He ducked inside the Liberty and settled on the carton he’d dragged next to the lounger. Rini remained locked in unconsciousness. The hair plastered against her perspiring cheek stirred with her soft breaths. He flicked a strand away from her forehead, and she mumbled something low and unintelligible. His fingers brushed the smooth arch of her brow. “Sweetheart, are you awake?” “No.” A hot rush of relief flooded him and he smiled. “Faker.” She opened her eyes and stared at him. “How long have I been sleeping?” “Probably not long enough. But while you’re awake, I want you to eat this.” He held up the bowl. “What is it?” “Soup. I brought it back with me from the guard station.” “You carried a bowl of soup across the desert? How’d you keep from spilling it?” “It was damn hard, believe me.” Emotion roughened his voice. Half an hour ago, he hadn’t been certain she would pull through and now they were joking. The moment felt bittersweet and surreal.
