Читать книгу Doctor And The Debutante - Pat Warren, Pat Warren - Страница 10

“Oh, no,” Laura muttered. What a time for a power outage.

“Just wait a minute,” Sean said, holding on to her. In seconds, there was a shuddering sound, then a large click. The lights blinked back on, and the furnace made a whooshing noise before resuming. “The generator kicked in,” he explained. “I have it as a backup since these winter storms often knock out our power.” He carried her back to the couch, easing her down carefully. “I’m sorry I had to hurt you.”

Laura held her injured arm close to her body, hugging it. “Had to be done.” She licked her lips, struggling with a sudden wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him, beginning to panic. “Where’s your bathroom? I think I’m going to be sick.”

She did look a little greenish. “Not far. Let me help you.” He slipped an arm around her and half-carried, half-supported her to a door off the kitchen. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me,” he said, directing her inside, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear. He didn’t want her passing out on him.

Poor kid, Sean thought, walking away, giving her some privacy. Shock often brought on nausea. The jolt of repositioning her shoulder had likely been the last straw for her battered system. He wandered over to the front window. It was still coming down just as hard as ever. At this rate, her Bronco would be all but hidden by morning.

Sean walked over to the phone, picked it up to check. Sure enough, it was out, and would be for God only knew how long. Hands in his pockets, he slowly paced the perimeter of the large room, reluctantly admitting that he was stuck with his uninvited guest for quite some time.

Lousy timing. He wasn’t an uncharitable person, and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to help someone hurt and stranded. But he’d had a purpose in coming to the cabin at this particular time, and her arrival messed up his plans. Maybe it was for the best, he thought with a shrug. His partner had repeatedly told Sean what he thought of his annual pilgrimages, that they did more harm than good, and perhaps Jonah was right. Yet each year, as the fifteenth of February approached, Sean would feel compelled to return.

Glancing toward the bathroom door, he wondered how she was doing in there. And how she’d handle being marooned in a strange place with a melancholy man.

Laura splashed cold water on her face, then grabbed a hand towel to dry off. Standing with most of her weight on one foot, she leaned into the sink and stared at her image in the wall mirror. Oh, Lord, was that a black eye? Just what she needed. Hair a mess, face pale, eyes reflecting fatigue and remnants of fear. She wasn’t a beauty to begin with, and now this.

What on earth was she doing here in the house of a sexy stranger who, although he’d been kind, looked as if he wished she’d stayed home? Laura wished she had, too, except for a lingering uneasiness about the home she’d left behind so hastily. How had her life turned into such a chaotic mess in such a short time?

She finger-combed her hair back off her face, realizing that her head hurt too much just now to try to figure things out. She checked the medicine chest and found no new toothbrushes. Mostly shaving stuff, toothpaste, a bottle of aspirin and mouthwash. And a packet of birth control pills. Now that was odd for a man living alone.

Then again, maybe he didn’t live alone some of the time.

She used the mouthwash and felt fresher, but she wished she didn’t have to go out and face Sean. How embarrassing, to get sick like that. She reminded herself he was a doctor, but the reminder didn’t help. He simply didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a doctor. She would never choose a doctor so young and handsome, let him poke and prod her with her wearing only a skimpy gown.

Grimacing, she hobbled to the door and opened it.

He was standing at the window watching the snow and probably wishing he hadn’t gone out and found her. Yet when he turned to look at her, his face registered what seemed to be genuine concern as he walked over to her.

“Are you feeling better?” Sean asked, noticing the bruised look about her huge blue eyes. The right eye was definitely turning black.

Involuntarily, her face flushed. “Yes. I’m so sorry. I never get sick like that, but…”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, slipping a supportive arm around her before she lost her balance. “Shock does that to people. How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore,” she answered, allowing him to help her back to the couch where she sat down gratefully. She’d give anything if he’d go about his business and just let her lie here. A short nap and she was sure she’d feel all right again.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

The mere mention had her stomach churning. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” She hated this feeling of helplessness, of not being able to remember, of needing assistance. Her ankle was throbbing, but she wouldn’t let on. Doctor or not, the man would soon tire of her aches and pains, her complaints, if he hadn’t already.

