Maggie thought she caught a glimpse of a fox. She stood up on the quad bike for a better look but didn’t slow it down by much. She didn’t spot the blown-down tree branch, until it was too late. She twisted the handlebars but still hit the branch and the tyre burst. The bike halted almost instantly but Maggie didn’t – the force propelling her off the bike at an odd angle. She landed badly on her left side, knocking the wind out of her.

The quad bike tipped onto its side and slid majestically down the slope. Slowing to a stop at the bottom in a nettle patch. Maggie waited. Pain blossomed along her left side. She took a moment to assess specifically where it hurt. Her ankle and her ribs. She tried to push herself upright but a sharp pain stopped her. A quick look around reminded her she was about as far from the farmhouse as she could be and still be on her own land. She craned her neck. The woodland sat between her and Savage’s fields. The odds of him being in any of those within shouting distance were minuscule.

Maggie puffed out a breath. ‘Bugger,’ she said.

Injuring herself was a constant worry. Not the injury itself but the slow painful death that would likely follow because how long would it be before anyone missed her? Thank goodness Tom was staying with her. Although it was hours before he was due in from school.

She tried to stand but it was too painful. Her ankle had swollen and couldn’t bear any weight. The pain in her side wouldn’t allow her to hop either. She looked about her. A cluster of hazels was nearby, offering a little shade, so she set about wriggling her way across the path towards them, taking time every now and then to stop and catch her breath. It took a while but she literally had all day. Once settled up against the trunk of the nearest hazel she made herself a fern bed to sit on in an attempt to save her backside from the damp woodland floor.

She shouted for help a few times. Some birds halted their calls momentarily but when she was done shouting they resumed. A soft pitter-patter of rain on leaves told her she’d not picked the best day for incapacitating herself – although when was a good day for that? Maggie used her good leg and both hands to drag over small sticks and branches, which she fashioned into a pile to rest her ankle on, raising it slightly.