappropriate language, he managed to set the ladder into place against the side of the building.

“Thank you,” George breathed, although from his tone Billie wasn’t sure if he was thanking his brother or the Almighty.

With Andrew to brace the ladder—and no cats underfoot—the descent was considerably simpler than their first attempt. But it hurt. By God, the pain in her ankle stole the very breath from her body. And there was nothing she could do about it. She couldn’t very well hop down the rungs, so with each step she had to put some weight on her injured ankle. By the time she reached the third-to-last rung, it was all she could do to keep her tears silent.

Strong hands settled at her waist. “I’ve got you,” George said quietly, and she let herself collapse.

Chapter 4

George had had a feeling that Billie was in more pain than she’d let on, but he didn’t realize how much until they finally made their way down the ladder. He briefly considered taking her down on his back, but it seemed safer to have her follow him instead. He moved down three rungs before she set her good foot onto the ladder, then he watched as she gingerly followed with its injured companion. For a moment she stood still, probably trying to decide how best to proceed to the next rung.

“I’d lead with the good one,” he said quietly, “and grip the rails hard to absorb some of your weight.”

She gave a tense nod of acknowledgment and followed his instructions, her breath escaping with an agonized hiss when her good foot was solid and secure, and she was able to lift the injured one from the upper rung.

She’d been holding her breath. He didn’t blame her.

He waited as she composed herself, well aware that he needed to remain only a few rungs ahead; if she fell—and she might; he could see that her ankle was very weak—he had to be close enough to stop her from tumbling all the way to the ground.

“Maybe if I try it the other way . . .” she said, breathing hard through her pain.

“I wouldn’t,” he replied, keeping his voice purposefully even and humble. Billie had never taken well to being told what to do. He supposed he understood this better than anyone. “You don’t want your lower foot to be the weak one,” he said. “Your leg could buckle—”

“Of course,” she said tightly. Not angrily, just tightly. He knew that tone. It was the tone of one who had conceded a point and really didn’t want any further elucidation on the matter.

It was one he himself used quite often.

Well, as often as he deigned to concede points.

“You can do this,” he said. “I know it hurts.”

“It really does,” she admitted.

He smiled a little. He wasn’t sure why, but he was glad she couldn’t see his face. “I won’t let you fall.”