Sean ignored her polite refusal of food. She needed something in her stomach if he was to give her a pain pill or she might get sick again. “I’d been about to warm some soup before I heard the crash and went out. I could make a sandwich. There’s tuna salad and…”

“Tuna? Oh, heavens!” Laura’s voice was agitated.

“What is it?” he asked. How could the mention of tuna upset her?

“Max, my cat. He was in the Bronco with me.”

Sean frowned. “Are you sure? I looked into the back seat and I didn’t see anything but a large handbag and an old blanket on the floor.”

“That’s Max’s blanket. He was probably hiding under it.” Panic colored her voice. “What if he’s hurt? Or if he got out? He’ll freeze to death in this storm.”

“I’ll go look.” Reluctant resignation tinged every word. A cat. She would have a cat.

“I…I hate to ask you, but he’s ten years old. He’s not used to fending for himself and…”

“Don’t worry.” Sean was already pulling on his boots. “If he’s out there, I’ll find him.” Macho man, taking on the world. Was he nuts, making such a promise? He shouldered into his jacket. “You’re absolutely certain he was in the Bronco with you?” After all, her memory was spotty at best.

“Yes, positively.” She remembered grabbing her purse and scooping Max into her arms, then hurrying to the Bronco, her need to get away uppermost in her mind. She’d been afraid of…of what? Damn, why couldn’t she remember the rest? “You’re awfully nice to go back out there.”

That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.

From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.

With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.

It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.

A young boy no more than three years old was standing alongside a gnarled tree. His hair was blond and his smile mischievous. From one small hand dangled a bedraggled brown bunny with one ear missing. An old-fashioned red wagon sat off to the side. She was no expert, but the picture was well done, seemingly drawn by someone who loved the boy. Laura wondered if the subject was Sean as a child.

Her gaze swept to the far left where a serviceable kitchen was set off by a counter with two high-backed stools and, off to the side, a maple table with four captain’s chairs. There were three closed doors off the kitchen, the middle one the bathroom she’d used, the other two probably leading to bedrooms. A nice compact cabin, the walnut-paneled walls lending a cozy warmth. It lacked a woman’s touch, though, with no curtains on the windows, no photos on the end tables, no cloth on the sturdy oak table. The half dozen pillows on the couch were the only hint of softness.

Definitely a man’s retreat, Laura decided, struggling with a yawn. Leaning back, she spotted an easel facing away from her in front of an overstuffed bookcase off to the right. Was Sean the artist or perhaps someone who visited him? None of her business, she decided, closing her eyes.

What was keeping Sean?

Darkness had settled in, but the whiteness of the snow allowed Sean to see. The drifts were thigh high, however, which made the going very slow. And treacherous, he thought as he slid down the embankment and stopped just short of the almost buried Bronco.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambled to his feet, feeling cold, impatient and annoyed. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Max wasn’t in the vehicle. If the animal had gotten out, his paw prints would have been covered over by now. The thought of tramping about in this storm looking for some old cat that could be anywhere didn’t thrill him.

With gloved hands, he scraped accumulated snow from the passenger door and managed to wedge it open again. Ducking inside, he knelt on the front seat and looked around. He picked up the large leather shoulder bag thinking Laura might need it. No luggage anywhere, but then she’d said she’d left in a hurry. On the floor he noticed a box of assorted tiles. On the back seat were material remnants and three large books of wallpaper samples. Sean remembered what she’d said about the blanket and gingerly picked up one end, whipping it to the side.

He heard a hissing sound, then a paw lashed out at him, the claws digging into his leather gloves. Yellow eyes peered up at him, looking unfriendly and combative. Max was shorthaired, yellow and beige, kind of skinny and obviously frightened. “Okay, shhh. You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. The cat hissed again, louder.

