Muffled voices approached on long stretches of darkness, like gurgles of sound underneath the deepest recesses of water. The voices were impossible to decipher, stifled on clogged ears.

Finbarr's head swam sickeningly, his body aching from head to toe like a wildfire that had sprouted inside of him. The flames licked his legs, his arms, every muscle in his body. Only once had he remembered the torment of such pain—the days and weeks following getting buried beneath a flaming pile of barn remains.

His eyebrows furrowed as the memories consumed him. The fire. The blinding pain in his eyes. The scorching sensation that had covered his entire body from the burns that had afflicted him. But this pain was different. It was a deep, throbbing, aching pain. A soreness that refused to subside.

"He's waking up," a voice said, finally understandable when the fog of darkness cleared the slightest bit. "Get Da. Hurry."

Where was he?

He let out a breath, his lungs squeezing with the pained effort. Why did everything hurt so much?

A hand touched his shoulder, and he struggled to blink his eyes open over the heaviness of his lids. "Do you remember anything, Finbarr?" the same voice asked. "You must've hit your head hard, judging from how much you bled."

Tavish.

Different memories flashed across his mind. Stinging cold. Biting rocks. Grady's shivering wet form. He remembered the wagon getting caught on the bridge, and then the water that had washed over them in an instant, too quickly to avoid.

He blinked several more times as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was lying on a bed. A soft one. It wasn't his own. The room was so very blessedly warm, as if more than one stove was burning at a time. Tavish certainly was in the room with him, but he also heard several more pairs of feet shuffling nervously on the other side of the room. The way the bed sunk in near his feet told him that somebody sat near to him. There were at least four people in the room, and that didn't count the person that just left to fetch Da. Six people.

Seven, he corrected himself when he heard Eimear's heavy breathing next to him in the bed.

He was at Joseph Archer's house. That was the only logical explanation.

"Do you remember anything?" Tavish asked again. "Anything at all."

Finbarr turned his head toward Tavish's voice, hardly able to manage the feat. He was starting to suspect that on top of his aching, sore muscles, someone had given him powders. They always made him feel sluggish and not quite there in the mind, which was why he avoided taking them altogether.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice dry and raspy. Thankfully, someone held a cup of water to his lips, and this time it wasn't full of dirt. "I'm sorry," he tried again, the sound now clearer. "I don't mean to be a burden. Was anyone else hurt?"

"That's just like you," Patrick chuckled, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Always worrying about others before yourself. That much hasn't changed."

"Mr. Johnson suffered from a cut in the leg in need of stitches," Tavish answered. "Joseph's wagon will need quite a few repairs before it can be used again, and we lost some supplies."

Although he couldn't see, he could sense the tension in the air, thick and full like a large wool blanket. "What aren't you telling me?"

Blazes, his body ached.

A larger hand touched his shoulder, and he recognized it as belonging to his da. "We searched for you for hours, son," Da said slowly, his voice full of sorrow. "I reckon you were in the water a good long while before Grady pulled you out."

At the mention, a new, acute pain pulsed in his arm. He weakly touched it, only to find bite marks in his skin. Grady likely would have had to tug him fiercely to have gotten him out of that raging current.

"He's such a good boy," he whispered exhaustedly. "I need to thank him. Is he outside?"

The silent tension returned, and his heart accelerated uncomfortably, only managing to add to the pain of the rest of his body. Was Grady hurt? Finbarr had smacked his head real good. Perhaps Grady broke a leg or an arm during the rescue. Oh, he hoped not.

This time, Tavish spoke, and that only managed to fill him with dread. Tavish always dealt the bad news. "Grady saved your life, Finbarr. We found you cold and shivering on the banks of the river. If you were out there any longer, you would have died. Grady..." Tavish swallowed audibly. "He laid on top of you to share his body heat. To keep you warm. He...He didn't make it."

It suddenly felt as if he was looking down a long, unforgiving tunnel. Tavish was at the end of that tunnel, and Finbarr was at the other, hardly able to understand what Tavish just said.

"You mean..." he said slowly, only barely keeping himself together. "You mean he didn't make it to the Archer's house. He's still at home. Laying by the fire."

"No," Tavish said quietly. "I mean that Grady is dead. We...We buried him in your wheat field. We agreed it was the best place."

Heartache hit him at full force, and he was far too weak to stop the tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes. A sob escaped his mouth, and then another one. He hid his face in the crook of his elbow as the weeping came in earnest. Grady was his best friend. His loyal companion. His guide dog.

And now he was gone.

A gentle pair of arms wrapped around his neck, and he instantly recognized Emma's touch. He turned his face into her shoulder, weeping for the loyal friend he had lost. She didn't say anything, just simply held him as his emotions dislodged from the dam in his heart. How could this have happened? It just wasn't fair. Life already took his sight from him. Why did it have to take Grady too?

He cried until there were no more tears left to spill, only adding exhaustion to the burdens his body carried. He couldn't help it as he started to fall asleep against her shoulder, feeling like a teenager again when Ian and Biddy had lost their little girl, his niece, and Emma had comforted him through his grief. She had always been there for him. Always.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "Finbarr, I am so very sorry."

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He would get through this. He wouldn't break almost beyond repair like he had when he had lost his sight. This time, he would be strong. For Emma.

"He was my best friend," he said. "We went everywhere together."

"I know," she said, stroking his hair with her soft fingers. The action was enough to lull him toward sleep, but he fought against it. He didn't want to sleep.

She held him for several more minutes, and that was when he realized that the others had trickled out of the room. He did hear noises just outside in the hall, as if his family was conversing without him.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek, momentarily surprising him out of his grief. Could that possibly be more than just a friendly kiss? He wanted to take her face between his hands and kiss her senseless if only to find out if she would kiss him back, but he wasn't sure he had the strength.

"I have no doubt that you're hungry," she said a bit shyly. "I promised you a real meal, and I plan to deliver on that promise today. I won't be far, Finbarr. Just downstairs. I promise."

He stared after her retreating footsteps, completely speechless. Something seemed different about her. