Samuel stared.
“What happened?”
Penny answered:
“Mr. Frost lost an argument with a creek.”
Declan muttered:
“The creek cheated.”
Samuel almost laughed.
They worked for two hours.
Fractured tibia.
Two cracked ribs.
Severe bruising.
Cold exposure.
But no internal bleeding that Samuel could detect.
Declan would live.
Penny sat beside him while her father prepared the plaster splint.
Declan looked exhausted.
Then Samuel asked:
“Who should we notify?”
Declan stared at the ceiling.
“No one.”
“Family?”
“No.”
“Your cousin?”
His expression hardened.
“Especially not him.”
Penny noticed.
Samuel did too.
But neither asked.
Declan remained in the surgery for nine days.
That was how Penny began knowing him.
Not the legend.
The man.
He hated being dependent.
He apologized every time he needed help.
He read constantly.
He knew Latin names for mountain plants because his mother had taught him.
He disliked coffee but drank it anyway because Penny made terrible tea.
And he believed absolutely that his wives had died because of him.
Penny discovered that on the fourth night.
Declan could not sleep.
Pain.
She entered carrying hot water.
He sat near the window.
Snow outside.
Leg elevated.
Penny said:
“You're supposed to be in bed.”
“So are respectable women after midnight.”
“Good thing nobody has ever accused me of being one.”
He looked toward her.
“People are fools.”
Penny paused.
“You know they call me Big Penny.”
“I know.”
“They say it around you?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Declan shrugged.
“You are big.”
Penny stared.
He immediately looked alarmed.
She almost laughed.
Declan continued quickly:
“I mean tall.”
“You are—”
He gestured.
“Strong.”
“Healthy.”
His face reddened.
This enormous mountain man, embarrassed by describing a woman's body.
Penny rescued him.
“Stop digging.”
“Thank you.”
She placed the water beside him.
Declan looked out the window.
After a moment:
“They call me worse.”
“The cursed husband?”
His expression changed.
“Yes.”
Penny leaned against the table.
“Do you believe it?”
Declan did not answer.
That was answer enough.
She asked:
“How did your wives die?”
His jaw tightened.
“You know.”
“I know gossip.”
“Not medicine.”
He looked toward her.
“Why?”
“Because seven women dying before winter is statistically unusual.”
He almost smiled.
“That's your objection?”
“One of them.”
Declan stared down at his hands.
“Agnes died from fever.”
“My first wife.”
“Three months after we married.”
“Doctor called it mountain fever.”
Penny listened.
“Second?”
“Margaret.”
“Heart stopped.”
“Third?”
“Louise.”
“Lightning.”
Penny blinked.
“That one may actually be bad luck.”
Declan gave her a dark look.