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The foulard was wet and clingy, making the work difficult. “We’ve got to get her out of these wet things.”
    He was already slipping one of Ruth’s shoes off. “Stockings?” he questioned.
    She nodded and, lifting Ruth’s skirt slightly, he pulled off her silk stockings, then helped Rebecca remove Ruth’s dress and petticoats and corset. The woman was ill. This was no time to stand on formality. “What happened?”
    “Bad heart.” She pulled up the coverlet and glanced frantically at the door. “Where’s that doctor?” It was a rhetorical question, born of desperation. She took Ruth’s hand in hers. “Ruth...” Rebecca rubbed her cold hand, trying to bring some warmth back. “Ruth? Can you hear me? Oh, Luke, she’s like ice. If anything happens to her, too...” She rubbed her other hand. “She isn’t moving.” Her voice rose. Wild-eyed, she turned on him. “Why isn’t she moving?” Terror welled up in her. “Oh, God! She isn’t—”
    Luke touched the woman’s face, then checked for a pulse. “No, honey, she isn’t dead.”
    Muscles relaxing, Rebecca swayed into him. “Thank God.” He held her, and she leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body, feeling the hard muscles, feeling secure. “She can’t die,” she murmured, and felt his fingers tighten on her shoulder.
    “She’ll be all right, honey,” he said, with such confidence that she believed him.
    She angled him a look, seeing the sincerity of his expression, and she was tempted to stay here in his partial embrace. It felt so good, too good. It would be too easy to give in to it.
    She couldn’t. She couldn’t trust him, or herself, evidently. Dragging in a couple of lungfuls of air, she straightened slightly, and he released his hold, leaving her feeling strangely alone.
    “Okay?” he asked softly.
    She forced her chin up a notch, shoved the wet hair back from her face and said, “Thank you.”
    “Anytime,” he said, and headed for the warming stove near the window. He made quick work of starting a fire.
    Rebecca tucked the comforter more securely around Ruth and dragged a Windsor chair over to the bed.
    “You oughta get out of those wet clothes yourself,” Luke said as he closed the stove door with a bang.
    “As soon as the doctor comes.”
    “You’ll catch your— You’ll catch a cold.”
    “Soon,” she murmured, holding Ruth’s hand. “Where the devil is that doctor?”
    Luke crossed back to stand at the foot of the bed. “I take it this isn’t a new problem.”
    “It’s her heart. She’s had trouble the last couple of years, but nothing like this.” She craned toward the doorway. “Why doesn’t she open her eyes?”
    “Well, I’m no doctor, but I do believe that the Almighty has a way of taking care of things. As long as she’s asleep, she’s not moving around and she’s not in pain.”
    Rebecca nodded her understanding. “This is awful. I feel so responsible. She hasn’t slept since Andrew disappeared, and—”
    “Neither have you I’ll wager, and you aren’t responsible for her, or for whatever has happened to Andrew,” he said firmly.
    She was only half listening, her gaze focused on Ruth. “I should never have let her go out there. I should have insisted.”
    “You take on a lot of responsibility. Seems to me the lady had something to say about things. You didn’t push her out the door, you know.”
    She sighed. “I know you’re right, but...”
    The crackle and pop of the fire seemed to warm the room as much as the actual burning log. The sweet scent of pine saturated the damp air.
    “Where’s the extra blankets?” Luke broke the silence.
    “Cedar chest.”
    Luke retrieved a heavy blue quilt and covered Ruth with it.
    Rebecca kept staring at her mother-in-law, rubbing first one hand, then the other. “Ruth. You’ll be fine.” She said it like an order, or perhaps a prayer.
    Luke watched from the foot of the four-poster bed, one hand wrapped around the smooth, cool