For a moment, she simply stared.
Then she saw a small tear in his shirt near the shoulder.
A dark stain marked the fabric beneath it.
Her face went pale.
“You're hurt.”
Harlon glanced down.
“Nothing serious.”
“That's blood.”
“Caught a splinter when the doorframe broke.”
She shook her head.
“Let me see.”
He looked faintly amused.
“You've been half frozen, chased through a blizzard, and hidden in a hole beneath a mountain cabin. I reckon I can wait until you're dressed.”
Amily opened her mouth to argue.
Then realized he was right.
Her cheeks burned.
Harlon noticed and immediately turned away.
“Your dry clothes are on the bench. I'll stand by the fireplace.”
He stepped back.
Amily climbed out of the spring, dried herself, and dressed in the enormous clean flannel shirt he'd provided, along with a simple wool skirt and stockings from an old storage chest. The garments weren't elegant, but they were warm and gave her the privacy and comfort she desperately needed.
When she emerged, Harlon stood beside the fireplace examining the damaged door.
His shoulders were tense.
A long scratch ran across his upper arm.
Amily approached.
“Sit down.”
He looked over.
“Miss Ward—”
“Sit.”
Harlon raised his eyebrows.
For the first time, a genuine smile touched his mouth.
“Yes, ma'am.”
He lowered himself into a sturdy wooden chair beside the hearth.
Amily brought a basin of clean water, a cloth, and the small medical tin she'd noticed on the shelf.
She examined his shoulder carefully.
The injury was shallow.
A splinter had torn the fabric and scraped his skin, but the wound didn't appear deep.
Amily cleaned it gently.
Harlon remained quiet.
Then she whispered, “I thought they'd killed you.”
His expression changed.
He looked toward her face.
Tears stood in her green eyes.
“I'm here.”
She swallowed.
“I know.”
Her fingers trembled as she worked.
Harlon watched her with unexpected tenderness.
“Amily.”
She glanced up.
“You don't owe me anything for helping you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I wasn't trying to repay you.”
He went still.
She looked back toward the wound.
“I was frightened.”
For several seconds, he didn't speak.
Then his voice softened.
“So was I.”
Amily looked up sharply.
“You?”
He smiled faintly.
“Not much interested in getting shot over a broken door.”
She laughed through tears.