Chapter 18 #2
Ronan eyed the dog for a moment, happy that Cressida would have him to keep her company. Diver and Cressida had souls that were tied together, that much Ronan was sure of, even if he didn’t find himself believing in much lately.
She shook her head, her lips dry and a little cracked. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want it.”
“I know you don’t want it, but it’s for the best if you drink it. I promise, everything is going to be better, but we just have to get you drinking.” Ronan slipped his hand behind her back, helping her sit up.
Cressida looked at him with watery eyes, putting her lips to the edge of the glass and sipping slowly. She coughed when she finished, but she kept the water down. Ronan helped to lower her back to the bed. He pressed his wrist to her forehead, finding it scorching.
“We’re going to get you some cold compresses, too.
I’m sure Etta will be in within a couple of minutes with that and some tea.
” Ronan couldn’t help himself as he took Cressida’s hand, needing to feel the steady pressure of her fingers wrapping around his.
His heart stuttered as he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it quickly.
Before he could say anything else to her, though, her eyes closed, and her breathing evened out.
She was asleep, and that was for the best. When she was sick like this, all he wanted to do was sit beside her and tell her how he felt. He wanted to convince her that everything was going to be well, that he would be there with her until she felt better.
Ronan could spend the entire day sitting beside her and thinking about all they could be if they got to be together. If there weren’t so many secrets lurking in his past that would surely ruin her opinion of him.
He stayed with her for a moment longer, closing his eyes and praying. While he hadn’t done so in a long time, it felt like he needed to speak to God in that moment. He needed the prayer for his own peace of mind.
Before he left, he set the glass of water on the bedside table in case she woke up and needed another drink. He ran his fingers through Diver’s soft fur, the puppy moving his head to Cressida’s hip, staring up at her with warm brown eyes.
Ronan held her hand for a moment longer before standing and leaving the room, finding Etta struggling to carry wood through the front door.
He went to take the wood from her, shaking his head. “You’re not going to be of much use to Cressida if you hurt yourself. Why don’t you take her the tea and sit with her a while, and I’ll take care of all the chores that need to be done around here?”
Etta gave him a look of relief, shaking out her arms before grimacing when she went to take a step toward the kitchen. “You really don’t mind?”
“Of course not. Go sit with her. Take a cold compress as well. It’ll help bring her fever down some.” Ronan took the wood and went to pile it in the rack beside the stove.
When he was done with the wood, he went outside to the animals, checking food and water, filling what needed to be filled.
He filled water troughs and hummed to himself, but worry ate at the back of his mind.
Though he wanted to go back into the house and check on Cressida, there were still horses to turn out into the pasture and goats to check on.
“Ready to go?” he asked, smiling when the horses flicked their ears and stomped their feet. He turned them loose into the pasture. The horses took off running, tails flicking, manes flying in the breeze. For a moment, he stood to the side, picturing the day his ranch was going to look like that.
As he turned, one of the chickens went running by, and another couple behind it. When he glanced at the chicken coop, the door to the pen surrounding the coop was open, swinging in the soft breeze.
“Oh, no.” He took off jogging to the coop, getting the door to the pen shut and latched before more of the chickens realized the door was open and made a break for it.
The two chickens that escaped were running around, clucking and dodging Ronan each time he lunged for them.
He groaned as he grabbed nothing but air for the third time.
The little beasts were far faster than he remembered them being, or maybe it was that he had just gotten slower as he had gotten older.
Ronan turned and went after the other chicken, but that one dove to the side with a squawk that seemed pointed, mocking his inability to catch them.
Scowling, Ronan stopped and looked between the chickens. “I don’t want to hurt you, but the pair of you need to get back in the pen so I can take care of Cressida. Now, if either of you want to avoid being Sunday supper, I would suggest you march yourselves back in there.”
The red chicken tilted its head to the side, running forward. Ronan knew the bird couldn’t understand him, but for a moment, it felt like maybe it could.
And then it pecked his foot.
Ronan crouched, but the bird was faster, another squawk leaving it as it took off running. He groaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
He had half a mind to leave the birds as they were. They were smart enough creatures. They would find their way back to their coop when it was time to be locked in for the night.
But there was the chance that if they didn’t go back, a predator might get to them.
Which would be entirely unacceptable. Cressida loved her animals, and he certainly wasn’t going to let anything happen to them.