Chapter Twelve

T imothy's weary eyes fluttered open. The dull ache in his bones was a testament to the back-breaking work that awaited him, as regular as the dawn. He sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair, and allowed himself a solitary moment to acknowledge the weight settling on his shoulders.

With practiced movements, Tim swung his legs over the bed's edge. He dressed swiftly in the dim light, pulling on his faded jeans and a shirt that had seen better days. Laundry really needed to be done, but short of asking Brenda for more than he already had, it wasn't going to get done. It was all he could do to keep up with his ranch chores, cook breakfast, convince the kids that Amy was all right, and make sure she ate and took her medicine. He'd had no idea what a strain being a caregiver put on someone. Thankfully, Felicity's mother had been visiting when she took ill, and she'd taken care of her daughter and grandchildren.

He stepped outside, feeling the heat and humidity burrow its way inside him. He often thought he should move to somewhere like Montana to ranch, but it was too cold in the winter there. There was no winning where temperature was concerned.

"Morning, old girl," he greeted the chestnut mare tied near the barn, her coat gleaming in the new light.

Tim scooped feed into troughs, his hands moving with the efficiency borne of countless mornings just like this one. His muscles remembered the routine, even if his mind was elsewhere.

"Pa, you fix that fence by the creek yet?" George called out, emerging from the tool shed with a hammer in hand.

"Planning on it after I fix breakfast," Tim replied, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "You want to give me a hand?"

"Sure thing, Pa," George said. He was growing up fast, eager to walk in his father's boots, and Tim couldn't help but feel a surge of paternal pride.

As soon as they'd finished breakfast, leaving the dishes for Brenda, they walked the length of the pasture, inspecting the barbed wire. They worked in silent agreement, Tim showing George the ropes while fixing the loose strands that threatened the boundary of their land.

"Looks good, son," Tim nodded, satisfied with their handiwork. "Keep this up, and you'll be running your own place in no time."

"Hope so," George grinned, the image of youthful optimism.

Tim heaved another bale of hay onto the wagon, his muscles protesting as much as his mind. He paused, leaning against the wagon's edge, feeling the rough wood grain press into his palms.

"Pa, you all right?" asked George, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Ah, just thinking," Tim replied. His gaze drifted toward the house where Amy lay ill, her nurturing presence sorely missed in every corner of their home.

"Amy's going to be fine, Pa," George added.

"Sure, son," Tim said, though the knot in his stomach tightened. "Let's get back to work."

As the day wore on, chipping away at the endless list of chores, Tim's thoughts were never far from Amy. The livestock fed and watered, fences mended, and yet an important piece was missing.

Stepping inside the sweltering heat of the house, Tim found Amy propped up in bed, a shawl wrapped around her thin shoulders. Her breaths came shallow and labored, the sound like rustling dry leaves. She offered him a weak smile, and it struck him how something as simple as breathing could become such an arduous task.

"Hey there," he muttered, taking a seat beside her. His large hands felt clumsy as he touched her forehead.

"Tim..." she whispered, her voice barely audible, "the children..."

"They're fine, Amy. Focus on getting better, all right?"

The lines on Tim's face deepened with worry as he watched her struggle for each breath. He knew the ranch demanded his attention, but the thought of leaving her side, even for a moment, twisted his heart with guilt.

"Get some rest, Amy. I'll be right outside if you need me," Tim assured her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Leaving their room, he closed the door gently behind him. Outside, the ranch sprawled before him, its needs vast and unending. But within those walls, Amy fought a battle that dwarfed all others.

"Pa?" George's voice called from the porch.

"Coming, son," Tim answered, squaring his shoulders. If the ranch was his legacy, Amy and his children were his lifeblood. And he would find a way to nurture both, no matter the cost.

"PA?" GEORGE'S VOICE called again from outside, urgency lacing the word.

"Coming, son! Just give me a second!" Tim raised his voice in response, then immediately regretted it. He turned back to Amy, his features softening. "I gotta go see what he needs. Will you be all right for a spell?"

"Go," she insisted, managing a nod. "The ranch won't run itself."

He lingered for a heartbeat longer. With a reluctant sigh, he brushed a kiss on her forehead and stood. As he stepped toward the door, Amy's voice stopped him.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" He turned, hope flickering in his chest for reconciliation.

"Could you leave the door open? Just a little. So, I can at least hear the girls?"

