Chapter Text
Kim herded the bulls; she didn’t go near the cows.
An incident with cows in her childhood had left her petrified of the things. Jack and Trinity could happily accommodate that when doing cattle herding on McKay’s farm; thankfully, the bulls she herded were kept far away from the cows that they herded. Huckleberry seems to get along okay with the bulls, so the herding process goes quite smoothly. No problems at all — yet. The problem arises when she comes across a loose cow on her way back to the usual meet-up spot (the first one there is always exempt from paying for drinks at the saloon). She only spots it from the corner of her eye while Huckleberry gallops, her mind short-circuiting and making her dive for cover immediately. It’s definitely not recommended to jump off your horse while he is in motion, and especially not if that motion is quick. She lands hard on her ankle and shouts out some words she’s not very proud of. Huckleberry stops a few feet away before leaning down to eat grass. He continues his trot towards the meet-up point, already knowing the way from previous times.
“Really feeling the love here, Huckleberry…” Kim mumbles while attempting to stand up, hissing the moment she places pressure on her left foot and falling back to the ground. “Fuck.”
From a distance, she can see a man in a red, plaid shirt running in her general direction. She guesses he must be the farmhand Trinity’s friends with — that’s the only man, other than Jack, she can think of being allowed on the farm. He seems to be in a rush, and she wonders what he’s running towards. He slows down as he gets closer, and it clicks; he heard her obviously loud string of profanities and had come to help — chivalry isn't dead, she thinks to herself.
Usually, it was Jack getting into these situations, and she’d laugh, but it’s not so funny when you’re the one injured (at least he gets his doctor buddy to help him out afterwards; she just gets a farmhand she can't count on to be medically trained).
“You doing okay down there?” the man asks, panting heavily.
She nods, trying once again to stand like she doesn’t already know the outcome. This time, when she’s about to fall with about as much grace as a duck with a brick tied to its leg, he catches her before she can hit the ground. There’s something about his face — his sad eyes, his awkward haircut, his concerned expression. He looks Amish, she thinks, after staring for a while, and pushes him away. Her hand finds its way back to his shoulder quickly as she stumbles.
“I’m fine,” she reaffirms her previous nod.
“Right…” he has a stupid smirk on his face; it’s almost endearing. She wouldn’t even really call it a smirk, more like a strange smile. “Can I assist you to the clinic, maybe?”
“I don’t need a clinic,” she insists, trying to hide her wincing expression from him by turning her head enough for her stereotypical cowboy hat to block his view. “A long way to walk with this leg, too.”
He sighs and thinks for a moment, “Listen, we have medical supplies back at the farm. Can I… carry you there?”
Kim struggles to bite back a laugh at how nervous he seems to ask that, “Not like I can walk there myself, farmboy.”
“Sorry, of course not,” he mumbles in response before lifting her into bridal carry with zero warning.
Her hat almost falls to the ground, but she manages to grab it in time, fixing it tightly to her head. He’s stronger than she expected him to be, not that she’s complaining. It was either this or hobbling up the hill, and she knows which she prefers. Besides, it’s been a while since she wasn’t the one doing the carrying. Her hat keeps hitting the side of his face, but he barely even reacts.
He’s patient, she notes. Patient is good.
The rest of the walk to the farmhouse is quiet, minus his heavy breathing. It crosses Kim's mind a few times to ask him his name, but she decides it might be best to wait until they reach their destination. He looks like a Robert to her. Possibly a Daniel. Maybe a Bartholomew if she squinted at him. She really should've asked Trinity his name outside of “Huckleberry” — she's not sure whether that name came solely from the character Huckleberry Finn, or if Trinity really did nickname this guy for his resemblance to Kim's horse. Knowing Trinity, both were equally possible options.
The farmhouse is quite nice to look at; it has the classic aesthetic she usually thinks of when picturing a farm. Considering how long she's been “working” there, it's strange she hasn't ever seen most of it. She hasn't had much reason to explore it before: she sticks to the bull’s pasture and pen. Then, she'll ride to just outside the farm by an apple tree — that's where Abbot's Men meet. The name was very disagreed on, but Jack said he got naming rights because he was the first member. Kim tried to tell him it doesn't count as “being a member” if he was just riding around by himself in the first place, and that a group of three people doesn't need a name. He wouldn't listen, though. Never does, the stubborn bastard.
“You alright in my room?” he asks, opening the white front door by pushing it with his hips. “You can use my bed while I try fixing your leg up.”
“You sure?” She winces as he gently places her back onto her feet. Well, foot. “I thought you and the other one shared a room.”
“We do, but she wouldn’t mind.” he puts Kim’s arm around his shoulders, helping her hobble her way to his room and onto the bed. “She’s actually medically trained, so she can take a look at your leg after I… do my thing.”