“Look, Max, I’m a friend, honest.” Feeling foolish trying to pacify a stubborn cat in a tangled wreck of a vehicle in a raging snowstorm, Sean leaned forward and grabbed Max under his front legs, maneuvering him into a body hug, sharp claws pointed away from him. Pushing back, he ignored the cat’s protests as he backed out of the Bronco and shoved the door shut with his hip. The strap of Laura’s shoulder bag dangled from one arm.

Max struggled as cold snow enveloped them both, but Sean held on. He’d have put him inside his jacket, but he knew the cat would start clawing him. So he trudged back up the incline, realizing that he now had two guests he hadn’t been prepared for. “Listen, if you stop fighting me, I’ll give you a dish of tuna for dinner. How’s that?” Max told him what he could do with his offer in no uncertain hissy terms.

“Okay, chum,” Sean said, high-stepping through the snow. “Your loss.”

By the time he stomped some of the snow from his boots and propelled his way into the cabin, Sean was soaking wet from the waist down, and the silly cat was still hissing at him. He wished he could say that seeing Laura’s relieved face was worth his effort, but Sean didn’t think so.

“Here you go,” he said, thrusting Max into her lap and laying her bag on the floor.

“Oh, thank you, thank you.” Mindful of her sore shoulder, she hugged the frightened animal and cooed to him. “Max, Max, I’m so sorry. You’ll be fine, baby.” The cat allowed her to soothe him, but he shot Sean a look that seemed to say this was all his fault.

Grumbling under his breath about the inequities of life where a mangy cat gets hugged and he, the rescuer, gets wet pants, Sean brushed snow from his hair and went to his room to change for the second time in a matter of hours. He took his time drying off, then pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and thick socks. Towel-drying his hair and face, he heard his stomach growl. The invasion of Laura and Max had caused him to miss dinner. Maybe she wasn’t hungry, but he was.

Sean came out and saw that Laura had her eyes closed, the cat cuddled up against her, purring away. In the kitchen, he paused, considering dinner. “How about that soup now?” he suggested.

“I honestly couldn’t, but thanks.”

All right, he’d let her have it her way. He filled a glass with cold water before bending to his medical bag and pulling out a vial of pills. “I think you’ll feel better if you take one of these,” he told her.

Laura opened her eyes. “I don’t like taking pills.” Especially when she didn’t know what they were.

“Look, isn’t it time you started trusting me? I’m a doctor, remember? There’s a time to be brave and a time when it’s plain silly to insist you’re not hurting when I know you are.” He held out the water and medication. “This will help you rest.”

Laura swallowed the pill, then burrowed back into the nest of pillows, closing her eyes and hoping the medicine would put her to sleep until the pain passed. “Thanks. Please, go back to whatever you were doing. I don’t want to inconvenience you any further. I’ll just lie here for a bit, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll call someone.” But who? she wondered, frowning. Her father was never around, it seemed. She couldn’t ask her friend Molly to drive up all this way when the roads were undoubtedly worse than before. She’d sure picked a rotten night to have an accident.

Sean sat down on the stool, noticing the cat’s yellow eyes watching his every move. “I’m afraid the phone’s out. Has been since before I found you. It could come back on any minute, or not for a couple days. Hard to tell.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I can make it over to our cabin on Ridgeway. The snow’s bound to stop soon and…”

“Not likely. It’s coming down heavier than before. Have you ever been up this way in the winter?”

“Not since I was a child.”

He’d thought as much. “The snow probably won’t let up until tomorrow sometime, the wind blowing drifts as high as the roofline.” He tucked the afghan around her legs. “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere. You’re bruised all over, your ankle’s probably aching like the devil and your shoulder will be sore for several days.”

His assessment was right on the money. Still, she hated to impose, to be a problem for anyone. She was used to being on her own, fending for herself. And although a doctor, he was a total stranger. “I’m so sorry I stumbled onto your property and messed up your plans. I’ll bet you could throttle me.”

She looked genuinely regretful, erasing Sean’s resentment at being inconvenienced. She should have looked bedraggled, dissipated, cranky even. Instead she look intriguing with those wounded eyes and that haunted air about her that made her seem vulnerable and very appealing. “Not a problem, really. I have a spare room with a bed that’s a lot more comfortable than this couch.”

