But cooler.
Adelaide closed her eyes.
“Thank God.”
Gideon stirred.
His eyelids fluttered.
For one terrible instant she feared another delirious spell.
Then his gray eyes focused on her.
“Adelaide?”
Her entire body softened.
She almost laughed.
Instead she leaned over him and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead again.
“Don't talk.”
“That sounds impossible.”
His voice was barely a rasp.
She stared.
“You've been unconscious for most of five days and your first decision is to annoy me.”
A faint smile appeared beneath his beard.
“So I’m improving.”
Adelaide’s eyes filled immediately.
She turned away.
Gideon noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
She reached for the bowl on the bedside table.
“You need water.”
“Adelaide.”
“You need water.”
She slid one arm behind his shoulders and lifted the cup.
Gideon tried to push himself upright.
Pain tore through him.
His face tightened.
“Stop.”
Adelaide placed one hand against his chest.
“Your shoulder is bruised badly and your ribs may be cracked. You do not get to prove anything.”
The words hung between them.
Both heard what they meant.
Gideon looked down.
Adelaide held the cup to his lips.
He drank.
Slowly.
When he finished, she lowered him carefully.
Neither spoke for a while.
The storm had ended sometime during the night.
Sunlight now came through the frosted window, making the cabin almost painfully bright after days of gray.
Gideon stared toward it.
“How bad?”
“The north fence is gone.”
“Barn?”
“Still standing.”
“Cattle?”
“I counted eighteen.”
His eyes sharpened.
“We had nineteen.”
“I know.”
“One got out?”
“Yes.”
Gideon tried rising again.
Adelaide pushed him back.
“No.”
“We need to find—”
“No.”
“Adelaide—”
“I spent five days preventing you from dying.”
“You will not undo my work because one cow has decided to become independent.”
He stared at her.
Then unexpectedly laughed.
It hurt his ribs.
He groaned.
Adelaide leaned forward.
“I warned you.”
“You sound like me.”
“Then perhaps fever damaged both of us.”
His smile faded.
He looked at her hands.
The skin across her palms had split in several places.
Fresh bandages wrapped two fingers.
“What happened?”
Adelaide glanced down.
“Nothing.”
“Those weren’t there before.”
“Firewood.”
His face changed.
“You were hauling wood alone?”
“Yes.”
“You should have—”
He stopped.
Adelaide raised one eyebrow.
Gideon exhaled.
“Asked for help.”
“From whom?”
He looked around the empty cabin.
“Fair.”
A silence followed.
Then his gaze moved toward the floor.
“Did you sleep?”
“Some.”
“That means no.”
“I slept.”