“I think it’s just a sprain. I somehow missed the curb—” Emotion crackled through her voice and she bit down on it, shook her head in sheer frustration with herself.

“It’s okay,” Cole said in a quiet, gentle voice. “Let’s get a look. I’m going to take your boot off, okay?”

She nodded as she blew out another shaky breath. “I hate this.”

He let out a low sort-of laugh, but instead of irritating her, it soothed with its understanding. “Most people don’t like pain too much.”

Oh, she hated the pain, but even more, she hated being laid out, useless, weakened.

Her entire lower leg pulsed with pain as Cole rolled up her loose cargo pants leg and unlaced her work boot. When he eased it off, she bit down on a whimper. She shut her eyes against the pain, and the next thing she knew, Cole was brushing his finger across her cheek, intercepting a tear she hadn’t realized had spilled over. Mainly because she was trying so hard not to scream.

“I’m going to take you to the ER,” he said. “It’s already swelling up like a balloon.”

“No ER. It’s not broken, just sprained.” All she wanted was home, an ice pack, and that bottle of wine.

“How do you know?”

“There was no snap,” she said stubbornly.

He put his hand just above her knee on her uninjured leg, and she couldn’t help noticing the intimate touch, his first since Monday. It almost made up for the amused look on his face. “That means nothing, and you know it.”

She shook her head adamantly. “I’m not going to the ER. It’s Friday night and it’d take forever. Besides,” she said, eyeing her ankle as she gingerly eased her sock down, “it’s too swollen for them to tell anything. They’d make me come back on Monday for an X-ray.” At least she thought she remembered something like that happening to her brother years ago.

Cole stared at her fat ankle, then trailed a finger halfway down her bare shin, his touch featherlight, pulling away before he got to the injured area. All she could think was, Thank God I shaved this morning.

“You’re probably right,” he said. His gaze moved to something behind her, and she turned to see the rest of her crew, all four of them, rounding the corner of the house, carrying their belongings, talking and joking among themselves with a light, Friday-afternoon air about them.

“Oh,” Carlos said when they were a few feet away. He was young, only twenty-six, but he’d been working for her for almost seven years. “That doesn’t look good.”

“Better have that checked out,” Troy, Dunn & Lowell’s master plumber, said.

“See?” Cole said.

“I will,” Sierra answered. “Monday.” Maybe. “Did you guys get everything cleaned up for the weekend?”