“Are you the Stones’ only child?”
“I’m not—” She didn’t need to tell everything about herself.
“Not what?” He watched her, waiting for a reply. When she didn’t answer, he added, “I’m curious as to what you meant to say.”
Nash didn’t haveany right to expect an answer. Yes, he wondered why she’d broken off and pressed her lips together as if to hold back a secret. He had reason not to reveal every detail of his family, but he couldn’t imagine that she would have such.
“Did I cross a boundary when asking about siblings?” Perhaps she’d lost brothers or sisters, and she didn’t like to talk about it. “If so, I’m sorry. Forget my probing. Please.”
Shifting closer to the fur rug, she again sponged her mother’s face.
Her actions provided an adequate answer, and Nash pulled his legs close to his chest. The lamp flickered as a draft crossed the room. The men snored. He should check on Shorty, but Nash didn’t move.
Addie returned to his side. “Her fever hasn’t broken, but she’s resting.”
“It’s quiet.”
She laughed. “You mean apart from the rain pounding on the roof, the wood crackling in the stove”—she turned toward the corner—“and Mr. Bertrand’s snores.”
The man she meant drew in a loud, rattling breath.
Addie cupped a palm to her mouth to hold back her amusement.
Nash grinned. “Fine. It’s almost quiet.”
They settled back against the wall, sharing a space barely wide enough to accommodate them. She turned her knees to the side to avoid encountering his legs, but their elbows brushed. He could almost believe the two of them were alone in the isolated cabin.
“I don’t object to you asking about my family. To answer your question, I don’t have any siblings. The Stones have no children. They took me in when my parents died. They are all I have in the way of family. I owe them so much for how they’ve helped me.”
He nudged his elbow into hers. “I’m sorry you lost your parents, but Mrs. Stone seems truly fond of you.”
“As I am of her.” She leaned toward Mrs. Stone and touched her forehead. “She’s warm. I should sponge her, but rest is valuable, too.” Her shoulder brushed along his arm as she resumed sitting, tipping her head back to the log wall.
“You should get some rest, too.” She must be as tired as the rest of the travelers.
“As should you.”
But neither of them moved. A yawn opened his mouth wide. He might be a little tired, too. “I’ll sleep by Shorty’s cot in case he needs anything.” He waited for her to indicate her plans.
“I’ll lie beside Mother. That way, I’ll know if she—” A yawn cut her off.
Nash patted her arm. “Good night then.” He eased to his feet and tiptoed to where Shorty slept. Nash had neither blanket nor pillow. In the past, as he rode his land, he’d slept on the ground without either, so this wasn’t new. The boards creaked as he lowered himself to the floor, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.
As was his habit, he prayed before he slept.
God in heaven, thank You for Your provision of shelter and warmth and for traveling companions to help pass the time. Help Addie sleep. Allow her mother to get better. Help Shorty’s leg heal. Be with Ma and keep her safe. Most of all, thank?—
Sleep claimed him.
He woke to darkness and an ache in his shoulder. Where was he? To his right came a moan and, with it, remembrance. His shoulder protested as he sat up.
“Shorty?”
“My apologies for disturbing you, but I have a pain that will not go away.” Shorty thrashed about.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Nash made his way to the cupboard where he’d left the lamp and lit it again. Light touched the room.
Shorty struggled with the bedcovers.
