of food to take with them today.
Her eyes misted. If she thanked him, he would say that it was his job, but he really was the most incredible man. She slipped her hand into his palm, fitting her fingers between his. “Rafe?”
There was no change in his breathing, no sign that he’d heard her.
She squeezed his fingers, finally noticing how hot his skin was. She raised her voice. “Rafe? It’s morning.”
The noise that had awakened her came again. Not a birdcall but a rapid clicking sound. She twisted to look at him.
His face was drawn. The skin on his good side was as pale as his scars. She focused on his mouth and immediately realized what the sound had been.
His teeth were chattering.
“Oh, my God.” She slipped out from under his arm and knelt beside him. She laid the underside of her wrist against his forehead. He was burning up. “Oh, my God. Rafe!”
His eyelids fluttered. He looked at her blankly for a moment. He blinked twice and his gaze sharpened. He rolled to his back and flung his arm out to grab the rifle from the ground behind him.
“No, Rafe!” She grasped his shoulders and leaned her weight on him, trying to keep him from getting up. “No one’s here. It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
He brushed off her weight as if it were nothing and sat up. Tendons stood out along the side of his neck as he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking. He scanned the clearing, his gun held ready.
“Rafe, for God’s sake, lie down! You’re ill.”
He put his index finger against her lips to signal silence. He tipped his head to the side to listen. A full minute passed before he lowered the gun and returned his gaze to hers.
His eyes were too bright, she thought. “You’re sick,” she said. “You must have caught a chill in the pool.”
“No.” His voice was scratchy. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t catch a chill.”
“But you have a fever.” She returned her wrist to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
He caught her hand and lowered it. A shudder rippled through him. “I’ll be okay. It’s daylight. Let’s go.”
“No.”
“Glenna…”
“You’re in no shape to go anywhere. Do you want the chill to turn into pneumonia?”
“It’s not pneumonia.”
“Then what is it?”
“My wound.” He braced the rifle butt against the ground and used it to help himself up. He swayed.
Glenna got to her feet as quickly as she could, propping her shoulder under his arm before he could topple. “Rafe, sit down before you hurt yourself.”
“We have to keep moving. We can’t stop yet.”
“We can’t— Rafe, watch out!”
His knees buckled. Glenna cried out as his weight forced her downward, but he pushed clear from her before he hit the ground. He rolled to his side, his lips pressed tight in pain. Nevertheless, he propped the rifle butt beside him and levered himself into a sitting position.
Glenna wanted to weep at his stubbornness. “Rafe, please. You’ve got to rest or you’ll get worse.”
He leaned his forehead against the side of the gun barrel and panted. “I’ll be okay. It’s not a big deal. We have to move.”
“Fine, Rafe. We’ll do that. Right after breakfast, okay?”
“What?”
“That’s what all the fruit you gathered is for, right? I have to eat something before we start out.” She spoke hurriedly, trying to stave off his next attempt to get up. “I’m hungry. I couldn’t possibly go anywhere yet, so you’re going to have to wait for me, all right?”
He looked at her as if he knew she was stalling. “Eat fast.”
“Certainly.”
She hopped to the pile of fruit and grabbed whatever was on top, then returned to sit down at Rafe’s side. He was still leaning against the rifle, but his eyes were closed. She tossed the fruit aside and looked at his thigh.
The bandage that she’d made out of her suit jacket was gone—he must have discarded it when he’d gone into the pool. The torn edges of his jumpsuit gaped open over
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