Jackson planted a kiss on her forehead then went around the bed and climbed in behind her. “Are you cold?”
Amanda nodded.
He scooted closer until his chest met her back.
Jackson laid his head on the pillow and rested his hand on her shoulder. “Promise me one thing,” he said in a voice that had turned boyish and vulnerable. “If you don’t feel better by tomorrow, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”
“All right. I promise.”
Amanda rose the following morning, claiming she was much improved, but Jackson was reluctant to believe it. After a long morning filled with worry and work, he crept onto the porch at lunchtime and paused outside to peek in the window.
She walked with brisk steps to the oven, bent over, and hefted the iron skillet onto the cooktop, as if it weighed no more than a ragbag. Then she stood and went about her chores with her usual ease and grace.
Jackson’s chest deflated with a long, relieved breath.
The sweet aroma of fresh cornbread met him when he came inside and hung his hat on a peg. “Something smells mighty fine in here.”
Amanda blotted perspiration from her smiling face with the tail of her apron. “You always turn up at mealtime, like a bad penny.”
“Would you rather I not?” he teased.
“Are you certain you want me to answer that?” she shot back.
Jackson crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her waist. “You seem better,” he said, studying her face. “How do you feel?”
“Right as rain.” She was looking him square in the eye without an ounce of deception. “I told you it was just a passing case of dyspepsia.”
“Thank the Lord,” he said as the last of the tension left his shoulders. “I was beginning to worry.”
“Only beginning?” she countered with raised brows.
Jackson shrugged in concession. He’d barely slept, his imagination chasing grim scenarios into the wee hours.
Amanda patted his chest and curved her lips into an impish smile. “After dosing me with that vile potion, I expected you to trip over your feet in the rush to sayI told you so.”
“Nah. I’m just glad you’re better.”
He glanced around. “Where are the children?”
“Sitting on the back steps.”
“Whatever for?”
“Playing with kittens. One of the barn cats had a litter.”
“Wonderful,” Jackson groused as he headed for the back door. “Next thing you know, we’ll be finding stowaway cats in their beds.”
“Not Noah’s. He wants a dog.”
Once Noah and Jewel were tucked safely in their beds, absent any felines, Jackson draped Amanda’s shawl around her shoulders and led her out to the porch. He sat with her on the swing, savoring the chilled night air, lulled by the distant howl of a prairie wolf. “Life doesn’t get much better than this,” he mused.
“No, it doesn’t,” she agreed in the gentle, sweet voice he’d grown to adore. “I've been thinking,” she went on, clutching her shawl tighter and resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe we could add on to the house come spring.”
Jackson looked down and narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you telling me we have another baby on the way?”
“No. Not that I’m aware,” she replied, holding his gaze with earnest eyes. “But we probably will, eventually.”
He nudged the swing into motion, his fingers absently tracing patterns on her arm. “Adding another room is a good idea. I think we could manage it.”
