She'd left a plate covered in tin foil on the stove. He pressed one finger against it. Still hot.
Under the foil he found two sticky homemade cinnamon rolls and several scrambled eggs.
He downed it all in minutes, humming his appreciation over the sticky buns. Where was she?
He bundled up and fought his way through the kittens—more active now—to the back porch. He walked out toward the ruined barn, feeling the stretch of every unused muscle. The milder weather felt like heaven. He left his coat unzipped.
From a distance, he saw Molly on her back on the ground—still wearing that horrible jean jacket—buried beneath one of the tractors. Hound Dog was roaming in the field not far away.
As he got closer, he could hear her talking to herself, though he couldn't make out the words.
He made sure to make plenty of noise, his boots crunching in the dried winter grasses. "Morning—"
Molly shrieked, flipping a wrench loose so that it clanged against the underside of the tractor and then fell to the ground with a thud.
He stood there, ready to laugh at her overblown reaction. A smile was starting to bloom across his lips.
Until he got a look at her. Her face was a pale splash of white against her hair.
She was still spooked. More than spooked, she was terrified. Shaking.
But not running.
"Sorry," she mumbled. She pushed out from under the tractor and tried to turn away, piling up tools on an old towel she'd laid out on the ground beside her.
He squatted, putting himself at the same level. He reached out and stilled her frantic movements with one hand at her wrist.
She jerked away from his touch, looking up at him with too-wide eyes.
Like she had in the beginning.
"What's going on?" he asked.
She ducked her head, hiding her face from him. Shook her head.
"Molly." He didn't try to touch her again. But he wasn't letting this go. Something had scared her. Terrified her.
She stood, turning so all he could see was her profile.
But he still saw more than she probably wanted.
She'd let him in close before.
So he stepped over the tools toward her.
Danger!
He ignored the warning flares his brain was sending up and crowded her in against the side of the tractor with both arms. Careful not to touch her.
Yet.
"Cord—" She could've ducked beneath either of his arms and escaped. He wasn't trapping her, not really. But he wanted answers.
He wanted to go back three days, to the way she'd looked at him in the upstairs hallway. Now, she had her walls up high. She wouldn't even look him in the eye, just stared at his chin.
"Something happened in town. Tell me."
Her chin firmed. She didn't say a word, just kept staring at his jaw.
