Tierney had slid down the wall and was sitting propped against it on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him. He had removed his gloves and was clenching and flexing his fingers, trying to restore circulation. She knelt beside him. He gratefully took the glass of water from her and drank it all.
“Are you all right? Besides the obvious.”
He nodded but didn’t answer.
Ordinarily the walk to the shed would have taken about sixty seconds. According to her wristwatch, he’d been gone for thirty-eight minutes, minutes during which she had repeatedly castigated herself for letting him go.
“I’m glad you’re back,” she said with all the sincerity at her disposal.
“I’m going again.”
“What?”
With a groan, he worked himself up the wall until he was standing. More or less. Actually, he was swaying, as though saved from toppling only because the soles of his boots were nailed to the floor.
“Tierney, you can’t.”
“One more load could make a difference. I don’t think it’ll take as long this time,” he said as he pulled on his gloves again. “Now that I know where everything is. A lot of the time was spent feeling my way around inside the shed.” He stared into near space for a moment before shaking his head slightly as though to clear it.
“You’re not up to this.”
“I’m okay.” He replaced the makeshift hood and scarf.
“I wish I could talk you out of going.”
He smiled grimly. “I wish you could, too.”
Then he pulled the scarf over his nose and went out. She watched through the window as he transferred the logs on the tarp to the stack of firewood beneath the overhang. She continued to watch until he disappeared once again into the darkness. Turning back into the room, she decided on a better way to pass the time than fretting.
Sooner than she expected, she heard his boots clomping up the steps. When she opened the door, he was dragging the tarp stacked with firewood up onto the porch. It was a chore, requiring all his strength because the logs were large. “Did you remember the ax?”
“Wasn’t there.” His voice was muffled behind his scarf.
“I saw it there only a few days ago.”
“It wasn’t there.” He said it tersely and with enough emphasis to silence her.
Note to self, she thought. Tierney doesn’t like anyone to challenge his word.
Or his mandates, it seemed. He glanced at the fire burning in the grate and frowned.
“Too late now to argue about it,” she said.
He stacked a pile of logs inside the door so they could begin to dry out, then spread the tarp over the replenished woodpile on the porch and stamped into the room. Lilly pushed him toward the fireplace. “You may as well enjoy it.”
He pulled the blanket from his head, went to the hearth, and dropped to his knees in front of it like a penitent before an altar. He pulled off his gloves and extended his hands toward the blaze. “I smelled smoke from the chimney as I was coming back. How’d you manage?”
“I found a few drier logs near the porch wall.”
“Well, thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I also smell coffee.”
“I’d left an unopened can in the freezer of the fridge,” she explained, moving into the kitchen. “I splurged on our drinking water, I know, but I only made two cups. There’s no cream or sugar.”
“Never use them anyway.”