Holly Jolly Cowboy (The Wyoming Cowboy #7)(33)

Maybe that was it. With only Carson around, Adam was feeling a mite lonely for company. Nothing more.



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? ? ?

    The next morning, he woke up with Carson’s cold. Groaning, Adam managed to get himself dressed even though everything ached. He felt hot even when he stepped into the snow, and he felt as if he were slogging through molasses as he went through the morning chores.

Carson gave him an odd look as he saddled the horses. “You okay?”

“I caught your cold.” Adam shrugged, sweating despite the fact that his breath was freezing in the air. “I’ll live.”

The other cowboy grunted.

Somehow, Adam was able to get into the saddle. Somehow, he was able to work for several hours, even though his brain felt detached and foggy. Muscle memory, he told himself. Muscle memory would carry him through. He couldn’t afford to be sick. People were counting on him. He’d just suffer through.

Lunchtime finally hit and Adam pulled out his meal—a thick sandwich with layers of cheese and meat—and found he didn’t have the appetite for it. His thermos held coffee, but it was too hot and the taste was all wrong. He shoved it back into a saddlebag and rode his horse back to the barn. “Think I’ll get a head start on spooling that hay.”

Carson just looked at him.

He got out the bale unroller and tried to drive it around to the far side of the barn, where the hay was covered with a large tarp to protect it from the worst of the snow. Man, everything felt like effort. He paused, then lowered his head onto the steering wheel and rested. Just for a moment.

Adam woke up to Carson shaking his shoulder, a frown on his face. He sat up, rubbing his mouth. “Sorry. I dozed off.”

“You’re no good like this,” Carson said in that sharp voice of his that brooked no argument. “Go home. Take a nap.”

He wanted to protest, but a nap sounded like heaven. That’d be the ticket. He’d sleep for a few hours and then come back refreshed. Nodding, he dragged himself out of the machinery and headed toward his distant cabin. So damn distant. Even Hannibal’s playful bouncing couldn’t entice a smile from him. He just wanted a nice long nap.

By the time he got to his cabin, he was wiped. He didn’t take off his boots or his jacket, just climbed into bed and closed his eyes. Hannibal jumped onto the bed next to him and Adam put an arm around the dog, tucking him against his body. “We’ll play later, boy,” he mumbled.

For now, sleep.



* * *



? ? ?

Adam floated in and out of sleep for what felt like forever. He kept telling himself he needed to get up and help Carson with the chores, but he couldn’t manage to drag himself from his slumber. It was like a blanket was over his senses, muffling everything, and all he could do was lie down and sleep.

And sweat. He was pretty sure he was sweating and too tired to wake up and take his clothes off. Too tired to push Hannibal’s hot body away.

At some point, there were noises. Hands touched his brow and they were cool and wonderful. He groaned, leaning toward that refreshing touch, but it moved away again. Vaguely, he realized someone was pulling off his boots and socks. It felt good, and he rolled over onto his back, determined to thank whoever it was.

Instead, he was rewarded with a cool, wet towel on his brow.

Damn, that felt good. He groaned, still half-pulled into the darkness of sleep, and reached out for whoever it was. A soft hand brushed his, and then squeezed his fingers. “Just relax,” Holly told him gently. “You’re sick.”

“Need to get up,” he mumbled. “Carson—”

“It’s all under control,” she soothed. “Go back to sleep.”

He did, mostly because it was too difficult to answer. His face was too tired. He drifted for a while, vaguely aware of more cool cloths pressed to his brow and those gentle hands tugging at his shirt.

Adam woke up, rubbing his eyes and still feeling like death warmed over. He glanced over at the alarm clock. One in the morning? Jesus. Had he slept all day? Carson was going to kill him. He—

“You’re awake?” Holly’s voice was a low whisper.

He rolled over—though it felt like effort—and turned to look at her. She sat in the lone chair in his cabin, her phone in hand, and as she put it down, he caught a glimpse of a candy game on the screen. “What . . . what are you doing here?” He rubbed his face. It felt hot and sweaty, just like the rest of him.

“You’re sick,” she said in a patient voice. “Now that you’re awake, I want you to eat a little something and go back to sleep, all right?”

He closed his eyes again. “Not hungry.”

“I don’t care. I’m your nemesis, remember? I’m here to torture you.” Her gentle voice was full of amusement and he felt the bed sink as she sat on the edge of it. “Sit up and drink this, and then I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

Somehow, Adam managed to sit up. He took the cup she held out to him and took a cautious sip—lukewarm broth. It actually tasted pretty good, and he finished the whole thing before he knew it. She made him drink a cup of water next, and then insisted he get up to use the bathroom before he went back to sleep. When he finally flopped into bed again, she pressed another cool cloth to his face, and he groaned his thanks.