Page 80 of The Way Back Home
“Understandable,” Alex murmured.
“I just came by to pick up some soup. Hopefully, I can get her to eat something.”
Alex stepped back to hold the door. “Mom’s soup is magic. She’s ladling it out now.”
“Good.”
Warm air hit Noah as he crossed the threshold, along with the scent of freshly baked rolls and his mom’s hearty chicken soup. Both brought back memories of his childhood. Of feeling loved and cared for. That was what Teagan needed. What she should have had all along.
Alex walked beside him toward the kitchen, their strides evenly matched and in sync. “Donal O’Callaghan. Didn’t see that one coming.”
Noah snorted. No one had. Except their father, apparently. Plus, Donal was a wild card. The Irishman had said he wanted nothing more than the chance to know his daughter, and maybe that was true, but they didn’t know him well enough to take him at his word.
There would be time to get into that later. Preferablytomorrow. Right now, his focus was keeping Teagan safe and well cared for. Whatever conversations needed to happen with Donal, Alex, and anyone else could wait until she was ready.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
TEAGAN
Teagan woke, her eyes popping open with the sudden awareness that she’d let her guard down. It took only seconds to recognize the cozy warmth of Noah’s cabin with the lingering scents of woodsmoke and pine.
Except she wasn’t on the couch, where she’d apparently passed out. She was in the bed, tucked between fleece sheets. A vague memory surfaced, one of being cradled in strong arms while a deep voice murmured soothing words against her ear.
The cabin was quiet, except for the low hum of the water heater and Bear’s rumbling snores. The beast was pressed against her, a solid wall of comfort.
Her senses told her that Noah wasn’t around. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. Succumbing to Noah’s special brand of care while exhausted and under the influence of pain meds was one thing; she could argue that she wasn’t in her rightmind. Doing so while awake and lucid meant she’d made a conscious choice.
Not that it was horrible. On the contrary, having a man like Noah taking care of her was the kind of thing she dreamed about. That was what made it so dangerous.
She sat up slowly, testing sore muscles. The stiffness was already better than last night, but she had a long way to go. In retrospect, facing Josh while recovering from her previous injuries hadn’t been her brightest move.
Her gaze landed on the small kitchen table, where a single folded piece of paper sat. The handwriting was blocky and precise, not what she would have expected from a doctor.
Up at the house. Back soon.
Short. To the point. Lacking sentiment.
Good.
A softer note might have tempted her into believing there was more to his attention than basic chivalry and a tendency to focus on someone else’s problems instead of his own.
Still, her fingers brushed over the words before she set it back down. Regardless of motive, Noah had been kinder to her than anyone. Ever.
A soft chuff brought her attention to Bear, now awake and watching her, his tail thumping against the bed. He stretched, yawned, and slunk off the bed, padding over to nudge her knee. She scratched behind his ears.
“I guess it’s time we both got up, huh?” shemurmured. “I don’t know about you, but I really need to pee.”
Bear panted back at her, which she took for agreement.
She took care of necessities, then donned the coat Noah had gotten her and stepped outside. The air was cold but refreshing, and her stiffness eased a little more with each cautious step.
Instead of going to the house, she followed the worn path toward the stables. Bear trotted ahead like he knew where she was headed.
Horses were, and always had been, her port in the storm.
Halfway there, she heard voices—Martin’s gruff, warm tone and another one, lower and smoother, carrying an Irish cadence that made her stop short.
Donal O’Callaghan.