Kim squints at him, taking a mental note of his hesitation, “You don’t know what to do with my leg, do you?”
“That’s not completely true,” he exits the room quickly to grab the first aid kit and then returns, kit in hand. “If it’s a sprain, I’m excellent with those. Mel- She’s the other one. Mel sprained her ankle a year ago, and I helped out.”
“It’s not broken,” she reassures him. She smiles at his now confused expression, “I’m medically trained too. If it were broken, I would’ve made you take me to the clinic. This is a sprain.”
“Okay… I can do that,” he sighs with relief, getting out an extra from the cupboard and handing Kim the first aid kit. He seems to let the role of healer take him over naturally, “Can you elevate your leg for me?”
She nods, wincing while removing her boots. He places the pillow under her hurt leg and helps lift it. It feels odd for her to have someone taking care of her; she’s so used to taking that role with others. She’s the one who helps the injured people that Abbot’s Men come across on their daily surveillance rides, the one who bonded with Trinity when they found her after running away, the one who treats their horses, and the one who protects everyone else.
“I’m Kim, by the way,” she almost whispers, unsure if he even heard.
“Dennis,” is all he responds, digging through the first aid kit.
Okay, not Robert.
Her eyes focus on Dennis pulling out a roll of gauze, and she pauses, confused by the order that he’s treating her in. She’s always followed the PRICE order — protection, rest, ice, compression, elevate — and she thought she was right in assuming he knew that too. Sure, they technically skipped protection, but she didn’t want to have her muddy boots on his overall clean bed.
“You need to ice it before you compress,” she points out, lip stuck between her teeth.
He looks up at her quickly, mouthing the word “oh” silently, before nodding immediately and rushing to grab an ice pack from the freezer. Kim rolls her eyes, waiting for his return. His room is quite simple to look at; there are no pictures of him or his family on his side of it. That miffs her slightly, but he has a nice painting up on the wall for her to look at. A lamb is being held up by several wolves, gripping onto it with their teeth. The lamb’s eyes are closed while the wolves have open, piercing yellow eyes. She likes the look of it; it catches her attention, and she finds it difficult to look away until Dennis comes back in, holding a pack of ice covered in a raggy tea towel.
“I remember hearing you shouldn’t put ice directly on the skin,” he explains, kneeling next to the bed and pulling up her jean leg carefully. “Ice burn, right?”
“You should be a doctor,” she remarks dryly, suppressing a smile as she stares at his hands. “But, yes. Direct contact might cause ice burn.”
He seems rather proud of himself for getting it right, and that leaves a warm feeling in Kim’s chest. There’s just something about him and the care he’s shown her so far as a total stranger. Plus, he looks quite cute. Even if she does believe he looks Amish.
“I’ve never seen myself as anything but a farmer,” he smiles up at her. “If I ever do end up a doctor, it’ll be after I’m no use on this farm.”
She laughs and lies back, wanting to relax while he ices her ankle. Her mind drifts to the incident, and when he ran to her aid with seemingly no hesitation. Then, she focuses on Huckleberry running away and realises she’s forgotten two very important factors here — Trinity and Jack. They don’t know she’s here. They don’t even know she had an accident. She almost winces worse at the thought of their potential worry than she did about her injury.
“Hey,” she props herself up on her elbows and scrunches her nose when he looks over. “Could you do me a favour? Another one.”
“Oh, this isn’t a favour. This is what anyone would do,” he shrugs. “But, yes. What’s the favour?”
Kim has to fight not to mentally malfunction over how casually he treats the selfless act of helping her, “Would you be able to find my friends?... I mean, you know Trinity already. She’ll react well to you telling her I’m injured.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he murmurs, a small smile appearing on his face at the mention of Trinity, and stands up with a small cracking sound in his knees. “She might still kill me for the hell of it.”
She laughs in response, eyes following Dennis as he puts on a thin tweed coat and pulls out his boots from under the bed. She wonders how he plans on reaching her two friends and how they’d react to news of her injury. Jack is unlikely to worry too much; he understands she can take care of herself, but Trinity is awfully protective of the people she cares about — especially Kim.
“Where would they be?” he asks, tying up his boots.
“By the apple tree, the one at the bottom of the field.”
“Okay…” he thinks for a few moments, picturing the path there. “I’ll take one of the horses.”
“Be careful, okay?” she tells him instinctively. “If you get a sprain, I’m in no fit shape to fix you up in return.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will do,” he mock salutes her as he leaves the room, shutting the bedroom door behind him.
She sighs and lies back again, staring up at the painting once more. She can foresee this being quite a boring wait, but it’s nice to relax for once. It’s so nice, in fact, that her eyes start to droop after several minutes, and she finds herself dreaming of a familiar face wearing a familiar red, plaid shirt.