Cord stomped on the brakes as the barn came into view. She’d caught herself with both hands against the dash, mouth open to tell him off, when she saw what had caused the reaction.
The tree she'd worried about last night had fallen. All of it. Across the barn. One whole side was sheared off, leaving the interior open and exposed. The entire structure listed to one side, precarious in the biting wind.
"No,” he mumbled. “No, no, no."
He stepped on the gas pedal and pulled in, then threw the truck into park well back from the disaster of broken branches and destroyed wood.
"Cord—"
He waved her off, staring out the windshield. This was a big setback. She knew he'd hoped to rebuild most of the interior of the barn.
He didn't say anything. Just stared out the window with his hands shaking on the wheel.
Then he put the truck in drive and bypassed the barn to head to the pond.
She'd hopped out of the truck before he got it completely stopped and had pulled the ax from the truck bed as he shifted into park. She was halfway to the icy pond before he'd gotten to his feet outside the truck.
"Molly!" he yelled.
"Get back in the truck," she called over her shoulder. "You've got the flu."
He cursed. But as she fought through the brush to get to the water's edge, she heard a car door open and close.
She'd won? He must really be sick.
Even with two pairs of gloves on and as many layers as she'd been able to don quickly, she was shivering, and her face felt numb by the time she'd chopped through the layer of ice to reveal the water below. She cleared as much as she could around this edge, hoping the cattle would be smart enough to smell the water and come around this way instead of heading back through the brush-lined side of the pond.
When she approached the truck, Cord's head was lolled back against the headrest behind him.
Oh, man. This was bad.
She deposited the ax in the truck bed and rounded to the driver's side.
He startled when she opened the driver's door, straightening slowly.
"Scoot over," she said. "I'm driving."
It took some effort, but he maneuvered himself halfway between the center seat and the passenger seat. Getting all the way in the passenger seat seemed beyond him.
The fact that he didn't argue worried her.
He couldn't even hold his head up. It rested against the seatback, revealing his throat as she forced frozen hands to put the truck in gear.
"I think I have the flu," he mumbled.
Oh, really, Sherlock?
She bit back a smile. It wasn't funny, not really.
"I don't think I've ever felt this bad before," he said. "Shouldn't have come out here."
Worry swirled when she reached across with an ungloved hand and touched his jaw. Even in the chilled truck, he was burning up.
He jumped at her touch. "You're freezing."
The contrast from her cold fingers must’ve been a shock.
"Is there a doctor in town?" she asked. "I can drive you."
His head rolled. "I don't wanna go to town. Too many bad memories. Noah's town."
Noah again. Cord had shut down completely when Jilly had mentioned the mysterious Noah.
She tried again. "A doctor might be able to help you heal up faster."
"Nuh uh," he murmured, his eyes closing. "Just take me home."
They were passing the destroyed barn when he bolted upright. "Wait!"
She wasn't going to stop. Whatever he wanted would be there when he felt better. The mess wasn't going anywhere.
But he clutched her arm with one big hand. "Stop!"
Her body's memory reacted. She jerked away from him, her pulse racing.
And she hit the brakes. She was ready to flee the vehicle, but he'd already scooted to the passenger door and let himself out.
"Cord—"
He waved over his shoulder and slowly made his way to the demolished barn.
Stubborn, stupid man. That thing could fall over any second.
He disappeared inside the part of the structure still standing.
She put the truck in park. Stupid. Stupid.
She got out of the truck—left it running—and followed him.
Her eyes took a few precious seconds to adjust, and she saw him leaning on a waist-high stack of hay bales.
What was he doing? He couldn't even stand upright.
But he reached down and grabbed something. When he straightened, he swayed a little. He was holding a yowling tabby cat.
And looked like he had no idea what to do with it.
She stepped closer, wincing against the assault to her eardrums. Took off her coat.
He met her gaze with relief. Had he thought she would just leave him out here alone?
She held out the coat with her arms underneath to make a sort of net. "Put it in here."
He did. The cat came hissing and spitting the whole time.
"Now what?" she asked, but he was shedding his own coat. What was he doing?
He laid the coat on top of the bale of hay and leaned over the top again, bracing heavily on one hand. He reached down—
And came up with a tiny kitten.
Oh.
There came another. Another.
The first one tried to crawl off the edge, and she moved quickly to push it back with her elbow.
A fourth one, and he was tumbling them together, wrapping them all up.
The mama had stopped yowling but was trying to claw through Molly's coat.
"Now we take them home," he said with a nod that he probably meant to be decisive. "They can't stay out here with the barn a wreck. Other animals can get in. It isn't warm enough."
Her insides melted a little. The big tough guy was worried about kittens.
"Are you sure that's all of them?" she asked. She'd hate for one to get left behind.
"She had four the first day, and I haven't seen any more when I've come in to check on her."
He'd checked on them. Molly melted a little more.
But with her coat off, the cold was seeping through her layers. "C'mon. Let's go."
In the truck, it took some effort to wrangle the mama cat against the door panel, still wrapped in the coat. That left Molly to shift gears and steer with one hand.