"Of course," he said, leaving a slice of daylight breaking into the room. It was a small comfort, but if it helped Amy feel less isolated, he was all for it.

"PA, WE NEED MORE WIRE for the fence," George called out. The boy stood by the paddock with a concerned furrow etched into his brow.

"All right," Tim replied, trying to keep the weariness from seeping into his voice. "I'll head into town later and pick some up."

"Don't you need to give Amy her medicine?" George asked, hesitant.

"Right." The word came out like a sigh. Tim's hand found its way to his hat, lifting it off to run a hand through his hair in frustration. The cattle needed tending, the fences repair, and Amy—his heart clenched at the thought—Amy needed him more than ever.

"Maybe Amy's friend Cassandra can help," George suggested tentatively.

"Maybe." Tim replaced his hat and nodded.

"MORNING, TIM," CASSANDRA greeted with a smile as she wiped her hands on her apron. "You're here awfully early."

"Morning, Cassandra," Tim nodded.

"Sit down, Tim. You look like you've been wrangling thunderstorms instead of cattle," Andrew, Cassandra's husband, said.

"Feels about right," Tim admitted. "It's Amy...she's got bronchitis, and I'm trying to keep the ranch from falling apart."

Cassandra shook her head. "You should have let us know sooner! I'll gather our other ‘sisters' and we'll come over.

"Brenda's already been helping," Tim said. "I'm surprised at how much Amy does every day, and I didn't appreciate it much when she was healthy."

Cassandra sighed. "Amy's always been that way. Hurry home, and I'll get it all organized for you. Stop worrying."

Andrew nodded. "I'll talk to the others. I would bet David has a couple of hands he can loan you for a bit. His boys'll pick up the slack."

ENTERING THE BEDROOM where Amy rested, Tim found her propped up against pillows, her cheeks flushed from fever, yet there was a determined glint in her tired eyes. Tim took a seat beside her, taking her hand gently in his.

"I've been going crazy trying to manage this ranch and caring for you."

Amy offered a weak smile. "You're doing your best, Tim."

"Best ain't good enough," he countered softly. "I've been blind, Amy. Blind to what's truly important." He squeezed her hand, feeling the delicate bones beneath her skin. "From now on, you come first. I'll find a way to keep everything running, but not at the expense of us."

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Tim, I don't want to keep you from doing all you can for the ranch."

"Shush now," Tim interrupted gently. "You aren't holding me back. You're the reason I push forward. I've spoken to Cassandra and Andrew, and they reminded me we got a whole church ready to lend a hand. Cassandra is gathering all your sisters to help."

"Really?" A hopeful note entered her voice.

"Really. We're going to get through this together, Amy. You, me, the kids, and our neighbors. Like one big family." His thumb caressed the back of her hand.

Amy nodded, her spirit rallying.

"Promise me something, Amy. Promise me you'll focus on getting better. Let me worry about the rest."

"I promise, Tim," she said, her voice stronger than before. "And I'll bake you an apple pie as soon as I'm up and about."

"You will not hear me complain about that!"

AMY WOKE WITH A START . There was a lot of noise coming from outside her room, and she swung her legs out of bed. She walked to the bedroom door and peeked out. "Get back in bed!" Brenda said, putting her hands on her hips. "You've taken care of every one of us while we were sick. Now we're going to return the favor. I'm going to keep watching over you. Cassandra is going to make the girls' dresses you promised them. Deb is going to do all the laundry including that filthy gown you're in. Erna's going to cook all the meals and bake sweets for the kids and Tim. Faith is going to be scrubbing floors and dusting. Gail is going to build that playhouse and not worry about you paying her back. Susan is going to cook in Gail's place. Hannah is making lace collars for Beatrice's dresses. And last, but never least, Imogene is going to water and weed your garden while Ruby and Priscilla help."

Amy blinked a few times as she allowed her friend to help her back in bed. "Now stay where I put you!" Brenda said.

"What's Beatrice doing?" Amy asked, hating she couldn't make dresses with the girl.

"She's helping with dress duty. And helping with the laundry," Brenda said. "She keeps asking to see you, and even though the doctor said it's probably safe, I don't want to risk it."

"I would never risk any of the children. Good call." Amy swung her legs back into the bed, feeling as if she'd just run across the ranch and into town. "Back to sleep with me." She lay down, closing her eyes. "And Brenda?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you! Hug all the sisters for me."

"Of course!" Brenda said, smiling as she closed the door behind her.