"You're burning up," she said. "You can't go out today."
He took a step back. "I'm not sick. I'll take a Tylenol and be fine."
The skepticism on her face said she didn't believe him.
"The pond's iced over," he said, even though he hadn't seen it yet.
"Tell me where the ax is, and I'll take care of it."
Sure. That sounded like a great plan.
He shook his head. Yep, it hurt like the dickens.
She threw her hands up. Mumbled something he didn't hear. Whirled back to him. "I'm going with you. Don't argue," she said when he would've.
And that made him grin, just a little. Which hurt too.
Cord wassick as a dog and pretending he was fine.
Except he'd clearly had trouble hauling his carcass into the truck, and his reflexes were off.
She was thinking of putting on her seatbelt, even though they were only going ten miles an hour on the track toward the barn.
She was determined to break up the ice and leave him in the truck. He was so out of it, so feverish, that he was likely to fall through the ice himself.
Everything was covered. Trees looked broken and strange as some of their branches had dropped.
What about the barn—?
Cord stomped on the brakes as the barn came into view. She’d caught herself with both hands against the dash, mouth open to tell him off, when she saw what had caused the reaction.
The tree she'd worried about last night had fallen. All of it. Across the barn. One whole side was sheared off, leaving the interior open and exposed. The entire structure listed to one side, precarious in the biting wind.
"No,” he mumbled. “No, no, no."
He stepped on the gas pedal and pulled in, then threw the truck into park well back from the disaster of broken branches and destroyed wood.
"Cord—"
He waved her off, staring out the windshield. This was a big setback. She knew he'd hoped to rebuild most of the interior of the barn.
He didn't say anything. Just stared out the window with his hands shaking on the wheel.
Then he put the truck in drive and bypassed the barn to head to the pond.
She'd hopped out of the truck before he got it completely stopped and had pulled the ax from the truck bed as he shifted into park. She was halfway to the icy pond before he'd gotten to his feet outside the truck.
"Molly!" he yelled.
"Get back in the truck," she called over her shoulder. "You've got the flu."
He cursed. But as she fought through the brush to get to the water's edge, she heard a car door open and close.
She'd won? He must really be sick.
Even with two pairs of gloves on and as many layers as she'd been able to don quickly, she was shivering, and her face felt numb by the time she'd chopped through the layer of ice to reveal the water below. She cleared as much as she could around this edge, hoping the cattle would be smart enough to smell the water and come around this way instead of heading back through the brush-lined side of the pond.
When she approached the truck, Cord's head was lolled back against the headrest behind him.
