‘He hasn’t got a wife yet,’ Abbey told her. ‘He’s left his bride in Hawaii. Ryan, put me down. I can hop.’
‘You can’t hop anywhere. Except over very flat ground when you can use your crutches, you’re to be carried everywhere you need to go for the next few days. Where’s your husband?’
Silence.
And Ryan knew that Abbey’s husband wasn’t in Hawaii. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
Abbey’s next words confirmed he’d just put his foot, right in it.
‘John’s dead,’ Abbey said wearily, her brave front suddenly disappearing entirely. ‘Thank you, Ryan. If you could just carry me inside then we’ll be right now. Thank you for your help.’
CHAPTER THREE
JOHN WITTNER…
Ryan carried Abbey into a house which was as shabby inside as it was out and, as he did, he forced his mind through lists of kids he remembered from his school days. There’d been a few Wittners.
In the end, it was the toddler’s red hair that helped. Ryan remembered a boy two years his junior-a big, goodnatured youth who’d been great at football and cricket. He’d had brilliant red hair. That was all he remembered of Abbey’s husband, but it was enough.
‘John Wittner?’ he said slowly, as he laid Abbey on her bed. The old lady had stopped out in the living room. Her face had shown her distress as Abbey had said the word ‘dead’ and she was clearly working at getting her composure back. The toddler, shy of Ryan, had stayed with her. ‘Big guy. Six feet three or so. Great at sport.’
‘You remember him?’ Abbey’s eyes showed pleasure as she settled down on the bedcovers. Bed felt just wonderful. And, with luck, she could stay here for half an hour before she needed to start milking.
‘Only a little,’ Ryan confessed. He sat down on the bed beside her and looked down at his friend. She was so thin! Her short, dark curls were matted with dust and her finely boned face was stretched thin with exhaustion.