Laura thought she’d be just fine on the couch if he’d just go off and leave her be. But she’d have more privacy in another room where she could close the door and be alone with her cat. “All right, if it’s not too much trouble.” She moved to sit up, the pain somewhat dulled by the medicine beginning to kick in.

He reached over to pick her up, but she stopped him. “I can walk, I think.”

Sighing, he shoved a hand into his pocket, searching for a coin. Already he knew she was stubborn and used to being independent. “My lucky Indian coin. I’ll flip you for it. Heads I carry you, tails you walk.”

Warily, she studied him. “A two-headed coin?”

“You really don’t trust easily, do you?” He showed her both sides, then tossed the coin up in the air, slamming it down on his hand. It came up heads. “There, now put your arms around my neck.”

Too tired to argue, Laura did as he asked. He carried her easily, heading toward the farthest door. She struggled against an urge to lay her head on his shoulder. He smelled of the outdoors, of woodsy aftershave, unmistakably male. He was so big, so solid, and it felt so good to be held, to feel safe. It had been so long since she’d given in to the very human need to just be held.

Following, Max protested loudly, but when Sean opened the door, he hopped on the bed immediately. Sean set Laura on her feet momentarily, pulled back the covers and eased her onto the bed. Her eyes felt so heavy she could scarcely keep them open as she felt him draw the comforter over her.

“There’s a connecting door right there to the bathroom, if you need it,” he explained, turning on a small night-light.

She sank into the soft warmth. “Thank you, for everything.”

“Sure.” He saw that she was halfway asleep already, her large blue eyes closing. The medicine along with all she’d been through was dragging her under. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch lingering a bit longer than that of an impersonal doctor.

He watched Max snuggle up against her, keeping his golden eyes on their host. Sean moved to the door. “If the phone comes alive, is there anyone you want me to call for you?”

Her eyes opened as she mentally ran through the short list of possibilities. “No, there’s no one.”

Backing out of the room and leaving the door slightly ajar, Sean felt a rush of sadness that there was no one this lovely woman wanted to notify as to her whereabouts, no one who’d be worrying about her when she didn’t call or show up.

In the kitchen, he heated soup, set out crackers, poured himself a glass of milk. He sat down at the counter and ate disinterestedly, his thoughts elsewhere. Sean had a logical mind, one that usually sorted things out in an orderly fashion, studied the possibilities then came to an informed conclusion. But, try as he would, he couldn’t seem to pigeonhole Laura Marshall.

She came from a wealthy family, that much he knew. Her father had a good reputation for fair dealing, though Sean was aware that many regarded him as cold and calculating. He seemed to remember that Owen’s wife had died some time ago and, though his picture had been in the paper in the society section escorting a variety of well-heeled, bejeweled women, Sean didn’t think Laura’s father had remarried. She said she worked for the family real estate business decorating model homes. He couldn’t help wondering how she got along with Owen.

Sean took a bite of cracker and chewed thoughtfully. She’d left her home in one hell of a hurry, taking along only her purse and grumpy cat, heading for a cabin she’d described as a safe haven. Why did she need one? She’d obviously been up to their cabin often before, yet she hadn’t thought it might be snowing in mid-February, hadn’t dressed for the weather, hadn’t even worn boots, hadn’t thrown a few clothes into a bag.

Because she was afraid of someone or something, she’d confided, yet she didn’t know who or why. How would she react when she remembered? He finished his light dinner, drained his milk glass and sat back. Traumatic amnesia was very real and pretty scary. What had frightened her enough to send her scurrying to her safe haven with no luggage, no preparation?

Despite her accident, she appeared clear-eyed, lucid, honestly trying to remember. He could see it bothered her to not know what had motivated her rush to safety. She certainly wasn’t in a dangerous line of work, nor was her father. A boyfriend stalking her, perhaps? An ex-husband or an admirer who’d become obsessive? Laura Marshall was certainly beautiful enough to inspire such behavior.

Or could she be in trouble, maybe running from the law? Stranger things had happened, yet he didn’t think that was it.

