She reached for his coat.
"Are you hurt?"
He nodded reluctantly.
"Twisted my knee. Got thrown when the horse slipped."
Clara's eyes widened.
"Gabriel!"
He attempted a smile.
"Looks worse than it is."
She stared.
"You're nearly frozen."
He looked toward her.
Then noticed she was trembling too.
His expression changed.
"You went outside?"
"Only onto the porch."
He looked frightened.
"Clara—"
She raised one hand.
"Sit down."
The command surprised him.
He blinked.
She pointed toward the chair.
"Now."
For a moment, Gabriel stared.
Then, despite everything, he almost smiled.
"Yes, ma'am."
He sat.
Clara hurried to the stove.
She warmed water.
Brought blankets.
Helped him remove the wet outer layers without disturbing the injured knee.
And examined what she could safely assess.
The joint was swollen.
He could move it, but painfully.
She insisted he rest.
He protested.
The cattle needed checking.
The barn needed securing.
And the storm wasn't finished.
Clara looked directly at him.
"You won't help anybody if you collapse."
Gabriel stared.
For a moment, he seemed surprised by her firmness.
Then he sighed.
"You're beginning to sound like Martha Bell."
Clara smiled faintly.
"Then perhaps you should listen."
He laughed.
But when he tried to stand, pain crossed his face.
She immediately placed a hand against his shoulder.
"Gabriel."
He stopped.
For several seconds, he looked frustrated.
Then he sat again.
Clara brought soup.
He ate.
She cleaned the snow from his boots.
Then sat beside him.
The storm continued raging outside.
For nearly an hour, they listened to the wind.
Gabriel's knee remained painful, but he was warmer.
Clara watched him.
Her eyes filled.
He noticed.
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
He frowned.
"Clara."
Her lips trembled.
"I thought you'd died."
Gabriel went still.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
She looked toward the window.
"When I saw the horse, I thought—"
Her voice broke.
Gabriel reached for her hand.