“Only for a short time,” he went on. “To do the milking. You rest now.”

She nodded and closed her eyes. When she lifted her lids again, the room was suffused with the mouthwatering scents of biscuits and bacon.

Jonas placed a steaming plate on the night table and raised the shades. Stark, morning light streamed into the room. He thumped one side of the window frame and forced open the window.

A chatty robin took over for the mourning dove.

She squinted and winced. Squinting hurt, too.

His wet hair dripped dark spots onto a deep purple shirt. His face was clean-shaven and ruddy. “I’m sorry to wake you. But with that bump, I felt I had to.”

Her head was clearer, though no less painful, and her sinuses ached, too. Forgetting her bruised ribs, she heaved to sitting. A groan fought through her clenched throat.

He eased onto the bed and placed the plate, laden with scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits, into his lap. “Are you hungry?”

Her belly soured. “Not really.”

“You should eat.” He forked a bite of eggs, aimed it at her mouth, and raised a brow.

Even incapacitated, she wasn’t going to be fed like a toddler. She shot him a look and grabbed the fork. Cloudlike eggs dissolved in her mouth—almost a different substance from the gummy things she hitherto knew as scrambled eggs. She let out a moan and scooped a second bite. “Did you make this?”

His lips curled. “Not hungry, huh?”

When the plate was scraped clean, she lowered onto a pile of pillows and sipped honey-sweet tea. “I remember being in the van… I searched for your lane, but the bridge was washed out. How did you find me?”

He yanked off his boots, pulled his feet onto the bed, and stretched out beside her. The toe of his right sock pooched where someone darned it with thick yarn. “I heard you.”

Impossible. That wind was loud as a freight train. “How?”

“When the van lodged against the bridge, you hit your head, and the horn stuck.”

“And you heard it over the storm?”

He nodded.

A strange expression passed over his face and vanished in an instant. Guess she needed to get the horn fixed. She took in a breath. “My van!” The van was her baby. With no regard for pain, she strained upward. “Where is it?”

He took her hand. “I called a truck. Some men came and towed it to a repair shop.”

Jonas would no sooner abandon her van in the creek than he would a baby bird fallen from its nest. Not only did she trust him with her van, she trusted him with her life. Very possibly, she owed it to him. “Thank you.” She met his gaze. It was solid as bedrock.

“My pleasure.”