She was watching him, her eyes gentle. He sank into their softness.
"You're going to be well again, Jericho. God is answering our prayers."
Was she...crying? He wanted to touch her. To reach for her. To wipe away those tears.
But his hand wouldn't move. He didn't have enough strength yet. Maybe he could speak instead. He opened his mouth, tightened his throat, and forced sounds through. "Dinah."
His voice sounded rough. Far too coarse to speak the name of this woman so beautiful.
But a smile bloomed on her face, brightening her eyes like the sun's rays. She pulled her hand away from his cheek, making him want to beg for her to put it back. But then her fingers settled around his hand.
He closed it around hers. Gave a squeeze that was hopefully strong enough that she could feel it.
His eyes wouldn't stay open any longer, so he let them drift shut. As long as he could cling to her hand, he would rest.
* * *
The muscles in Jericho's face felt like he hadn't used them in weeks as he attempted a smile when Dinah entered his room. "Good morning." Though this was the second morning since he’d awakened, his throat still rasped, especially since he hadn't spoken before today.
Her eyes widened. "Good morning. You're looking bright-eyed."
He'd already sat up, but he kept the blanket pulled to his waist. When Jude came in to help him attend to personal matters, he'd discovered he was only wearing a nightshirt and drawers. Had Dinah been there when he'd been undressed?
Surely not. But every faint memory he had of being sick included her, helping him sip tea, wiping his face with a wet cloth, or simply holding his hand.
"Feeling a lot better. It's time I get up."
Dinah moved to the bedside, her fingers brushing his forehead. "You still feel warm. Maybe you should rest longer."
Jericho reached up, grasping her wrist. He could move quicker now. "I've rested enough. I can't be stuck in this bed any longer."
Dinah's eyes softened. "All right. But only for a minute. Let me help you."
She pulled herself from his hold and reached for his blanket, but he clamped his hand over the cloth. "If you'll bring me my clothes, I can take it from there."
Her cheeks flushed, but she looked uncertain. "I can, but I think trousers might rub against the scabs on your legs and hurt."
The blankets already did that any time he moved, but it was only an irritant. He shook his head. "I can stand it." He wasn't getting out of this bed without being fully dressed, not in front of this woman. He planned to woo her, and he certainly couldn't do that in a nightshirt and drawers.
She acquiesced, turning to reach for something on the floor next to the bedside table. If he'd realized his clothes were that near, he would have put them on sooner. He might not have had the strength though. This was the first dose of energy he'd had, so he would make the most of it.
By the time he’d pulled on pants, his strength was waning again. He didn't try to change shirts, just tucked the nightshirt into his waistband. As he gripped the footboard to gather energy to hobble out into the main room, he rubbed a hand over his jaw.
He could still remember Dinah shaving him. As awful as he'd felt, her hands moving over his face so gently had awakened his senses. Had she felt anything more toward him than what a doctor felt for a patient?
He had to find out exactly what her feelings were.
If there was one thing that had come clear to him through this whole awful sickness, it was that he needed—nay,wanted—Dinah Wyatt to stay here permanently. She'd come in like a surprise hurricane at the time they needed her most—though it took him too long to realize that.
No one could deny her beauty, with those intense eyes that sparkled with determination and the blond hair his fingers still craved to touch. But it was all the other ways she showed her passion and caring that had broken through to him. He wanted her by his side. Wanted her here on the ranch, bringing hope to Lillian and Sean. Naomi and the baby were welcome to stay too. As long as they wanted.
But first, he had to convince Dinah to choose him.
His fingers brushed through his hair. Far too long. He'd been meaning to cut it off for a while now. If he asked Dinah to help, would she think it beneath her, or that he was taking advantage of having her around? Maybe he could use the opportunity to win her over. He might not have much talent in matters of the heart, but he could try.
Pushing away from the bed, he started toward the door. With this first step, he stumbled but caught himself on the frame. Every action required thought, as if the sickness had burned away the ability for his limbs to function.
When he stepped out of the room, Dinah strode toward him from the cookstove. She looked worried.