For one thing, there was all that family money. Could someone be threatening her, blackmailing her or working some sort of scam? Or had he read too many mysteries lately and let his imagination go on overdrive?

Shaking his head at his flight of fancy, Sean put his dishes in the dishwasher and yawned expansively. He hadn’t slept well last night, as he rarely did on these sojourns. Maybe tonight would be better. Laura’s unexpected arrival had called a halt to his brooding, the first time anything had distracted him from remembering, from going over every detail of that fateful day trying to discover something he might have done differently.

He walked over to the portrait above the fireplace and stood staring at the smiling face so full of mischief. “I failed you, Danny,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Bending to make sure the fire was dying out, he sighed then walked over to check the phone. Still out. He paused by the room where Laura lay. Stepping in quietly, he saw that she hadn’t moved. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, one hand softly curled by her face. Max’s suspicious yellow eyes glowed in the semidark. Perhaps the cat sensed that he preferred dogs. Or maybe he could tell that, despite his stated desire to be left alone this week, he’d like nothing better than to change places with Max and curl up with Laura Marshall under the duvet.

Sean headed for his bedroom.

The light filtering in through the unadorned windows woke her. Blinking, Laura took a moment to orient herself, then realized it was a weak morning sun reflecting on snow that was still falling outside. Her headache was gone, and she was grateful for that. She dared to move her shoulder and felt a dull ache, but not the sharp pain of yesterday.

She turned toward the nightstand and saw that it was ten after eight on the Mickey Mouse clock. The lamp she hadn’t noticed last night was a grinning Bugs Bunny chomping on a carrot, its base containing the night-light still on.

Curiosity aroused, Laura looked around and saw that she had slept in what was obviously a child’s room. The yellow striped wallpaper had flocked Disney characters parading across one wall while a little red wagon sat in the far corner holding a rabbit with one ear. Surely they had to be the ones from the picture over the fireplace.

A dozen or more stuffed animals hung in a hammock stretched beneath two shelves of children’s books. A blue-and-white hobbyhorse was next to the wagon, and a child’s maple rocker holding a huge purple dinosaur was near the door to the bathroom. Atop the tall dresser was a huge pink piggy bank and one of those glass globes that you had to turn over and snow fell on an ice skating scene. A wooden train was next to it, the cars forming letters that spelled out Danny.

So the child in the picture wasn’t Sean but rather a boy named Danny whose room this obviously was. Trying to recall their earlier conversation, Laura realized that when she’d asked Sean if he lived here alone, he had said he actually lived in Scottsdale, that he’d built this cabin for times he wanted to get away from the city. An evasive reply.

Laura stretched and shoved back the covers, then sat up. The room tilted slightly, then righted itself. Max, who’d moved to the far side of the bed, gave her a quick glance, then resumed his morning grooming. “Time we got up, lazybones,” she told him.

It was utterly quiet, and she wondered if Sean was up. There was a simple explanation here, she’d wager. Sean was probably divorced and had a son named Danny who used this room during his visits with his father. Or was Sean still married and the boy and his mother were back in Scottsdale?

She didn’t think so. She could be wrong, of course, Laura thought, but the masculine decor of the cabin, with the exception of Danny’s room, the lack of a woman’s touch, the absence of any pictures other than the boy’s portrait all pointed to a single man. But the most telling thing was the way he looked at her, lingeringly, thoughtfully, heatedly. Not the way a married man in love with his wife would look at another woman, doctor or not.

Laura ran both hands through her tangled hair. Of course, she could be reading more into those looks than was there. But she’d also seen his hand tremble when he’d held out the water and pill. And again when he’d brushed the hair from her face when he’d laid her down on the bed. Later, dozing more than soundly asleep, she thought she’d heard him come into the room and stand looking down at her. She hadn’t stirred, hadn’t moved, yet she’d felt his presence. He hadn’t stayed long and, moments later, she’d heard the other bedroom door close.

