But Whitney wouldn’t.
Whoa. Where didthatcome from? She raised her brows and stared at him. Did she care for Peter that way? She hadn’t thought she was capable of it after the attack. Though the way this man cared for the native people touched her deeply.
No, her heart wasn’t ready. If she wasn’t ready, then what would she tell Judas? Especially since she hadn’t even thought of him in recent days. And not the way she’d just thought of Peter.
A shiver ran up her spine, and she tucked away thoughts of caring for Peter. He was her friend. A wonderful doctor. She ... trusted him.
That was all. So why did she feel differently toward him?
His eyes cracked open and he smiled. “I’m being watched over by an angel with red hair.”
Caught.
Whitney’s face grew warm, and she looked away, pretending to be busy with petting Pepper.
He shifted to a more upright position and ran a hand down his face. “How long was I asleep?”
“I’m not sure. But it’s been a little more than four hours since we set up the shelter.”
He shook his head. “Sounds like it’s still snowing and blowing out there.”
“Yes, it is.” She pulled out two of the pieces of fried bread and one of the packets of salmon. “Are you hungry?”
He put a hand to his midsection. “I am. How are we on supplies?”
“We have enough for several meals if we are cautious. But I’m optimistic that this will pass soon. And if I’m correct,we need to have our strength up to dig ourselves out and get back on the trail.”
“How tough will it be to get back to Nome?”
“The dogs will have to work extra hard. The blizzard has dumped several inches, if not a foot more, of snow. We’ll have to watch out for the drifts, because they could be well over the dogs’ heads at any given point. If they end up in one, we’ll have to dig them out, so prepare for slow going.” She handed him some smoked fish. “I may even have to teach you how to break the trail.”
“Thank you.” He took the food. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
They ate in relative silence, and then Whitney divvied up some blubber among the dogs.
As the wind died down, the surrounding quiet seemed more pronounced. Should she start a conversation? But what did she want to talk about? Nothing about God at this point. Definitely not answering his question about how many times she’d refilled the tonic bottle.
After finishing his piece of bread, Peter leaned back and stretched. “I hear you and your sisters are taking a break from performing at the Roadhouse.”
She hadn’t expected that, but at least it was a safe topic. “We felt it was right since we are mourning Granddad.” She wouldn’t tell him she’d often had thoughts of quitting lately. Not that she could quit music ... but things hadn’t been right for a while. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was that made her feel detached from her sisters and their performances. Hesitant. Something had affected her spirit. Her heart. And God hadn’t stepped in and fixed it.
Maybe that was the problem.
“You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?”
How could that man read her mind like that? She turned away and pretended to check the dogs’ harnesses. “I’d rather not speak about it right now.” So much for a safe topic.
Peter let out a long sigh behind her. “You know, Whitney, for someone who doesn’t want to feel alone, you sure do enjoy pushing people away.”
Her sharp intake of breath made her lungs hurt. “What?”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with her. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
If only she could. Her anger burned because she had no defense against his statement. He was correct. But she couldn’t admit it. She didn’t even know what to do about it herself.
“Sometimes I should think before I speak.” He wrinkled his nose.
One of the things she liked most about Peter was that he spoke his mind. At least ...mostof the time she liked it. But how mature was she to tell him he could only speak his mind when it suited her? That wasn’t fair.
