“And because I was raised,” I add, “to take care of people who don’t have anyone else looking out for them.”
She swallows. “And who looks out for you?”
I look away, jaw working. No good answer to that one.
“I manage,” I say finally.
She hears the truth in that and, to my surprise, doesn’t let it go.
“I’m here too,” she says softly.
I look back at her.
She’s standing there barefoot in my hallway, smelling faintly of smoke and honey, eyes tired, and somehow those three words hit harder than anything I’ve heard in a long time.
I clear my throat.
“Come on,” I say gently. “At least lie down for a while. You don’t have to sleep. But your body needs to think you might.”
“You?” she asks.
“I’ll sit up a little longer,” I say. “Keep an eye on things. Then I’ll try.”
She hesitates. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I say. “I’ll be right here.”
She studies my face for a long second, as if weighing whether she can believe me.
Apparently, she decides she can.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I squeeze her shoulder once, a solid pressure, then let go before I talk myself into holding on longer.
“Goodnight, Abilene.”
“Goodnight, Marshall,” she says, and slips back into her room.
The door clicks softly shut.
I stand there in the half dark, listening to the wind in the trees and the faint sound of her moving around. Drawer open, drawer shut, bed creak, then stillness.
The fire still burns out there.
The ranch is still in danger.
The weight on my shoulders hasn’t gone anywhere.
But under all that, threading through the smoke and fear, is the echo of her words:
I’m here too.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Abilene
Tuesday
