Page 102 of Paper Horses

He paused his steps before he gave me a nod and headed into the bedroom. I went through the motions of brushing my teeth, glad to get the vomit taste from my mouth. When I looked up, he was standing in the doorway, his shirt and socks in one hand, his robe in the other. His jeans hung low on his waist, and my eyes trailed the V it formed.

“None of that until I know you’re better.”

His sly grin had my stomach doing another tumble that would have been good, except for the accompanying clenching. I put my hand on it, and he had me scooped into his arms within seconds.

“Is your stomach always this sensitive?” he asked as he took us down the stairs.

“I don’t eat food like that. I can’t tell you the last time I had something sugary.”

“I think we need to work on your tolerance because I have a sweet tooth. Although I could just feast on you anytime I get a craving for something sweet.”

“Is that all you think about?”

“When you’re around, yup.”

I nestled further into his hold until he lowered me to the couch. He hovered over me, worry sharpening the hues of his irises.

“I’ll be all right. Nothing a few hours of boring movies can’t cure.”

He chuckled, giving me a quick kiss and standing up. I snatched the robe from his hand and hugged it to my chest as he grabbed the blanket and the remote for me. Pulling his shirt over his head, he strolled to the kitchen, where I heard him banging around. He returned a few minutes later with a glass of water, a trash can, and my phone.

“Anything else you need?” he asked, sitting at the end of the couch and tugging his socks on.

“No. This is more than I need.”

“Nope. You need some of Dennie’s homemade noodle soup. I’ll run into town once I finish up and the diner opens.”

“Hudson, that’s too far,” I argued.

He stood and within two strides was leaning over me again. “Spoiling. That’s what I’m doing, and if I had to drive two hours to get you that damned soup, I would.” His hand cupped my cheek, a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes. “Let me do this, Olivia.”

“Okay.”

He touched his forehead to mine before he kissed me, murmuring about minty toothpaste, before he straightened and headed to the fireplace, throwing some logs in and starting a fire for me. I pulled the robe over me, too exhausted to bother removing the damp towel.

“Keep the blanket on until your hair dries,” said Hudson once the fire took hold. “The temperature dropped last night. Looks like snow on Monday.”

My heart skipped a beat as I raised my sight to him. A contortion of emotions shifted across his features before he said, “In the afternoon, after…”

Silence took over, hanging like a heavy limb ready to loosen and crash into an unsuspecting house. I didn’t want to hear the rest. The reminder of what was coming. The pestering thoughts stirred from where I’d imprisoned them, my chest aching with sharp stings that worsened as I wished his words away, trying to change them to fit what I wanted. To have him say it would snow Monday morning and I wouldn’t be able to leave. That I’d be stuck here another week. But that was impossible and would only delay the inevitable. Perhaps ripping the bandage off would be easier. Likely not, because easy wasn’t any part of what awaited us on Monday.

“Strange weather,” I said, wanting to avoid the end of his thought and to lift the oppressive weight that hung over us. “Flooding, spring weather, and now a snowstorm? Is that normal here?”

It took him a moment to react, for his expression to smooth out.

“No. Usually only get snow this time of year.”

“I bet that’s pretty.” There was a hint of melancholy in my statement, and his eyes saddened.

“Yeah. It really is.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “Stay here, and I’ll check in on you before I head into town.”

I didn’t argue this time, resting my head on the couch pillow and closing my eyes as I listened to him get ready. My stomach made a loud gurgling sound, and I pulled my legs in tighter, vowing never to eat anything sweet again.

I heard the door close and pulled the blanket up further around me. So much had happened in the past week. So many words spoken, so many emotions awakened. I didn’t know how to go home. Not in this state. Unsure and confused. But I couldn’t stay. That wasn’t my destiny, no matter how I wanted it to be. I would never be a woman who crocheted pillows and raised chickens. I snorted at the thought. Hudson didn’t even have chickens, so I wasn’t sure where the image of a dozen chicks following me around the yard had come from.

I was at home in the bustling city with its constant noise and lights. The fast pace, the ability to get lost in a crowd. Adjusting my head, I stared at the fire, watching as the flames snapped and sparked. I could hide there. Hide my emotions behind a mask, keep my heart protected. Self-preservation had been my sidekick for years, and I knew how to do that at home. But here? Quiet invaded my mind here, letting the thoughts slip free, the memories, the hurt. I couldn’t be safe here or let a mask define me. I couldn’t be myself here.

I blinked, the sting of tears burning. No more tears. I couldn’t afford anymore or I might turn into a dehydrated shell like a mummy. I scrunched my eyes shut, willing them to go away, to leave me alone.