Carefully she touched the bandage on her forehead, wondering if the concussion Sean seemed certain she had had affected her mind, as well. She wasn’t one who usually read meanings into every gesture and touch. And she certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship, not after the one she’d barely extricated herself from not long ago.

The short time she’d been involved with Marc Abbott should have taught her a great deal, should have soured her on quick attractions and the consequences that followed. And it had. Sean had commented that she didn’t trust easily, something he’d picked up on after knowing her ever so briefly. An astute observation.

Max sauntered over and began purring, a signal that he wanted to be petted. Smiling, Laura obliged, as her thoughts floated free.

With time and distance, divorced nearly two years, Laura thought she knew exactly why she’d fallen so hard and fast for Marc. He was awfully handsome, utterly charming and knew how to make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Laura had never been one to attract men like Marc.

While not exactly a wallflower, she knew from her teens on that she wasn’t a raving beauty like her college roommate, Tate Monroe. Nor was she smart enough to graduate with a 4.0 like her other roommate, Molly Shipman. Ah, but she had something neither of them had had. She was rich, the only heir to her father’s wealth.

Laura felt a sob build in her throat and choked it down. What a pitiful thing it was to be not the pretty one, nor the smart one, but the rich one. Her fingers drifted through Max’s soft fur as she let her emotions settle. She’d long ago gotten over all that, hadn’t she?

At least she’d thought she had when someone handsome and clever such as Marc Abbott had sought her out and simply refused to take no for an answer. Overwhelmed, believing herself madly in love and gloriously happy, she’d married him.

And lived to regret that foolishly hopeful indulgence.

He’d hurt her, badly. But she’d moved on, took on more work, opened her own studio, became her own person. And she’d vowed to never ever let herself be a victim again. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, once you got used to it. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty, but other than business lunches and dinner meetings, she’d steered clear of letting anyone get close again. She’d never gone in for one-night stands, and everything else required a commitment she was unwilling to make.

And now she was up here, in the Gray Mountains in a snowstorm, marooned in a cabin with an attractive man who, even in her pitiful state, awakened some dormant desire inside her. But, not to worry. She’d tamp it down as she had with other occasional men who’d wandered into her life. Because she couldn’t trust them, could never know if they paid attention to her for the right reasons. If it wasn’t because she was gorgeous or had a personality that everyone gravitated to the moment she stepped into a room, then it was probably…because of her father’s money.

Lowering her head, she nuzzled Max’s fur. “No more feeling sorry for ourselves, Maxie,” she whispered to the cat. “We’re fine, just the two of us.”

Something caught her eye at the foot of the bed, a pile of clothes. She reached for them, examining each piece. Clean sweatshirt and sweatpants, thick socks, white cotton underwear, a chenille robe and an old-fashioned floor-length flannel nightgown. Well, well. About her size, though a tad roomy. His wife’s clothes? Or ex-wife’s? At any rate, it was very thoughtful of him. A shower and fresh clothes would feel good.

Testing her ankle, Laura stood up. Still swollen, still painful, but bearable. She gazed out the window and saw that the snow wasn’t letting up. There had to be several feet already and with the wind blowing drifts, probably higher in places. She’d never been marooned before, never spent time at a place where no one knew where she was. Saturday morning. She’d had no weekend plans, no luncheon dates or business consultations or shopping sprees with a girlfriend.

Would anyone be looking for her? Maybe, but she doubted if someone would actually worry until possibly Monday. Her father only sought her out when he had a decorating problem that needed solving or a favor he wanted from her. Everyone else would assume she’d gone away for a few days. Which, although she never did without informing someone, was a reasonable explanation.

Holding onto the bedpost, she took a step, then another then had to let go. Only three more steps to the bathroom door. Once inside, she could cling to any number of things. Her ankle felt rubbery, though Sean had said it didn’t appear to be broken.

Hugging the clothes to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched to reach for the doorknob, Laura took a step, then another on her sprained ankle. That’s when it went out on her and she went down with a yelp, crashing into a child’s rocker. A huge purple dinosaur fell onto her, the recorded mechanism triggered by the fall.

“I love you,” Barney sang. “You love me…”