Winter arrived with rainstorms, which kept Patrick indoors for days on end. When he ventured out several times a day to check on the animals, he always returned drenched and shivering.

It seemed the livestock fared better than he did on most occasions. The horses were warm, fed and secure in their stalls, the goats and chickens in covered pens and the cattle, for the most part, seemed oblivious to the cold. Many of the cows chose to ignore the covered shelter they provided.

It was early one day when he walked into the house, quickly removing his sodden clothes to hang by the fire to dry.

Although he still maintained the deep need to hear her declare her love, Patrick had come to accept that it may never happen. When he considered that she was a passionate woman and cared well for him and the house, there was little to complain about.

Even if Emma wasn’t in love with him, it did not preclude her from desiring him. A smile curved his lips at sometimes having to claim weariness to keep his feisty wife at bay. Unlike other men who bemoaned their frigid wives, Patrick was lucky in that regard.

Why did it matter so much that she loved him? It could be that, upon declaring his feelings, he’d left himself raw and open.

Patrick shook his head at the fanciful notions and wondered where Emma was. He warmed by the fireplace and waited a bit.

Emma was somewhere in the back and, for a moment, he took in the differences in the house over the last few weeks. She’d recovered the sofa and with the addition of furniture from her parents’ home, pillows and new curtains, it barely resembled the house he’d grown up in.

When she emerged from the back looking pale, he wondered if she was about to take ill from the weather.

“Are you unwell, Emma?” He hurried to her, ignoring that he was only wearing his damp underpants.

Emma held him back. “You’re wet.” She absently shook her head. “I must have eaten something that made my stomach upset. Three days now, I’ve felt a bit nauseous.”

Although he’d not noticed any changes in her, Patrick thought back to what they’d eaten that morning. “All we had was eggs and toast. Maybe you’re sick. Should I fetch Ma?”

“No,” she replied shaking her head. “It passes quickly enough. I’ll talk to her tonight when we go for supper.”

They normally went to his parents’ house on Wednesdays for supper and Emma always looked forward to spending time learning new recipes or household skills.

Although the main house was only a few minutes’ walk, Emma claimed to miss seeing his mother. He was sure the women spoke almost daily, but he refrained from mentioning it.

He went on to the bedroom to find dry clothes, only to stop at the mess in the bedroom. The bedding was piled on the floor and clothes were strewn here and there. A water pitcher was on its side on the floor and there was some sort of plate of food on a side table.

“Emma?” he asked. “What were you doing back here?”

She came to stand behind him. “I hate this room.” With that explanation, she walked in and tugged at the bedpost. “I want to move the bed over there.” She pointed to the wall to the right.

“We can’t move the bed with all the things on the floor.” Patrick came to her and attempted to nuzzle her neck, but she moved away.

“I am cleaning.” To his horror, she plopped down on the bed and began crying. “I don’t want the bed here anymore,” Emma said between sobs.

Not sure what to do, he neared. “Get up, Emma. I’ll move the bed. Let me do it.”

He tugged and pushed until the bed was repositioned. Emma let out a squeal of delight, rushing to him and throwing her arms around his neck. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what’s come over me. I didn’t mean to act so childish.”

He enjoyed the feel of his curvy wife against his body. He hugged her close and kissed her neck. “With this kind of gratitude, I’ll move anything you want.”

“I love you so much, Patrick.” Her declaration took his breath away. The words he’d been waiting to hear rang like a choir of angels and he found it hard to think beyond what she’d uttered.

Emma tilted her face up. She smiled brightly, trailing her gaze to his mouth. Taking her cue, he kissed her soundly, allowing her to guide him down to the bed. If ever there was a way to warm up, this was his favorite.

“You’re so cold,” Emma murmured between kisses, giggling when he slid his hands under her skirts.

“If you really love me, you would offer to warm me up.” He wanted to hear the words again.

Her lips curved as she peered up at him. “I do love you.” When she tugged him closer, they fell backward onto the bed.

Moments later, they moved in unison, the lovemaking frantic until Emma pushed at Patrick’s shoulders. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“N-now?” Patrick couldn’t stop as he neared climax. “I-I can’t stop.”

Somehow, she managed to twist and push him back as she leaned over the side of the bed and threw up into the pan they kept under the bed.

“S-sorry.” Emma wiped at her mouth and let out a moan. She studied him and giggled. Of course, he presented an awkward picture, lying on his back still fully erect.

He wondered at her erratic mood swings. Had she been drinking while he was out of the house?

He lifted onto his elbows and frowned at her. “It’s not your fault. Get dressed. We’re going to see Ma. She’ll know what to do.”

Pacing as she pulled her chemise over her head, Emma rattled off as if she’d not just been sick. “The bedroom is a mess. It’s been irritating me all day. I don’t feel up to going. Can you go and bring me back something? I can’t possibly go and get sick after eating. We’ll go in the morning. I need to pick up.”

While she prattled on picking one thing up and putting it back down, he went to the kitchen. On the shelf was a jug of whiskey, which was full. So she had not been drinking. He sat down and looked to the stove. His stomach grumbled.

He went to the fireplace to get his now dry clothes and put them on. “I’ll be back with something for you to eat,” he called out.

“Tell your mother I’ll see her in the morning,” Emma called back cheerfully.

Odd, very odd.

* * *

The next morning, the rain continued but, thankfully, it was only a drizzle. Patrick planned to let the animals out for fresh air for the day once he and Emma went to speak to his mother.

It was still early when they arrived at his parents’ and the aroma of bacon wafted through the air. Patrick smiled at Emma. “We’re just in time.”

Emma had turned a dreadful shade of green. “I’ll wait on the porch for a bit. I don’t want to get sick inside.” She lowered to a rocker, gripping the sides of it. “Oh goodness.”

After knocking, Patrick walked back to her and ran his hand over her back. “Breathe and relax. Hopefully, it will help.”

“Why are you standing outside?” His mother walked out and immediately hurried to Emma. “Are you ill?”

“She’s been nauseous and getting sick. This morning, she was fine until we got here.” Patrick looked to the door with longing and he felt bad that his hunger didn’t abate at his wife’s distress. “Could’ve caught what I had.”

Emma pointed to the door. “It was the smell of the bacon. My stomach has been sensitive the last few days.”

“Patrick,” his mother said to him, her face without expression. “Go inside and have breakfast with your father. I need to talk with Emma.”

For some reason, dread curdled in his gut and, like Emma, he lost his appetite. “I will stay and make sure she doesn’t require help.”

“Go inside, Son.” His mother met his gaze. “I believe this is a delicate matter between women that we must discuss without a man present.”

At the words, he backed away. Whatever happened, if it was a womanly thing, he would not be able to help in any way. Not at the moment anyway.

Strange, Emma had been enjoying their lovemaking. It wasn’t until quite a bit after they began making love that she’d gotten sick. Whatever ailed her had not impeded his wife from a teasing game of seduction the night before.

Patrick scratched at his head as he walked into the kitchen.

“Morning, Son,” his father greeted, motioning to his cup. “Pour me some coffee since you’re up.”

When Patrick settled at the table with a plate of bacon and eggs, he studied his father for a moment. “Pa, what do women mean when they say they have a delicate womanly matter to discuss?”

Finn looked past him to the doorway. “Is that what they’re doing now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could have to do with their monthly courses. Or with some sort of ailment that comes with that. It’s always about that it seems.”

“Emma asked me to heat a brick for her one time. We wrapped it in one of my old shirts and she held it against her stomach. Said it helped ease the