His Small-Town Girl (Sutter's Hollow Book 1) by Lacy Williams

Author:Lacy Williams [Williams, Lacy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lacy Williams Books LLC
Published: 2020-05-11T18:30:00+00:00

Something had spooked Molly.

Cord finally felt more himself a week after he'd come down with the flu.

He showered away the sick and sweat, pulled together all his nasty T-shirts and sweatpants and sheets and blankets, and ran a load of laundry.

Just that effort cost him. After a week of being off his feet, he felt weak and worn out by such a little job.

But he was determined to do some outside work. He couldn't afford any more days off. The clock was ticking. He had to get the ranch in shape to sell.

And he needed to find out what had happened with Molly. She'd brushed him off every time he tried to ask over the past two days.

She'd gone to town. He'd come downstairs for food only to find the house empty and a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet. Half the tractor parts had disappeared from the living room, presumably back where they belonged. She'd accomplished a lot, even while she'd been caring for him.

He'd been sleeping when she'd returned from town. That afternoon, she'd jumped at every shadow, been as nervous as a wild mustang seeing its first saddle. Even the dog had sensed it, ears back and underfoot more than normal.

And her nerves hadn't faded since.

He hadn't been able to get out of her what had happened. She'd brushed him off.

But today he was back to full-strength. Or most-strength.

And he was going to find out.

He owed her that much for taking care of him while he'd been sick. He hadn't been down like that in years, sick as a dog and so weak. And he couldn't remember a time when someone had waited on him. Brought him food, water, medicine. Checked in to make sure he was all right.

Maybe when he’d been a little guy. Before his parents had died. Lord knew, Grandma Mackie never had. If he or West got sick, she left it to them to take care of themselves.

In the kitchen, a pot of coffee waited. He poured a cup and sniffed, trying to determine whether she'd poisoned it with some weird spice.

He sipped.

It was black. Normal.

He drank deeply.

She'd left a plate covered in tin foil on the stove. He pressed one finger against it. Still hot.

Under the foil he found two sticky homemade cinnamon rolls and several scrambled eggs.

He downed it all in minutes, humming his appreciation over the sticky buns. Where was she?

He bundled up and fought his way through the kittens—more active now—to the back porch. He walked out toward the ruined barn, feeling the stretch of every unused muscle. The milder weather felt like heaven. He left his coat unzipped.

From a distance, he saw Molly on her back on the ground—still wearing that horrible jean jacket—buried beneath one of the tractors. Hound Dog was roaming in the field not far away.

As he got closer, he could hear her talking to herself, though he couldn't make out the words.

He made sure to make plenty of noise, his boots crunching in the dried winter grasses.

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