then,” he said in a rather fatherly tone. “I’ll show you how to make camp stew.”
“Camp stew?” she said, concentrating on his words against the pulsating beat of her heart in her ears.
He grinned. “Camp stew is going to be our primary feast while en route to your summer home. It’s just a fancy way of saying beans and dried beef. Sometimes I throw in a few potatoes just to break the monotony.”
Amelia allowed herself to smile. “At this point it sounds like a feast.”
“You can take this to the river and get some water,” he said, handing her a coffee pot. “I’ll unpack the pot for the beans. You’ll need to fill it with water first; then bring the coffee pot back full and we’ll make some coffee.”
She nodded wearily and made her way to the water’s edge. Her head was beginning to ache and a voice from within reminded her of Mr. Reed’s warning to drink plenty of water. Scooping a handful to her lips, Amelia thought she’d never tasted anything as good. The water was cold and clear and instantly refreshed her. With each return trip Amelia forced herself to drink a little water. On her last trip she dipped her handkerchief in the icy river and wiped some of the grime away from her face. She drew in gasping breaths of chilled mountain air, trying hard to compensate for the lack of oxygen. For a moment the world seemed to spin.
Lowering her gaze, Amelia panicked at the sensation of dizziness. It seemed to come in waves, leaving her unable to focus. She took a step and stumbled. Took another and nearly fell over backward.
What’s happening to me?
she worried.
“Amelia?” Logan was calling from somewhere. “You got that coffee water yet?”
The river was situated far enough away that the trees and rocks kept her from view of the camp. She opened her mouth to call out, then clamped it shut, determined not to ask Mr. Reed for help. Sliding down to sit on a small boulder, Amelia steadied the pot.
I’ll feel better in a minute,
she thought.
If I just sit for a moment, everything will clear and I’ll have my breath back.
“Amelia?” Logan stood not three feet away. “Are you all right?”
Getting to her feet quickly, Amelia instantly realized her mistake. The coffee pot fell with a clatter against the rocks and Amelia felt her knees buckle.
“Whoa, there,” Logan said, reaching out to catch her before she hit the ground. “I was afraid you were doing too much. You are the most prideful, stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
Amelia tried to push him away and stand on her own, but her head and legs refused to work together and her hands only seemed to flail at the air. “I just got up too fast,” she protested.
“You just managed to get yourself overworked. You’re going to lay down for the rest of the night. I’ll bring you some chow when it’s ready, but tillthen, you aren’t to lift a finger.” In one fluid motion he swung her up into his arms.
“I assure you, Mr. Reed—”
“Logan. My name is Logan. Just as you are Lady Amhurst, I am Logan. Understand?” he sounded gruff, but he was smiling and Amelia could only laugh. She’d brought this on herself by trying to outdo the others and keep up with any task he’d suggested.
“Well?” His eyes seemed to twinkle.
“I understand!” she declared and tried not to notice the feel of his muscular arms around her.
His expression sobered and Amelia couldn’t help but notice that there was no twitching of that magnificent mustache. Sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered what it would be like to touch that mustache.
Is it coarse and prickly, or smooth and soft like the pet rabbit Margaret had played with as a child?
He was looking at her as though trying to say something that couldn’t be formed into words and for once, Amelia didn’t think him so barbaric. These new considerations of a man she’d once thought hopelessly crude were disturbing to her. Her mind began to race.
What should I say to him? What should I do? I
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