“You got him, Mrs. Tinley?” I ask a bit too late. She’s already on the ground with Ben’s large, limp frame on top of her. “Tommy, go help Mrs. Tinley.”

As Tommy does as he’s told, Mr. Jenkins tells me he’ll clean up the mess. This isn’t the first time someone’s gone down in Mr. Jenkins’s barn after seeing a sight like this. Thankfully, Mrs. Tinley assures me Ben didn’t hit his head. I can tell she took the brunt of the fall, but her additional words assure me she, too, is okay. Even so, she’s an elderly woman with a couple hundred pounds of dead weight in her lap, so I worry more about her than I do Ben. She’s country strong. But Ben’s down for the count.

From where I’m standing, I can see his chest rising like he’s enjoying a peaceful night’s sleep and his lips have quickly switched from ghost-white back to pink. Seeing it, I toss a wink to Mrs. Tinley and tell Tommy to run and grab a cold cloth. By the time he’s back with a rag, which is dripping water down both his hands, I’ve ditched my bloodstained apron and switched places with Mrs. Tinley.

After I wrap the wet towel around the back of Ben’s neck and over his shoulders, he stirs and starts mumbling. “Don’t tell me I’m back. I hate this place. Get me the heck out of here.”

My heart sinks into the small area my stomach’s sharing with the baby, and I immediately stop skimming my fingers through the soft strands of Ben’s hair. Above me, I vaguely hear Mr. Jenkins tell Tommy to fetch some juice while Mrs. Tinley works at doing something beside me.

“On second thought, Thomas, grab two,” Jenkins says, most likely because he’s seen the uncontrollable shaking in my hands.

Mrs. Tinley places her palm on my shoulder and, for the first time ever, gives me a reassuring squeeze. “He’s dreaming, Addison. Never mind what you heard him say. I’m sure it ain’t what you think.”

Despite her kind gesture, my hormones kick in, and I fight the wetness welling in my eyes. I feel it ready and waiting to spill over the brim. Could it be true? Does he really hate it here? Is he counting the days until he can go back to Cincinnati?

Hoping it isn’t the case, I peer down at his handsome face and watch as a tear splashes against a patch of skin on his cheek. My chin begins to tremble. My breathing seems incomplete. And this time I’m sure the color is now draining from my face.

While I do my best to fight my reaction to what I heard Ben say, Tommy ducks back into the barn, sets one juice on the ground, and kneels next to me with the other glass held tightly in his hands.

He passes it over, then slips in a caring nod, watching me carefully as I wipe my face with one hand and wrap my fingers around the cold glass with the other.

“Umm, I think the baby’s hungry.” It’s all Tommy says.

Strange how a twelve-year-old knows when a woman’s in distress. I guess the vibes I must be sending off now are a pretty stark contrast from how I looked gutting the deer.

“Thank you, Tommy,” I manage to say, then, for the baby’s sake, down the juice in one swallow.

I don’t need them worrying about me. And they certainly don’t need to know my reaction wasn’t about the baby but rather the shock to my system from what I’d heard Ben say.

Trying to deflect, I hand the glass back to Tommy. My other hand hasn’t moved. It’s still cupped over the left side of Ben’s head, where I hope he never feels pain again.

“I’m proud of you, Tommy. You did really well today. I bet you can’t wait to go out and do it all over again.”

Tommy nods with a grin just as Ben starts to move. He lifts his head up and out of my lap. A chorus of “whoas” sound from all three of us, but our verbal concerns don’t seem to be heard. Slowly but surely, Ben sits up and immediately reaches for the side of his head.

He seems confused. And rightfully so. After all, he’s been down for a good two to three minutes.

His eyes seem to know exactly where I am because I’m the first person his focus locks in on. Almost instantly upon seeing me, he pulls my body into his arms and darn near knocks over his glass of juice.

“Addy.” His strained whisper blows past my ear. The tone sends chills racing up and down my spine. “There you are. Baby, what the hell just happened?”

Holding him back, I cling to his damp shirt, feeling a flutter kicking away in my belly. He called me “baby,” and it wasn’t like he was speaking to his offspring growing inside my abdomen. The word exited his lips with abandon, the tone as meaningful as the tight squeeze he’s maintaining around my waist.

I don’t really want to answer him. I just want to feel the softness of his short beard as he nestles his face into the crook of my neck.

Suddenly he scoots back, does a quick scan around, and then places both his hands over my belly. His brows scrunch together. He moves his hands frantically, checking me out. His appearance and actions tell me he’s overly concerned.

Lifting his chin, he meets my gaze. “Babe, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please tell me you’re okay. I felt the baby move, but you haven’t said a word. God, Addy, tell me everything’s okay.”

“Bender,” Mrs. Tinley cuts in, her tone one pitch shy of irate. “It’d do you some good to keep your mouth shut when you’re out cold and your words flowin’ when you’re awake.”

Ben seems to understand exactly what she’s saying. He tosses her an evil eye as I move the glass into his view, silently suggesting he take the juice and drink it.

While watching him through a few sips, I’m not sure why I haven’t spoken. I suppose I’m stuck in a rut, caught between knowing what I want versus what I can’t have.

I want Ben Peterson. But clearly, the country life just isn’t for him.