There was a vast difference in size and strength between a man and a woman. As Silas Thorne pitched forward, Joyce Monroe staggered back half a step, nearly falling to the floor. She had no choice but to hug him tighter to steady herself.
"Mr. Thorne? Are you all right?" Joyce Monroe frowned.
"No." His head was resting against her neck, and when he turned to speak, his breath was searing hot.
His voice was hoarse and weak.
It had rained yesterday. When he held the umbrella for her, the rain had soaked through most of his clothes. And he hadn't drunk the ginger tea meant to ward off the cold. He must have caught a chill.
"I'll take you to the hospital."
"I'm not going." His tone was firm.
Joyce Monroe caught sight of a shattered glass on the floor out of the corner of her eye. That must have been the noise she had heard just now.
