This is a paywall piece for some strange reason…except for the older posts. So you can actually read the first five or six posts and decide whether or not you want to Go PAID and read the rest…
CHAPTER 30
A STRANGE INTERLUDE
She ended up twisting her ankle and crying out in pain as she fell out of sight into the tall grass. They’d been playing a make-shift game of tag, and she’d turned in an effort to avoid him. That was when she fell. Artie ran over to her—panting—looking down at her for a moment before dropping to on one knee and reaching for her foot. She tried pulling it back, and he looked at her sternly.
“Do you want me to look at it, or shall I just leave you here until you sort out what you need to do?” he smiled.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows and met his stare evenly before finally relenting. He picked her foot up, holding it by the heel and squeezing her ankle gently, turning it slowly. She was still wearing her stockings, and the soft silk felt smooth in his hands. She winced in pain when he tried to rotate it, and he apologized. He felt another short spasm of pain rippling through her body when he rotated her foot in the other direction, but ignored it, moving his hand down along her instep and finally to her toes. He moved each toe, relieved to see that none of them were showing any signs of damage.
“I doubt if it’s as serious as you think it is,” he said, letting go of her foot.
“And you know this…how?” she asked, adjusting her coat and skirt. He watched her looking down the length of her leg, perhaps thinking about moving her foot, or at least putting some weight on it.
“You pick up all sorts of things over the years, if you pay attention,” he grinned, standing up and holding a hand out to her. She hesitated before reaching up to him.
“Such as?”
He smiled, pulling her toward him and letting her fall into his arms. “Such as? Such as the power of manipulation.”
“Manipulation?”
“One should never doubt the benefits of a foot massage.”
“A foot massage?” she asked, testing her weight on the foot. She looked up at him suspiciously, obviously doubting him.
“There’s nothing better for a twisted ankle,” he said sincerely. “Have you never had one? Did you never twist your ankle when you were a young girl?”
“We were not permitted to run around in fields barefoot when I was a child,” she snapped.
“I'm glad to see you listened, because you’re not barefoot now, are you? Thanks to those stockings, I mean, but that’s beside the point. It pretty well explains how you twisted it in the first place, though, don’t you think?"
"What do you mean?"
“Silk stockings on the grass are like wearing shoes on the ice. Look, I’ll help you back to the auto. Then you can sit in the back and I’ll drive you home if you want. You’ll have to explain how it happened, of course, as well as the fact that you have grass stains on your stockings. But we’d better get our story sorted out now, because you know how your father-in-law detests scandal. Well, that’s what Gerald said. Or, I can massage it for you and try to manipulate it, you know, bring the swelling down—not that there’s much—and make you right as rain again, as they say. It’s up to you.”
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