“Do you realize how much I care for you?” His words were deep with unfamiliar emotion.
“I feel the same about you.” She fit her cool hand to his cheek.
He brought her palm to his lips. He wanted to kiss her. Would she allow it? Before he decided, her eyes widened, and she jerked back, allowing a cool draft between them.
She patted her skirt, dove her hand into the pocket, and pulled out a rattling package. “Whew. I didn’t know if this had fallen out.”
“What is it?”
“One of Mother’s teas. This one is good for fevers, which is why I had to have it.” Her gaze went toward the cabin. “Mother’s fever was rising again.”
He reached for her hand. “Addie.” But she had already made her way up the slope, anxious to get back to the cabin. His arm fell to his side.
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
She was safe. That was all that mattered.
Wasn’t it?
Twelve
Addie rubbed her chest. It still hurt from holding her position on top of the unsteady coach. As she prayed for help, she’d pictured Nash rescuing her. Not that she was about to admit that. He’d come, and she’d had no hesitation as she jumped into his arms, where she’d found sweet comfort. Shamelessly, she’d clung to him, never wanting to let go. Yes, of course, some of her reaction—in fact, most of it—came from relief at being safe. But something else existed. A longing to belong there, his heart beating beneath her cheek, his arms holding her, his breath against her hair. Her name on his lips filled her with sweetness. And possibility.
How sorely she’d been tempted to stay in that shelter. Drink of what he offered. Or at least, what she thought he offered.
But Mother had been left alone far too long. So Addie trotted to the cabin. When she burst through the door, Shorty jolted to his feet.
“We have been worried about you. Where did you go? What happened?”
Mr. Zacharius sat upright. “She’s safe.”
Even Mr. Bertrand forgot his usual complaining.
“I’m all right.” One glance at Mother, and she knew the fever had not abated. She poured water into the kettle and set it to boil. “I went to get this special tea from the stagecoach. The coach had almost gone over the edge. It was rather unsteady.” Did her words sound as strangled as they felt? “I couldn’t get down without fear of sending it crashing to the ravine.” She measured the leaves into the teapot and poured in hot water. Now, to let it steep long enough. Mother always warned her that rushing wasted it.
“How did you get off it?” Shorty asked.
“Nash came along with a horse and rope.” She shrugged. No need for them to know the details. “And now here I am.” She swirled the teapot’s contents.
“What about the stagecoach?” Mr. Bertrand demanded. “How will we get to Golden Valley if it’s at the bottom of a ravine?”
“It was still standing when I left.” No doubt Nash would do all he could to bring the coach back to its wheels. Her insides spasmed. What if it went over the edge, taking him with it?
“Incompetence such as I’ve never seen.” Mr. Bertrand’s strident words scratched along Addie’s spine like cat claws. Could the man think of something besides his own comfort for once?
The tea must be ready. She poured some into a cup, cooled it with a little water, and sank to the floor by the fur mat.
“Mother.” She shook her shoulder gently.
“Umph. What?”
“I want you to drink this tea.” Addie helped Mother sit up and held the cup to her lips, grateful when she swallowed. But after three mouthfuls, she stopped.
“You need to take it all.” She tipped the cup to Mother’s mouth.
Mother turned away.
Addie rubbed her arm. “Please. It will make you feel better.”
