He groaned as he pushed up out of his bed. His muscles felt weak. It was an effort just to stand.
He moved down the hall, memories burying him deep as he kept one hand on the wall, just in case.
The bathroom light flipped on, feet away, illuminating the hallway. And Molly, who was standing in front of him. She squinted against the light.
"I thought I heard you up," she murmured softly. "What do you need?"
You.
The thought came unbidden, dangerous.
And he stumbled, his toe catching against a frayed seam in the old carpet runner.
She caught him, or he caught himself on the wall, with her trapped in the circle of his arms. Somehow, he'd managed to snug one arm around her waist. His other forearm rested against the wall above her head.
Her hands had lifted to meet his body and rested loosely against his hipbones.
She was warm and tousled, obviously just out of bed.
And he really wanted to kiss her.
Bad idea. So bad.
Not just because he was one thousand percent sure she didn't want whatever sickness he had, but also because she trusted him.
He closed his eyes, let his forehead rest against the cool plaster wall.
She obviously thought he could barely hold himself upright—she wasn't wrong—because she didn't move, didn't abandon him.
"I need some water," he whispered roughly. The bathroom tap was good enough for him.
He just had to let her go.
But he didn't move.
And neither did she.
"It's okay to ask for help," she whispered, her breath hot on his neck.
He shook his head, the movement brushing his jaw against the softness of her hair. Grandma Mackie had drilled into him from the very beginning that asking for help meant you were weak.
And he was tired of being weak.
"I'm here," she whispered. "And I'm not walking away."
Because she needed a place to stay. Not because she had any tender feelings toward him. He didn't want her to.
He didn't need any more complications. Didn't need to be responsible for anyone else.
But he was still holding onto her.
What was he doing?
He forced his arm away from her softness. Forced his aching body to straighten, to hold his weight. "Could you get me some more Tylenol?"
She looked at him, her eyes tracking down his face. From this close, there was no escaping.
He didn't want to know what she saw.
Was the want aching in his gut showing through? Leaking out, though he was doing his best to squash it?
He ducked into the bathroom, too chicken to stay and find out.
Molly sat in Cord's truck in the grocery store parking lot and stared at the storefront. She knew what she'd find in the mom 'n pop country store. Narrow aisles, linoleum floors, carts with rickety wheels. A limited selection of brands. A long-time cashier who knew everyone in town by name.
She just had to get herself in there.
Her hands clenched on the steering wheel.
Cord was depending on her. Even if he didn't know it, even if he was still out of it from the fever burning through him.
She'd used up every fresh scrap of food in his refrigerator. And almost all the canned goods in his pantry. The Tylenol bottle was empty. And she was hoping they'd let her post the handwritten flyer she'd made. Free kittens.
It was midmorning in a sleepy country town. There were only two other cars in the lot. She'd driven Cord's truck, not hers. She had a ball cap pulled low over her eyes, her hair poking out of the back in a ponytail. She was wearing a nondescript black hooded sweatshirt over her jeans.
No one was watching her. No one was going to come after her here.
She was safe.
She had her burner phone stashed in her pocket. Dialing 911 would only take a few seconds.
Every locked-up muscle in her body begged her to run back to the ranch.
As she stared at the store, an older model minivan pulled in to a nearby spot. A woman got out, glancing curiously at Molly. The woman rounded her vehicle and opened a back door, where she took several minutes to get a toddler and an infant untangled from their car seats.
While Molly waited in the truck.
The mother kept glancing over the top of her vehicle at Molly.
She was acting the fool. She wasn't getting out of the truck to walk inside the store. She wasn't putting the car in reverse to back out of the lot. She wasn't even scrolling a social media site on a cell phone.
She must have looked like a crazy person.
Maybe she was a crazy person. Imagining shadows behind every corner.
She'd overcome her fear at the winter festival with Cord by her side. She had to do this.
For Cord.
She pushed open the truck door and got out on shaking legs.
The mother was walking toward the store, her infant in one arm, clutching the toddler's hand with the other hand. She looked over her shoulder at Molly.
Molly gave a halfhearted wave. "Had to psych myself up to go inside."
The mother gave a faint smile.
Molly took a cart from just inside the sliding glass doors. So far, so good.
The produce was much better than she'd expected.
As she went through the familiar motions of shopping, the choking fear faded.
She passed by the young mother every other aisle. And even that felt comforting, seeing a familiar face, a kind face.
Was this what it would take to overcome her fear entirely? Just moving through life like a spoon through thick molasses? Rinse, and repeat.
The cashier greeted her warmly, asked too-pointed questions. Who was she? What was all this food for? She was staying where?
Molly smiled and evaded, even though her natural instinct was to open up. By now she knew why Cord didn't want anybody nosing into his business.
For a small-town girl, that was the hardest part.
And then she was back outside, a cart full of bagged goods in her possession.
She'd done it! Elation soared through her as she loaded the paper bags in the bed of the pickup and closed the
