Chapter Nine
Lincoln stood at the work table. Two days, and the pain hadn't lessened. He puffed out a long string of air and clenched his jaw. Ten minutes he'd been here. Ten measly minutes, without even putting weight on his ankle, yet the ache grew and throbbed. Blood seemed to rush to the area, pool there. The intensity of it made his stomach turn. He straightened and his back screamed in protest, the pain rivalling the throb of his ankle. The woman hadn't lied. The sprain was bad. Worse than he'd realized. Two weeks without walking? Without building? Without heading to the lot? He'd go crazy.
Lincoln picked up the Popsicle stick model he'd been working on and threw it across the room.
Damn.
Now that would have to be cleaned too. He looked to the calzone remnants under the window. R
