They went to work, but the blizzard was already upon them. By the time the stakes were in the ground, they could barely see each other. Fighting against the wind and snow, they managed to get the oilskin in place on the north side. Then on the south. She shoved Peter into the trench and followed him, pulling down each of the flaps and securing the oilskin to the stakes.
With wide eyes, Peter looked around. “That was close.”
In the glow of the lantern light, their temporary shelter looked even smaller. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and sat down in the trench by her dogs.
Peter set the lantern down between them. “Thank you. You saved our lives.”
She shrugged. They were only feet apart! A tingling swept up the back of her neck and across her face, so she got up and reached into the sled for the meager supplies she’d brought.
“This has brought up bad memories, hasn’t it?”
Peter’s voice was soft. Gentle.
She handed him a blanket and kept the other for herself.Yes, she felt guarded. Unsure. Since the attack, she’d been fearful around men. Even Judas, and she’d known him forever. But when she looked into Peter’s eyes...
She wasn’t afraid. Just a short time ago she’d been thinking of his gentleness and his caring touch with his patients. She breathed deep.
The space might be tight, but she had nothing to fear from Peter.
“Whitney?”
How long had she been staring? “I’m fine.” She turned her gaze to a safe place—her dogs. Down in the trench, she had a good view under the burlap.
He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and shifted so he was facing her. “Look ... you use that phrase a lot. But you’re not fooling me, Whitney Powell.”
What she wouldn’t give to take a sip from the bottle right now. “I’m not trying to fool you, Peter. Really. I’m fine.”
“So why don’t you tell me why your hand just went to the bottle in your right coat pocket.”
She snapped her gaze back up to his and resisted the urge to yank her hand out.
“Would you like to tell me about it, or shall I keep pushing?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” How did he know her so well? And he wasn’t afraid to say what he thought to her. Something that endeared him to her and aggravated her at the same time. She looked down at her dogs.
“About the fact that I’ve smelled whiskey on your breath more than once. I’m not judging you, but we need to discuss whatever it is that has pushed you to drinking.”
She fisted her hands at her side. Howdarehe! “Peter Cameron! I don’tdrink.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I take a little medicinally. You should know that. You gave it to me.”
“What I gave you was a tonic for your headaches and anxiety.” The smoldering look in his eyes dared her to disagree. “There were herbs in my treatment. It was medicine.”
She wasn’t about to back down. “Which you said yourself was mostly whiskey.” Her voice raised with the howl of the wind. The defense in her tone was whiney to her own ears. She hated that. But what could she do? He’d called her out, and there wasn’t a response to give.
“That didn’t give you permission to refill the bottle withonlywhiskey after it was gone. Why didn’t you come to me?”
The calm, quiet timbre of his voice infuriated her.
How did he know? She crossed her arms over her chest and refused to respond. Just stared him down.
“Look. Again, I’m not judging you. I’m simply concerned. As your physician. After Sinclair confessed to the entire town, it was pretty clear what he tried to do. That you were able to get away with only the blow to the head is a miracle. But it’s my job to help you through your recovery, and I can’t do that very well if you won’t open up to me.”
“Please. Never mention that man or what he did again.” She spat the words.
“I’m sorry, Whitney.” He sighed.
“It’s not exactly something a lady wishes to speak about.” There. Maybe he’d leave her alone now.
“Fair enough.”