She glanced at Cord to see his head back on the headrest again, the coat-wrapped kittens cradled in his arms.
"You're a good man, Cord." The words slipped out before she could catch them.
Maybe he wouldn't hear in his feverish state.
"No, I'm not," he mumbled. "The accident was all my fault."
What was he talking about? "I'm pretty sure the barn’s collapse can be blamed on the weather."
"Not the barn. The. Accident. Capital T, capital A. I was there the night Noah lost his sight. It was my fault. I brought the beer. Never should’ve let Cal drive.”
She kept her eyes on the track as she steered the truck at a crawl. They were almost to the house.
This must be the reason Cord had left home. A car accident? Ten years ago, he'd have still been a kid. Eighteen.
He'd blamed himself all this time?
She pulled up in front of the house and stole a look at the man holding those kittens as if they were a human baby.
He'd melted her heart, just a little, and she wasn't going to change her mind because of something that had happened so long ago.
Twenty minutes later, any warm fuzzy feelings Molly had had about Cord and his barn cats were gone.
That mama had been determined to get to her babies and Molly's right hand was scratched and bleeding.
Cord's bundle was smaller and inexperienced with their claws—she hadn't had a chance to get close enough to see whether their eyes were even open yet—and he'd managed to keep them caught in his coat until they got inside the farmhouse.
Molly had made quick work of finding a cardboard box—luckily there'd been a half-full one in the bedroom closet in her room. She'
d dumped the contents and, just as quickly, dumped the cat in and blocked her from jumping out with the coat.
She'd carried the box and cat to the mud room, where she met Cord, and they'd quickly settled the mama with her babies in the box. After adding a towel and a bowl of water, they'd left the animals in there with the door shut.
Poor Hound Dog would have to use the front door. Molly was taking no chances that he'd think the cat or her kittens were varmints.
She'd have to rig up a litter box and figure out what to feed the cat. Later.
She scrubbed her stinging scratches under hot water at the kitchen sink.
"Go up to bed," she told Cord, who was swaying on his feet. "I'll bring some Tylenol and a glass of water."
He nodded and started across the room toward the stairs—and then began a slow-motion collapse.
She left the faucet running and rushed to him. He'd caught himself on the wall, awkwardly, but at least he’d kept himself from face-planting on the stairs.
His breathing was loud and raspy, and his arms were shaking. She slipped under his arm and put her shoulder into his side, taking his weight.
She did it by instinct.
And he was steadier with her help, but they both froze.
It was the first time she'd been so close to a man since Toby had accosted her at the restaurant. Cord was hot where they touched from her side down her hip. Even through the layers of their clothing, she could feel the heat of his fever.
She wasn't scared.
He was the same man who'd lifted each kitten onto his coat with gentle hands. Who'd cared enough to brave the cold weather to retrieve them.
She looked up into his face, at an angle because of how close she was pressed against him. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.
His eyes were a little unfocused as he looked down into her face. One corner of his mouth tipped. "Good. I'm going to pass out."
Oh, snot nuggets.
She looked up the stairs. Tried to imagine hauling him all the way up the narrow staircase. Tried not to think about what would happen if he keeled over while they were near the top.
"Living room," she said. She braced against the wall, and his feet moved, though not much.
She carted him around the mess of tractor parts spread on the floor, and they made it as far as the rug before he pitched forward. She caught his broad shoulders, but there was no way she could take his weight. She threw herself into the fall, shoving against his dead weight so that she landed on the couch on her back, him on top of her.
She was trapped.
He was out cold, feverish, and breathing shallowly, his chin pressed into her shoulder.
Not sick. Yeah right.
It was a good thing they'd made it back to the house.
She needed to cool him off. High fevers could be dangerous.
He really needed a doctor, even if he didn't want to go to town to see one.
First, though, she needed to get out from under him.
She got one hand between them and pushed at his chest. He was so heavy that she barely moved him.
So she wiggled until she was able to get one foot to touch the floor. She used the leverage of her body and the last of the strength in her arms to roll him over.
She was sweating, breathing hard from the exertion.
He lay there, lashes dark against the too-pale skin of his face. Handsome, even if now wasn't the time to be noticing.
She went to the kitchen and got Tylenol and a glass of water. She left them on the end table, ready for the moment he woke.
Then she went to the upstairs bathroom and wet a washrag with cool water. Back in the living room, she knelt at his side and laid the washcloth over his forehead.
He moaned slightly, turning his face into her hand when her fingers brushed his cheek.
Her stomach dipped as if she'd topped the first hill on a rollercoaster. Take care of him, West had said.
The skin of Cord’s jaw was rough with stubble.
He didn't wake. Which gave her the chance to really look at him.
Out cold like this, the worry lines around his eyes had eased. His jaw was slack, making it look like he was ready to smile at any time—though when he was awake, his smiles were hard-won.
He was mega-hot. More handsome than her favorite movie star. She'd noticed it the first day but had tried to ignore it. She wasn't looking for a fling. Or a relationship, for that matter.
