Page 88 of A Rugged Beauty
Only God knew.
Abigail had never known terror like this.
Or the feeling of being held, protected, in stark contrast to everything happening around them.
Something had changed inside her when Hollis began to sing, his voice sure and strong. Hollis couldn't mean it the way itfelt for him to hold her like this. To stay by her side when she'd been fearful and clumsy.
Thunder rolled again, louder than the fire roaring close. Heat licked her exposed skin. Choking smoke made every breath burn.
"It worked!" That might've been Owen's shout, but she couldn’t be certain. She couldn't even tell its direction from her place tucked in Hollis's embrace.
Slowly, she peeked over Hollis’s shoulder. The wildfire had passed by. A huge swath of flames on either side of their caravan, burning the prairie beyond. But not one of their wagons had caught fire.
Cheers rang out from pioneers, interspersed with coughing.
And still Hollis didn’t let go of her.
A moment of breathless quiet, then the sky opened up and a deluge of rain descended. Soft, full rain that soaked into the parched ground.
Hollis's arms loosened around her.
Women raced to reattach the canvases to their wagons in hopes of keeping their supplies somewhat dry.
“I should—” She couldn’t finish the statement for the coughing fit that took her. She stepped away from him—only to find him stepping closer, offering his hand beneath her elbow to support her.
The rain chased the fire… and then caught it. More smoke furled as the fire was doused inch by inch. More cheers broke out, interspersed with sobs from young children and fits of coughing from everywhere around.
Tears streamed from Abigail’s eyes, both from the soot in the air and from relief. She didn't dare look at Hollis, though she was comforted by his closeness.
Her elbow stung where she'd scraped it when she'd fallen near the river. She didn't realize she was holding her other hand to it until Hollis gently tugged her fingers away.
He let go when a man shouted, "Hollis!"
He was needed. He always would be.
But he didn't take the opportunity to run away.
He waved off the man. "I need a minute to tend to my wife."
Tend to my wife.
The words made her belly swoop low, even though she knew he didn't mean them. She tugged the kerchief down from her face, let it lie around her neck. She was already drenched, but the water felt fresh. Cleansing. "I'm all right."
He stood so near there wasn't space to look away from his intense gaze. "I'd like to see for myself."
He tugged her fingers away from her elbow and gently pushed up her sleeve. The soft touch stung.
"You've scraped it," he said. "I'll fetch some ointment."
Someone else called for him. He didn't even look their way.
"It'll keep," she said.
She couldn't understand his tender treatment, not after the way they'd left things. And new tears spilled from her eyes, tracking slowly down her cheeks.
After a breathless moment of hesitation, he gently cupped her cheeks in his hands, wiped her tears away with his thumbs.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "This hardly seems the time or place to say it, but I can't wait."
