Seeing her intent, Nash scooped the slicker from the hook and draped it around her shoulders.
“Thank you.” Her dark-eyed gaze held his for a moment, and then she hurried outside.
He turned slowly away from the door. “How are you feeling, Shorty?”
“I would like to get up if you could be so kind as to hand me my clothes.” He nodded toward the items hanging from nails near his bed.
“Are you sure? You have a bad cut on your leg.”
“I also have bruises up and down my body, but I am not lying in bed half naked.” He sat up. He paled and grunted as he half lifted, half dragged his leg from the bed.
At least the bandage didn’t show fresh blood. Nash handed the items of clothing to Shorty and remained nearby should the man need assistance.
By the time Addie returned, shaking water from the slicker before she hung it back on the peg, Shorty wore clothes and a pinched look.
“Shorty, what are you doing?” Addie rushed across the room.
Shorty held up a hand. “It is best if I get up. I do not want to get stiff.” He perched on the side of the bed, making no move toward going further.
Addie stopped, studied Shorty, and then gave Nash a quizzical look.
He shrugged. “He’s determined.”
She nodded. “At least Mother is doing better.”
Mr. Zacharius coughed and blew his nose several times while Mr. Bertrand continued to grumble.
“I’ll see about breakfast.” She crossed to the kitchen area.
Nash followed her to the cupboard, where they shared a grin at Mr. Bertrand’s steady criticisms.
“Is there makings for coffee?” she asked.
“I believe there is.” He located the coffee grinder and coffee beans while she measured out cornmeal and water and set it on the hot stove to cook.
“How long do you think we’ll be here?” She stirred the mush.
“We can’t move until it stops raining and the trail is cleared.”
“I’ll need to look at making more meals.”
“Did you find the bottled meat?” Shorty called.
“I did not.” She looked toward Nash, her eyebrows rising.
He shook his head. He’d not seen any meat.
“If you look in that cupboard, you will find it.” They followed the direction Shorty pointed.
Addie knelt to pull out an assortment of battered pots, a cracked bowl, and—“Right in the very back.” She emerged with two jars. “I can make stew.”
Hawk strode in and shrugged out of his slicker. “Howdid everyone sleep?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I slept well.” He stood before the stove, holding his hands out toward the heat. “We’re socked in. Not even an inch of blue sky to be seen.”
The coffee sputtered. Nash moved it aside, let the grounds settle, and then found cups of various sorts. Two chipped china cups with dainty handles. He shuddered at the thought of some rough-and-tough cowboy holding those delicate things. There were three tin mugs. Two small canning jars would serve as cups. Filling all the containers emptied the pot.
He offered a teacup to Mrs. Stone.
She barely opened her eyes as he spoke her name.
