“I ordered...wh-whiskey... didn’t I?” Thorn mumbled, when Daisy returned and held the cup of warm liquid to his lips. The teeth of his upper jaw rattled against the crockery mug as a chill shook him, and the eyes that stared at her were wide, unfocused and overbright. He’s delirious, she realized. Oh, when will Dr. Walker get here? What if the fever goes so high that he has a convulsion? What will I do then? Oh, Lord, help me! “Drink this,” she ordered, in a firm but kind voice. “You’re ...sick, Thorn, and we need to get your fever down. And I’m Daisy, not Lucybelle. Do you know where you are?” He looked around him with reddened, bleary eyes and wiped his sweaty forehead on his shirtsleeve. “No,” he admitted. “But wh-wherever it is, it’s mighty hot—then sometimes cold as a blue norther. H-how’s it changing like that? You—you’re not Lucybelle? No, I... Now that I’m lookin’, I—I guess I see that you ain’t.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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