She drowsed on the pillow, feeling happier than she had in weeks. A little less scared of the darkness outside the window.
The wind was still blowing ice pellets against the glass. Sleet and ice had accumulated all day. There weren't any trees close to the house, but she'd been keeping an eye on the ones down the hill toward the barn. They were drooping from the ice that now clung to their unfallen leaves and bare branches.
She was worried about the tree that overhung the back of the barn. It was already sketchy, with one half-rotten limb. If it fell on the barn, the structure might be a total loss. Cord didn't need that.
She still couldn't believe he'd let her bring the dog upstairs. Hound Dog had spent ten minutes sniffing every square inch of the bedroom before he'd answered her invitation to join her on the bed.
Cord might try to hide it, but he was a good guy. She'd known it from the moment she'd met him.
She was drifting off to sleep when the memory of that one charged moment in the kitchen re-played in her mind.
For a moment as he'd looked down at her, she'd sworn his heated gaze had caught on her mouth.
Like he wanted to kiss her.
She rolled over, punched the pillow. There was an errant thought that needed to be erased from her mind.
Cord wasn't interested in her. He'd told her so, and even if she did catch an occasional heated glance from him, it didn't mean he was going to change his mind.
And she was a mess. Why would he be interested in someone with her baggage? Easy answer: he wouldn't.
The clock on the nightstand had to have the brightest display she'd ever seen. In the dim light, she could just make out the outline of the photo taped to the wall. She'd spent so long looking at it over the past few days that she didn't need the light to know it. In it, the two brothers covered in mud looked as if they could be twins.
What had happened to the little boy in that picture? He had no relationship with his brother. He kept himself closed off from her and, other than Iris, hadn't had one visitor since Molly'd been on the ranch.
Something had to have happened to drive Cord away from home; something had forced him to cut ties. Even though Molly should nip her curiosity in the bud, she couldn't help it.
The man was hurting, even if he wanted to hide it.
9
Something crashed, waking Cord from a dead sleep. It sounded like a bomb had gone off.
His head was pounding and felt as if it was stuffed with cotton, but he pushed out of his bed anyway.
The sun was coming up outside, but the hall was shadowed. Where had the crash come from? Outside? Or in?
Had something happened to Molly?
He knocked on her door. Heard a woof and scrabbling paws on the wood floor.
"Molly?"
Through the throbbing in his skull, he thought he heard her crying.
"Are you okay?" he asked through the door. "Answer me, or I'm coming in."
There was a snuffle and then, "I'm okay. Bad dream."
He rested his forearm against the wall. A bad dream. Had she knocked over a lamp or something? Caught in the hazy place between sleep and waking, he'd thought the noise had come from outside.
Should he wait for her? His pounding head demanded more Tylenol.
And the sun was coming up, which meant he needed to get moving.
It was a struggle to dress. Each step down the stairs struck a spike of pain through his skull. He was alternately hot and chilled. He must've come down with something.
Grandma Mackie hadn't allowed for sick days. He couldn't afford to either.
He hit the kitchen and, for a moment, stared dumbfounded at the scene outside the window. Ice covered everything. The sun was weak but bright enough to cause blinding pain in his head as it glared off of everything.
The pond would be frozen over, which meant he'd need to break the ice for the cattle.
But all he really wanted to do was go back to bed.
Molly and the dog came downstairs. She let the animal outside and went straight to the coffeemaker.
"Sorry I woke you," she said softly.
He squinted against the pain in his head and really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd definitely been crying. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and the sweatshirt she wore was so big that the sleeves hung below her hands.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded jerkily. "Having the dog helped. Really. I haven't slept that good since..." She shrugged and let the sentence hang.
Except she'd had a nightmare that had scared her so badly she'd woken crying.
"Thanks for letting me keep him." She finally looked up at him and frowned. "Oh my gosh, you look—" Her eyes went wide as she cut herself off. "Are you sick?"
He was going to shake his head, but with his temples pounding, he was afraid to make it worse. "It's just a headache."
She moved closer. "I don't think so. You're flushed."
She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek. Her hand was cool and soft.
It was the first time she'd touched him.
He felt it like the beat of a gong, even though he might as well have been swimming through sludge.
"You're burning up," she said. "You can't go out today."
He took a step back. "I'm not sick. I'll take a Tylenol and be fine."
The skepticism on her face said she didn't believe him.
"The pond's iced over," he said, even though he hadn't seen it yet.
"Tell me where the ax is, and I'll take care of it."
Sure. That sounded like a great plan.
He shook his head. Yep, it hurt like the dickens.
She threw her hands up. Mumbled something he didn't hear. Whirled back to him. "I'm going with you. Don't argue," she said when he would've.
And that made
