She didn’t like this.

Abbey blinked back a stupid tear. And then another.

‘Can Janet show me what to do?’ Ryan asked, and his voice sounded like it came from a long way off.

Abbey sniffed and tried to focus on what he’d said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I assume Janet can give me directions on how to get your cows in, and I vaguely remember milking the house cow as a boy. It’s like riding a bicycle, isn’t it? Once learned, never forgotten.’

Ryan wasn’t a long way away at all. His hand came down and touched Abbey’s cheek, wiping tears from her long lashes. There was resignation in his voice, but also tenderness. ‘Abbey, go to sleep. I’ll go and milk your damned cows for you. And then… after that we’ll sit down and try to make some sense out of this mess!’

‘You don’t… You can’t…’ Abbey twisted around on the bed but Ryan’s hands held her firm.

‘Abbey, shut up and go to sleep,’ he said kindly. ‘I’m the senior doctor here-remember? What I say goes. Now just cut out the protests and go to sleep.’

It was all Abbey wanted to do. It was all her body was screaming at her to do.

She looked up into Ryan’s concerned face and for the life of her she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Or do. The morphine was blurring her edges. Muting her protests. She blinked and tried, but all that would come out was what she most wanted to say.

‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

And the morphine took its toll. She slept.

Abbey woke to laughter.

She stirred and winced and checked herself out from the toes up.

Her leg was hurting. So was her face. Nothing too drastic, though. The dressing Ryan had put on her face was stretched-the swelling must have pulled the cover tight. She winced and adjusted it, loosening it and reapplying the sticky edges. Then she tried moving her leg.