It's caring whether these men have pie after dinner or flowers on the table or someone to stitch them up when they're bleeding. He finally looked at her. It's making me remember why I wanted to build something here in the first place. Will stirred, mumbling something incoherent. Margaret quickly checked him.
Still no fever, wounds still closed. When she settled back, Jake had composed himself again. The moment of raw honesty shuddered. "You should rest, " she said gently. "I'll wake you if anything changes.
" "In a while, " he pulled out a worn book. "I'll read for a bit. Sarah always said reading aloud helped the healing. " He opened the book. Poetry, she realized with surprise, and began to read in his low, measured voice, Wordsworth, speaking of daffodils and clouds in the human heart.
Margaret found herself watching Jake's face in the lamplight, seeing the gentleness he kept so carefully hidden, the depth of feeling beneath the stern exterior. Three days passed in careful vigilance. Will's fever rose the second night, sending them all into controlled panic. Margaret bathed him with cool water, spooned willow bark tea between his lips, and prayed harder than she had since Charles's death. Jake never left her side during those critical hours, fetching water, changing bandages, simply being present when she needed steadiness.
When the fever broke near dawn, they both sagged with relief. Will opened clear eyes and whispered, "Ma'am, did I miss breakfast? " Margaret laughed through sudden tears. Several of them, but I'll make you the finest breakfast in Texas when you're stronger. Later, standing on the porch in the cool morning air, she found herself swaying with exhaustion, Jake's hands steadied her, and somehow she was leaning against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.
"You did it, " he murmured into her hair. "You brought him through. We did it, " she corrected. I couldn't have managed without you. She felt him smile.
We make a good team. The words hung between them, waited with possibility. Margaret knew she should step away, return to proper distance. Instead, she let herself rest against him for one more moment, storing up the feeling for later examination. Margaret, he said quietly.
When this is over, when Will's recovered, we need to talk, really talk about the future about He paused, seeming to search for words, about whether you see this as just a job or if maybe it could be something more. Before she could respond, Tom's voice called from inside. Mrs. Sullivan, Will's asking for more of that tea. The moment shattered. Margaret stepped back, smoothing her apron, not quite meeting Jake's eyes.
I should go, of course, but he caught her hand as she turned. Just think about it, please. She squeezed his fingers briefly. I've been thinking about it for weeks. Jake called well.
Now, let me tend my patient. His smile followed her back into the kitchen, warming her more than the stove. Will was indeed awake, weak, but lucid, complaining about the taste of willow bark tea with an energy that spoke of recovery. The other cowboys crowded around, careful not to jostle the bed, their relief palpable. "Did I really almost die?