"I know that," Clara said evenly. "I'm not trying to take your place. I'm offering to spell you so you can sleep a few hours because you've been running on nothing for three days. If you get sick too, this whole ranch is in trouble."
Eli looked at her. The logic was unarguable, and they both knew it. "A few hours," he said finally. "A few hours," she agreed.
Jesse tugged his father's sleeve. "Is Cole going to be okay?" Eli put his hand on Jesse's head. "Yeah, buddy. He's going to be okay."
Jesse looked past his father at Clara. She gave him a small, honest nod, not the exaggerated reassurance adults sometimes gave children to make themselves feel better, but a real answer from one person to another. Jesse's shoulders dropped about an inch. "Okay," he said.
He went back to his room without being told. Eli stayed with Cole through the afternoon and into the early evening. Clara managed the house, kept Jesse occupied, kept the fire up, and kept food ready for when people needed it. Around seven in the evening, she brought a plate to Eli and Cole's room and left it without making him talk to her.
She could see he was in the particular exhausted silence of a parent sitting with a sick child and counting every degree of fever. At ten, she knocked on the door. "Go sleep. I've got him."
Eli looked at Cole, who was sleeping now, breathing better than he had that afternoon. He looked at Clara. "You know what to watch for?" he said.
"Breathing gets worse. Fever spikes. He wakes up confused. I'll come get you immediately."
"I won't wait, and I won't try to handle it alone." She met his eyes directly. "I understand the difference between what I can manage and what I can't." Eli stood up.
He looked at his son for a long moment with the expression of a man doing something that cost him something. Stepping back. Trusting someone else with the most important thing he had. "Two hours," he said.
"Two hours," she said. "Go." He went. Clara settled into the chair beside Cole's bed.
The lamp was turned low. The house was quiet around her. The storm still worked at the walls. The fire in the small bedroom stove did its job.
Cole's breathing was easier now. The plaster was doing what it was supposed to do. After about 20 minutes, Cole's eyes opened. He looked at the ceiling for a moment.