Long leg cast stories

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A frown of irritation crossed her usually smooth features as she made a one-handed search of her purse on the car seat beside her, looking for her sunglasses without taking her attention from the road. Skidding on one of those icy patches was definitely not on her list of thrills she wanted to experience. Leslie Stiles had already had her fill of accidents for one winter. A stop stood at the crossro and Leslie slowed the car to a halt as she approached it.

Melting snow dripped onto the car roof from an overhanging tree branch. The drops made a tinny sound as they landed. A dirty pickup truck that might have been green had the right of way. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently as she waited for its putting speed to carry it across the intersection.

The strain of the drive from Manhattan was beginning to show on her—the strain and her own physical pain. Leslie attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, but the thick plaster cast on her left leg severely limited movement and position. It was a lucky thing the car had a lot of leg room—and an automatic transmission. There was a steady throb of pain that tensed all her nerves and planted her teeth together.

It was turning into more of an ordeal Long leg cast stories she had thought it would be. The pickup passed and Leslie made her turn onto the intersecting highway. She clung to the knowledge that she only had a few more miles to go. Already she could see the white spire of the church steeple poking above the tops of the trees.

There was a distinct New England character to the village nestled in the mountain fastness. There was something changeless and nostalgic about its steepled church and village green, and its old houses all in neat repair. Too many artists had captured towns like it on canvas, which gave even strangers the sense of coming home. No attempt had been made to clear the driveway of snow, although there was a set of parallel tracks going in and out.

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Leslie slowed her car to make the turn, barely noticing the man pulling a red-suited child on a sled in the next yard. The car tires crunched in the crusty snow as she wheeled the vehicle into the drive, stopping short of the side door. Relief sighed through her strained nerves as she removed the sunglasses and smoothed a side of her sand-colored hair where it was pulled sleekly back and secured at the nape of her neck to trail between her shoulder blades.

Her crutches were propped against the passenger door. Scooting sideways, she managed to gain enough room to swing her left leg around and aim it out the door. Broken legs and graceful movements simply did not go together. Her smile was a bit tight when he hove into view with the sled in tow. Leslie tried to keep the flash of annoyance out of her eyes as she glanced toward him. He was tall, easily six foot if not more, which forced her to tip her head back in order to focus her gaze higher.

A network of smile lines fanned out from the corners of his icy blue eyes, framed by dark, male lashes. The winter sun had added the finishing touches to the tan the summer sun had started, giving a certain ruggedness to his leanly handsome features. Hatless, his dark hair had a black sheen to it, thick and attractively rumpled by a playful breeze.

But her least concern at the moment was how good-looking he was. His gaze glittered down on her with friendly interest, yet managed to take her apart at the same time. He observed the annoyance behind the polite smile she gave him, the high cheekbones that kept her features from being average, and the rounded right knee where her long skirt had ridden up higher than her fur-lined winter boot. A stretched-out woolen sock protected the bare toes that peeked out of her left leg cast. We live in the house next door. She was just Long leg cast stories and plagued by the dull pain of her injury.

She was all of six years old. Her beguilingly innocent face was framed by the red hood of her parka trimmed in white fur. She was wearing a pair of matching red snow pants and white boots, and a pair of white, furry mittens.

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Her mouth slanted wryly. I slipped and fell and broke my leg. It hurt a lot. In the long run, honesty would do them more good than pretence or white lies. Hinges creaked when the storm door to the house was pushed open. A fairly tall, gray-haired woman stood in Long leg cast stories opening, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting brown slacks, a heavily knitted tan pullover with an orange and brown blouse underneath.

Then she greeted her niece. Thankfully there was very little traffic. His alert gaze seemed to notice that, too, and lingered on the curving movement of her lips. The concrete steps leading to the back door were clear of any snow or ice, although they were wet. Icicles dripped water from the eaves overhead, plopping and splattering when the large droplets hit the ground.

Leslie paused in front of the bottom step. I left my purse in the car. With her aunt holding the Long leg cast stories open, Leslie mounted the steps one at a time and swung across the threshold to enter the house. The large kitchen with its birch cabinets looked just the same. The pussycat clock on the wall was still swinging its pendulum tail, marking off the seconds. Even the plaid curtains at the windows were the same pattern if not the same curtains that had hung there before. It was funny that she remembered these little details after all this time. Actually, it had only been during her college years that Leslie had become really acquainted with her aunt.

It was a case of liking the person, rather than a relative. As her scanning gaze finished its sweep of the kitchen and stopped on her aunt, Leslie smiled. There was contentment in her otherwise tired expression. Yet those same traits are regarded as unflattering in a person. The rattle of the doorknob interrupted any reply Leslie might have made. Williams, for bringing my luggage in. It was the least I could do. Then his attention was swinging to her aunt.

Would you like to stay and have a cup with us, Taggart? Something in his final look touched her feminine core that had been too tired to care about anything before, and attracted her interest. She managed to assimilate a few impressions like the width of his shoulders under the heavy winter jacket and the lean-jawed strength of his profile, then the inner door was closing behind him, followed by the storm door. The corners of her mouth were pulled down by a dry smile as she glanced sideways at her aunt, busy at the sink filling the teakettle with water.

Patsy Evans laughed, a low sound that came from her throat. Since he has never volunteered the information, I have respected his privacy and not asked. Being the only child of divorced parents herself, Leslie had firsthand knowledge of what that was like. She was obviously named for the season. For all his outward friendliness and charm, he seems to be a private person. Leslie glanced at her, then laughed. The prospect was too inviting for Leslie to refuse. Like the house itself, the furniture in it was strong and solidly built, some of the pieces bordering on antique.

She sat at one end and lifted her casted leg onto the cushions, plumping handmade crewelwork pillows behind her back for additional support. Closing her eyes, she let the quiet of the old house spill over her. Peace was something she had always appreciated, and it was no less precious to her now at twenty-five. A reflective expression stole over her features in repose. It was true that, despite all her antimarriage remarks, she secretly desired a lifelong partner to love, and to be loved by him.

There had been moments in her life when she had thought she had found him, only to discover fundamental differences of opinion. Those relationships, like most others, had died an early death. A sigh broke from her lips. She opened her eyes, smelling the fragrance of freshly brewed tea. A cup was set on the table within easy reach for Leslie as her aunt took a seat in the matching armchair that faced the fireplace. Each had stepchildren. Having wanted brothers and sisters all through childhood, she had been disillusioned when she had finally acquired both.

The sibling rivalry and setting parent against stepparent were painful things for her; almost as painful as the way her parents had tore at her, trying to be the sole object of her love and depriving the other of her affection. Growing up had been unpleasant, dimming what few happy memories she possessed. The endless parties. Decorations all over the place.

She drove into New York from Baltimore just to take me home with her. Then she got angry because she thought I was going to Hawaii. One has a stabilizing influence on the other. I suppose we could get a tree if you want. Personally, I think they should ban Christmas. The receptionist can do that. He had given her a leave of absence because it was both Long leg cast stories and economical. She had an aversion to the holiday season, a holdover from her childhood probably.

Usually she could escape it with work or physical activity. Both those were taken from her. Menu More Topics. Get the App. She sipped at her tea and tried not to think about it. Mistletoe and Holly. Janet Dailey.

Long leg cast stories

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Long Leg Cast