All About Seduction(13)

Caroline recoiled. How could she berate him for saving a little girl?

Jack glared up at the woman, his mouth flattening. His expression of concern over the little girl was gone. In its place a shuttered look appeared. He slowly turned his head away.

The animosity hung heavy in the air. Jack needed comforting not condemnation. Caroline tightened her grip on the woman and turned her shoulder.

The woman resisted and burst into noisy wails of “Why? Why?”

“He’ll be all right. I’ve sent for the physician.” More for Jack’s sake than hers, Caroline kept her tone soothing. “We’ll get him out.”

“What good’ll he be? He won’t be able to work. I got another babe on the way. I can’t take care of another cripple.”

Appalled, Caroline gripped the woman firmly and shoved her toward one of the men. “Take her outside.”

Another one of the millworkers, trying to pry the gear loose, kicked an empty spindle. It rolled across the floor and knocked into Caroline’s foot. Wooden spindles littered the floor. Her chest tightened. How many had that little child been trying to carry?

Pressing her lips together, she moved closer and dropped to a knee beside the injured man. She found his hand and caught it, giving him a squeeze. He turned slowly, looking at her, and his hand tightened around hers. His grip was solid and reassured her that he was not on the verge of death. Odd that just holding his hand helped calm the skip of her heart. But his skin was too pale. The scarlet blood kept spreading out along the grooves of the floorboards and then filled in the surfaces.

Swallowing hard, she kept her features controlled and silently prayed Godspeed to the doctor.

“We’ll get you out,” she said softly. She should say something motherly and reassuring. Only she wasn’t a mother, and up close she could see the beginnings of lines etched around his eyes. He must be older than she’d thought.

His breathing was steady if a little heavy. The gash on his arm was deep. But it was his caught foot that most disturbed Caroline, making her throat catch.

“Dammit, Caro, did you tell that man he could take my horse?” Robert stomped through the room. He drew to a halt when he saw the commotion. “Oh dear Lord.”

“It’s an emergency,” said Caroline.

Her brother stopped beside her, pulled his snowy handkerchief from his pocket and patted his lips. She scowled at him. He should not allow his revulsion to show. Waving him away, she turned her attention back to the trapped man. Holding his gaze, she willed her strength to him.

The injured man’s nostrils flared as he stared back at her.

The men around lapsed into an argument about how the machinery could be dismantled. Desperation clawed at her. Did no one know how to break down the spinning frame cogs?

Jack tugged on her hand. He struggled to rise to his elbows. She didn’t want him looking at his mangled lower leg, and she put her hand to his chest to push him back down. In spite of the pressure she applied, he managed to achieve a half-reclined position.

“That bolt there.” He pointed with his gashed arm. “Loosen that one and then those.”

Caroline stared in amazement as the injured man directed the men how to disassemble the gears trapping him.

“You should come away,” Robert said to her.

“I can’t now, Robert.” She shifted to prop up Jack as he directed men through the maze of bolts and fasteners holding the massive cogs together. Reaching up, she snatched Robert’s handkerchief from him and folded it to press against Jack’s injured arm. She wished she could wrap her arms around him and comfort him. She settled for holding his well-muscled arm still and pressing at the bleeding wound.

Jack seemed inclined to shake her off, but for a second his dark eyes met hers and he hesitated.

That she was the mill owner’s wife probably stilled his protest.

“How often do these mishaps occur?” muttered Robert. “Good Lord above.”

“Once is too often,” said Caroline. There had been accidents before. There were deaths. The last had been a five-year-old boy who was knocked on the head by a loom. Mr. Broadhurst hadn’t understood her tears for a child she didn’t know. He never woke up, and passed a week later. She’d known then that she had to do whatever she could to get the children out of the mill, to make it safe for not only them, but everyone.

But as long as Mr. Broadhurst only paid lip service to her decree, the tots continued to work alongside adults. And Granger’s mills were worse.