‘Fine,’ she said tonelessly, and his brows furrowed.

‘You’re still worried about your frog?’

‘Of course.’

‘You know, frogs do die.’

Damn the man, he was still laughing. ‘You said you can fix him.’

‘I did. And I can.’ He turned to Angela. ‘Will you take your friend to have her hand attended to now?’

But Molly wasn’t moving. ‘After Lionel is fixed.’

‘You know…’ His eyes were still puzzled. ‘I hate to seem callous, but he is just a frog.’

‘Just fix him,’ she said wearily. Her hand was starting to throb and the shock of the last half-hour had taken its toll. Sure, Lionel was just a frog, but to Sam he was everything. Lionel had produced the first flicker of an outside interest she’d seen in the child since his parents’ death, and that was so important.

‘Just fix him,’ she said again, and Jackson’s dark eyes probed hers with something akin to confusion. What he saw in her face didn’t help at all.

But he had a job to do.

‘Okay, Miss Farr, I’ll concede that your frog is important.’ He put out a hand and touched her cheek. A fleeting gesture of reassurance. Nothing more. ‘But so are you. If you won’t go and get your hand seen to straight away then I’ll do it for you. And then I’ll fix your frog.’

‘My frog first.’

‘Your hand first,’ he said in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Lionel’s not dripping blood on the carpet. So sit and be cared for. Now!’

It was the strangest sensation.

Sit and be cared for… How long had it been since she’d done just that? Since her sister’s accident the caring had all been on her side, and the sensation of cares being lifted from her shoulders was almost overwhelming.

‘It’s not deep.’ Ignoring her protests, he was probing the abrasion on her knuckles, approving what he saw. ‘I’m sure it doesn’t need stitches.’ He’d sent Angela down to the nearby dispensary and she’d come back with his requirements-lint, antiseptic, bandages and a soft reed-then stayed on to watch.