Page 19 of Kentucky Nights
Snatching the broth from him when my stomach growls again, I take a giant gulp. I hold it in my mouth when the flavors burst across my tongue.
Oh, god.
This is terrible. It might be the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.
The broth tastes like days-old sock water. It’s the only thing I can compare it to.
“Good, right?”
His thoughtfulness is too sweet to shoot down. Add in the little smile he has watching me drink the broth he made me, and all I can do is swallow.
I cough when the broth threatens to come back up. “So good. That was so nice of you to make it for me.”
“Drink the rest in the cup, and then I’ll give you some water. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”
“Right. The rest. That’s important.” I peer up at him over the blue cup, watching him smile so big, I have to smile in return.
The broth even smells like socks.
Here we go.
Holding my breath, I chug the warm liquid down, forcing myself to swallow. While it does taste horrible, I already feel better with having something in my stomach.
“Good girl,” he praises me.
That causes my stomach to flip with excitement. I want him to say it again.
“Here. I can drink the water myself too, to prove it isn’t poisoned,” he offers.
I trust him. Plus, I need to wash this sock-water down with something.
Wrapping my fingers around the glass, I finally take it from him. I guzzle the cool, refreshing liquid down until I’m lifting the glass in the air, sticking out my tongue to get the last few drops.
“Whoa, now. No need to scrape the bottom of the barrel. There’s plenty more where that came from. May I?” he questions, instead of just removing the glass from my hands.
He is leaving the choice up to me.
I lick my lips, gathering the few droplets of water remaining. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He fills the glass without taking it from me. I’m focused on that. He is showing me I can trust him. After the nightmaresI’ve been through, the simple kind gesture is something I have missed.
“I’d like to introduce myself to put you more at ease.” He sits down on the edge of the mattress again, and the entire bed dips from his weight. He seems too large of a man to fit in this room. “I’m Kentucky Jones.” He holds out his hand.
“Kentucky? I’m sure there is a story behind that. I like it. I’m Druscilla Whitley.” I eye his hand, wondering if he is someone I can trust to touch.
“Druscilla. I like that too. It’s pretty.” The way he stares at me has me wondering if I’m the only woman he has ever seen.
Flattery gets him a handshake. I slip my palm into his, a warm buzz awakening every nerve ending. I pinch my lips together to swallow the gasp. Kentucky’s calloused thumb drifts over my knuckles. A slow back-and-forth rub. His black eyebrows pinch together in thought, and even though he is a stranger, I am curious what is going through his head.
Lifting my hand to his lips, he presses a soft kiss across my fingers. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dru.”
The answer is no. I cannot trust myself to touch him.
I clear my throat, tugging my hand away when the connection between us becomes stronger.
The silence is awkward. I don’t know what to say, and I’m not sure I want to speak. I can’t tell if this is reality or not, and I’m too tired to know.
Clearing his throat, he stands, snagging his hat off the top of the dresser. “You’re safe here, at Dead Man’s Ranch. You don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you or coming to get you.”
