Page 57 of His Tenth Dance

Hunter Hammond sighed and turned away from his wife. “Everyone will understand.”

“You don’t seem to understand thatIneed the bonfire to happen.” Hunter knew Molly hated being sidelined, but the truth of the matter was, she couldn’t do even one-tenth of the things she’d done three weeks ago.

She relied on Hunter and the kids, her brothers and sisters-in-law, her siblings, and her parents to bring her every morsel of food she ate. The doctor told her she still couldn’t be trusted with a knife, as her vision blurred sometimes. She absolutely couldn’t ride her horse, couldn’t go out to the lessons, and couldn’t watch TV for long periods either.

Molly’s life had become a set ofcouldn’t’s.

She thrived in the darkness, and while he suspected the jumping, blazing, blitzing flames would cause her problems, he’d already told her she could go for ten minutes. The doctor had not strictly forbidden bonfires.

He wouldn’t let her stay outside for the fireworks, though. On that one, Hunter would be the bad guy if he had to be.

Hunter didn’t mind helping his wife at all. He had no other job, and it was summertime. Their kids were always around, and due to the nature of running a very busy farm and a children’s equine therapy program, there were literally dozens of people to help at any time.

Of course, Hunter knew Molly hated that as well.

“I won’t cancel,” he said. “But you have to promise me that you will monitor your own health. I know you’ll want to be out there, and you can’t overexert yourself.”

“I promise, baby.” She got up from the couch and came over to where he stood in the kitchen putting together sandwiches for lunch.

Yes, it would be difficult to cancel that evening’s Independence Day bonfire, but it could be done with a simple text. People would be disappointed, but they’d find somewhere else to watch their fireworks.

The Fourth wasn’t until tomorrow anyway, but Hunter never liked doing the bonfire on the actual day, as there were so many town celebrations that people enjoyed attending—himself included.

“Go over the food again with me,” Molly said.

Hunter gave her a withering look and a long sigh. “Your mother and Lara are bringing the hamburgers and hot dogs and all of the toppings for those. Jane has organized all of the desserts with various people from the farm and Pony Power. They’re bringing a few people from their neighborhood as well.”

She nodded and picked up a slice of Muenster cheese.

“The cowboys have been out at the fire pit, raking out the new gravel and setting up stumps and chairs in rows for a couple of hours already.” He gestured toward the glass sliding doors that led out onto the back deck. They had vertical blinds that Hunter and Molly had never closed before, but now they kept steadfastly shut. “You could go look. Oh, but it will probably hurt your eyes.”

Molly gave him a withering look. “Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”

Hunter sighed and took his wife into his arms. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s frustrating to me that you think taking care of yourself is a burden.”

“I just don’t want to be a burden to you,” she whispered.

“You are not, and have never been, a burden to me,” he murmured. “I love you. You’re my wife, and I will do anything to help you get back to full health as fast as possible. If that means I have to chain you in the bedroom when you overexert yourself, then that’s what it means.”

He pulled back and grinned at her.

She managed a soft smile too, and Hunter was grateful for that. “Good thing we don’t own any chains,” she said.

Hunter laughed, realizing a moment too late that his voice was too loud. Molly flinched slightly, and he quieted. “Sorry, baby.”

“Will you please let me make one pan of Rice Krispie treats?” Her voice stayed strong, but she wiped quickly at her eyes. “It will make me feel normal, and I need to feel like that now more than ever.”

Hunter considered the ingredients—marshmallows, butter, and cereal. He could supervise the use of the microwave, as he’d done for their four-year-old when Lisa had wanted to start making desserts at Molly’s side.

“All right,” he said. “The counting of the marshmallows might be good for your brain.”

“Yeah, or utterly exhaust me,” she said.

Still, she turned to the cupboard and got out the cereal and the marshmallows, while he pulled one cube of butter from the fridge. He got down a big plastic bowl from the cupboard above the fridge and unwrapped the butter into it.

She started dropping full-size marshmallows into the bowl, and when she got to forty, she stopped.

He grinned at her. “No slurring, no skipping.”

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