After Toby, she hadn't wanted anyone close. Hadn't wanted to be vulnerable.
Cord had worked to make her feel safe from the very first day. Not wanting her to sleep in her truck. Telling her they weren't compatible when they both felt the spark.
But... there was something about him that drew her.
She liked him, gruff demeanor and all.
Hound Dog padded into the room and rested his chin on Molly's knee. She let her hand slip into the fur at his neck.
"We've got our work cut out for us," she said to the dog.
10
Cord roused once, and Molly forced meds on him and a glass of water.
He drifted off again.
Heard her talking, on the phone probably. Her voice was distant.
"Is there a doctor in Sutter's Hollow that does house calls?"
There was movement from the kitchen. Running water. The scrape of a pot against the stove.
"What about an urgent care clinic?"
Sutter's Hollow was too small for that. What'd she need a doctor for anyway?
Oh. For him.
Chills wracked his body. His muscles clenched up. He ached all over.
Doctor Kindley wouldn't see him as a patient. Even after the oaths that doctors took in med school.
Because of Noah.
He hadn't wanted Molly to find out about Noah. Somehow in his delirium, his tongue had loosened, and he'd let it slip. Now she knew about his part in that fateful night, but she couldn't know how the town had turned against him. Starting with Mackie.
"Really?" Her voice had grown subdued.
He wanted to stand up and go to her, take the phone from her hands and hang it up.
But he was so weak, he couldn't even lift his head off the pillow. Couldn't open his eyes.
Iris. It had to be Iris. Or Jilly.
For a moment, a wash of affection slid over him. Iris and Jilly were—
They weren't his friends. He had to remember that. He'd left them behind, abandoned their friendship just like he'd abandoned West. He could never recapture what had been lost.
The five of them had been there that night. Iris and Jilly. Himself. Noah and Callum. Callum had disappeared and never returned. He'd been Iris's boyfriend, but he'd skipped town without a word.
After the joke that was Cord's trial in front of a district judge, he'd gone to the hospital to try to make things right with Noah. His former friend, covered in bandages and permanently in the dark, had been awake but silent and cold from the hospital bed.
And Cord had known the whole thing was his fault.
Pain sliced through his head. Shivers racked him.
Molly's voice moved closer. Maybe she was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking in on him.
A double batch of chills hit him, and he couldn't stop shivering. He was shivering so violently that the wooden couch legs scraped against the wood floors.
"I gotta go." There was a pause. "Thanks."
Her footsteps padded toward him. He wished he was in his bedroom, where he could suffer alone.
He didn't like being weak. He didn't like her seeing him like this.
Warmth settled over him. A gentle weight. She must've put a blanket on.
Then she brushed back the hair at his temple, and her touch was soft as the fur on those tiny kittens he'd hauled up to the house.
Something cool and damp replaced her fingers. It was a blessed relief against the heat of his head.
He tried to tell her thank-you, but the muscles in his face wouldn't cooperate, and he only mu
mbled.
Grandma Mackie wouldn't have taken care of him like this.
West wouldn't have. Iris either.
Right now, Molly was the only friend he had.
Molly had the Christmas tree halfway disassembled when Cord roused in the evening.
She'd graduated from worry and was much closer to all-out panic. She'd never had to take care of someone with a fever so high.
But seeing him wake up soothed her slightly.
The house had gone dark around them. She had a lamp on in the corner, and the television was playing a news station—mostly because she couldn't stand the silence. Hound Dog was curled in front of the outside door, smart enough to keep out of the way of the cardboard boxes she had strewn across the floor. She hoped the cats were sleeping. She hadn't had the guts to check on them yet.
"What're you doing?" Cord asked from the couch, voice rough.
"You're awake!" She didn't want to let on how happy that made her, but she was afraid her relief was leaking out anyway.
He shoved off the pile of blankets she'd added to as the day had worn on and his shivers hadn't abated. "I didn't ask you to take that down." He got as far as sitting up before he slumped, resting his head against the back of the couch. His eyes were slitted, watching as she yanked the next piece of green pipe out, getting scratched by the awful fake bristles for her trouble.
"You look like cow manure," she said cheerfully. His face was gray, the skin beneath his eyes saggy. He definitely wasn't over it yet.
But he was awake, and that was something to celebrate.
"I feel like cow manure," he mumbled.
"You should eat something." She dusted her hands against her thighs and stepped around boxes to head for the kitchen.
She ladled a bowl of the hearty beef stew she'd had going on the stove all day. Sliced a thick cut of the bread she'd baked that afternoon. Added butter, the way her dad had liked it. She ran a tall glass of water, knowing Cord needed to stay hydrated to fight this thing off. Added Tylenol to a napkin.
She returned to the living room and found him slouched in the same position. She put the plate and glass on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes had slid closed, but she didn't think he was asleep again.
"You need me to spoon feed you?" she teased.
One corner of his mouth lifted. "Maybe. That smells real good, but I don't know if I can lift my arms."
His Small-Town Girl (Sutter's Hollow Book 1) Page 7
