He would’ve slept already were it not for his awareness of Becca’s every movement in the small kitchen area as she cleaned the lunch dishes and began preparations for supper. She’d hid out in the barn for more than an hour before finally coming inside to heat up a huge pot of bean soup for lunch. The effects of a full stomach and clean clothing were lulling him into a relaxed state that not even his aching thigh could disrupt. Amy paused, finger pressed to the page to hold her spot. “What’s for supper?” “Venison stew.” Speculation flared in the pixie face. “Did our secret benefactor deliver the meat?” Twisting at the waist, Becca shot Amy a quelling look. When her gaze speared him, he stopped scratching at the itchy stubble on his chin and lowered his hand to his lap. Surely she didn’t suspect him? “What’s all this about?” he questioned Amy.
