Dianna left him to check locks on all the doors and windows. She returned to place a cool cloth on his face and it brought their survival to the forefront. “You need to barricade the doors. Push the furniture….”
“I’ve already done that. Just tell me how to load this gun.”
She felt like an idiot. He had forced his eyes open and stared at her cradling his shot gun and dangling a cloth sack storing the bullets. Damn, he was mad. Why? She tapped her foot with the demanding impatience of a typical debutant socialite. That usually worked. Idiot, indeed.
“Put that back.” He breathed in a shard of struggling breath. “Carefully! It’s already loaded, stupid woman.” His temper seemed to consume his energy for any further insults or commands.
Through his haze, he heard her moving around and mumbling. He inwardly smiled at the dainty curse words and breathed more easily at the sounds of the gun rack accepting his gun back into the safety of its walls. She stomped around his small palace, dropped a pot and whooshed out a temper-filled cloud of frustration.
“Come here.” He had been right. She hated commands. The entertainment eased his pain. “Water!” He hid his smile. Her silence should’ve alerted his usual awareness. A cup of cold water splashed and jolted his macho fantasies into reality.
“Sir, your gun is ready and you’ve had your water. What’s your defensive plan now? Dimples!”
Edward winched at his childhood memories; the nanny pinching his cheeks while his younger brother, Charles, would enjoy his humiliation. “Don’t bother calling me that. It wouldn’t help your situation.”
“Help? And just what is my situation?”
He lifted up on his elbows to address his guest, who was in need of an idiot status reminder. “You’re stuck in a cabin with an injured cotton farmer. There’s a band of thugs about to return to raise meanness to new heights. The crops need weeding and you sent away my only farm hands.”
Eleanor Tatum 
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