“Oh.” The word carried heat and embarrassment. She shouldn’t be hanging on to Nash. Good thing Mother slept. She dropped her hand to her side.
“What was that?” Mr. Zacharius’s voice trembled.
“I don’t know without checking.” Nash dashed from the cabin.
Had he even noticed that she’d reached for him? It appeared not, and she puffed out air.
From outside came the sound of voices. So Hawk was still in one piece. Wasn’t he?
Her lungs refused to work as she waited for the response to her question.
Voices faded away, leaving her without an answer.
Shorty hobbled toward the door. “I need to have a look.” He opened the door, took in the rain descending, shook his head, closed the door, and hobbled back to the cot where he sat. “Perhaps I will wait for one of them to tell me what has happened.”
Everyone but Mother stared at the door. Even Mr. Bertrand had nothing to say.
The minutes ticked by in heavy silence as they strained for any indication as to what happened.
“At least the cabin is in one piece.” Shorty’s words hung in the air.
Boots thudded on the step. Finally, they’d have some news.
Nash entered and faced the anxious group. “It was a small landslide.”
“Sounded big,” Mr. Bertrand managed.
“What damage?” Shorty asked.
“It missed everything of importance.”
But a frown pinched the space between his eyes. Addie stepped toward him. “You don’t sound relieved.”
“It’s possible it’s taken out the road.”
Mr. Bertrand came to his feet sputtering. “Are you saying we’re stranded here? For how long? It’s unacceptable.”
Nash dropped his hat to the peg. “We won’t know until it stops raining and we can assess the situation.” He scrubbed his hair back. “You might as well relax.” He smiled at Addie, though his eyes remained serious. “Let’s make dinner for this bunch.”
“Indeed.” She emptied the jars into the biggest pot Shorty had and set it over the heat. “I’ll prepare vegetables.”
Nash joined her at the cupboard. “While you do that, I’ll make biscuits.”
She blinked. “You?” The man proved to be good at a number of things. Though she had yet to taste the biscuits he made, so her assumption might be premature.
“I told you my ma cooked for Gib. I often helped her.” The big bowl he found thumped to the work surface. “There’s lard?”
“A whole tin of it.” She pointed to its location.
With the sureness of a man who knew what he was doing, he scooped flour from the bin into the bowl.
The vegetables forgotten, Addie watched. “Hmm. A man of many talents.”
“Thanks.”
“Who said it was a compliment? It might have simply been an observation.” She began peeling a potato.
“It was both. Admit it.”
