Twilight was falling, and the wool blankets were damp from the wetness leaching through from underneath their two bodies. She stroked his cheek, checked his pulse—still weak—moistened his lips with water, whispered her love for him. And waited. If no one came soon, she’d have to ride back to the barn and scrounge for dry blankets, a flashlight, maybe some dry wood she could use to build a fire to keep them warm into the night. She remembered the quilt in the loft, the old diaries. The paper would make a good fire starter—if she had the strength to climb the ladder. Every muscle in her body throbbed, and she longed to sleep. She kept drifting off and jerking herself awake. Fear was all that stood between her and longed-for oblivion. Jon’s injuries … her mother … and what of Arie’s parents … Abbie, Eric, and the new baby? Her neighbors? What had happened to them? Had they been spared? Her one consolation was knowing that Eden and Garret were in Florida and far from the disaster area.
What do You think about The Year Of Chasing Dreams?
