“The cramping in my belly has gotten sharper.”
“Are you able to keep food down?”
“Yes. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
Jackson knelt beside a trunk near the washstand, rummaging. Glass clinked softly, then he rose with a small brown bottle in hand, one of the patent medicines the owner of the general store had talked him into. Jackson squinted and held it up to the lamp, checking the label. “This is good for a host of things, including digestive troubles and pain.”
“I don’t want it,” Amanda said, eyeing it like it might sprout worms.
Jackson pressed his lips together and looked on her with longsuffering. “You’ve avoided bending over all day, and you’ve been holding your side for the better part of the evening.”
“It’s just a bad case of dyspepsia. It’ll pass.”
He uncorked the bottle with a twist and poured some of the thick brown liquid into a spoon.
Amanda wrinkled her nose. “That smells foul.”
“It beats a night of pacing the floor while you grit your teeth and pretend it doesn’t hurt. Just take the tonic.”
Amanda clamped her mouth shut and gave him a flat look, the kind that usually ended the discussion.
Jackson didn’t move, just held the spoon out, steady.
“There could be poison in there, for all you know.”
“I’ve taken this enough times that it would’ve killed me by now if it was going to.”
She stared at the spoon, jaw working. Then she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. “Gah. That’s awful!”
Jackson corked the bottle and set it down on the washstand. “Stand up,” he directed, offering a hand to help her rise. Once she was on her feet, he turned back the covers and tucked her into bed as if she were a child.
The sharp taste of the tonic lingered on her tongue. “Are you happy?” she groused.
“Moderately.”
Amanda turned onto her side and pulled the quilt up around her shoulder. “If that foul concoction makes me sicker, I’m blaming you.”
“Fair. But if it helps, I get to say I told you so.” He grabbed the fire iron and poked at the embers before tossing on another log. “Would you like a hot brick for your belly?”
“No.”
He looked back over his shoulder and raised a brow.
“Oh, all right.”
Jackson wrapped a piping brick in a thick towel and handed it to her to tuck under the covers. “Mercy, Mandy. You’re as testy as a badger when you’re ill.”
“I don’t like being fussed over.”
“I’m not fussing. I’m making sure you don’t spend the next eight hours doubled over in agony, all the while pretending you’re fine.”
Jakson stripped to his drawers and gave himself a quick bath at the washstand.
“How are the hogs faring?” Amanda asked in an effort to restore harmony.
“Fattening up nicely. They’ll be ready for slaughter soon.”
“That’s good.”
