Page 100 of Homestead

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Morning is dawning by the time we get back to the farm.

I’ve been awake all night—much of it spent in sheer terror—and I also took that long, frantic run, which was probably the most strenuous activity of my entire life. I’m in the bed of the truck next to Jimmy on the ride back home, and the bumpy ride combined with my physical and mental state is not good for my stomach.

I throw up twice on the short ride.

Jimmy, who should be more worried about the bullet wound in his thigh, keeps trying to fuss over me the whole time. I tell him over and over again that I’m simply carsick, but I don’t know that for sure.

These seem like ideal circumstances for me to lose this baby.

There’s nothing I can do about it. I did what I had to do every step of the way tonight. But I’m relieved when we finally reach the Carlsons’ house.

Jimmy is given the single bed in a tiny storage area that’s often used as a sickroom. I want to stay with him, but he won’t let me squeeze in the minuscule space between his body and the wall, so I collapse instead on the bed in the big room that used to be mine.

Despite all my worries, I fall asleep almost immediately and don’t wake up until early afternoon.

Jimmy is restless when I go to his room, clearly in pain even as he tries to doze. He settles some when I pull a chair up beside him and grab his hand.

His wound isn’t serious. The bullet didn’t even hit bone. But if it gets infected, he could die from it anyway. We have no antibiotics.

The rest of the day passes in a kind of haze. I’m sore and still weak. I’ve got bruises and pulled muscles I wasn’t even aware of last night. And Jimmy is really out of it. He doesn’t have a fever, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get one. I keep brooding on nightmare scenarios as I wait for him to really wake up.

Eventually I fall asleep in my chair. I’m not sure how long I sleep—it couldn’t be very long—but when I open my eyes, Jimmy is awake and gazing at me.

I’ve never seen that particular expression in his eyes before. Nakedly tender.

“Hi,” I say groggily.

“Hi.”

We smile at each other for a minute until I remember that he’s still injured. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty good considerin’. Damn leg hurts like hell, but that’s to be expected. But kind of on a high at the same time.”

“You’re on a high?” I giggle a little because his words are so surprising.

“Sure am.” He extends a hand, and I lean toward it automatically. He cups my cheek. “You did say you love me, didn’t you?”

My cheeks flush hot. Ridiculous but true. “Yes. I said that.”

“That’s what I thought you said. You love me, and we both survived when all odds were against us. Hard not to be thrilled out of my damn mind ’bout that.”

Laughter spills out of me. He sounds tired but not sick. He’s certainly still in pain, but he’s not sweating or feverish. Maybe he’ll be okay. “And you love me too, right?”

He gives me a disapproving frown that only lasts a few seconds. “Damn right I do. Loved you for a real long time.”

“You should have told me before.”

“I know. I shoulda opened my damn mouth. But I didn’t. I was scared.” He pauses for a minute before he continues in a different tone. “I did try to show you. It was easier to say stuff about it in bed, so that’s when I tried the most. But I been thinking ’bout that and can see that maybe you were assumin’ it was just the sex I was wantin’. When I was really wantin’you. I shoulda done better. Put myself out there more. Guess I been operatin’ in self-protection mode lately.”

“I think all of us have been. I know I was too. I wouldn’t even consider the possibility that there might be more between us because I was so afraid of getting hurt and rejected.”

“Still… It was more my fault than yours that you couldn’t read my mind like I was hopin’.”

I want to hug him but I’m afraid of hurting him, so I grab one of his hands instead. He uses the grip to pull me over onto the bed, scooting over so I can curl up beside him.

There’s not a lot of room, but I don’t care.

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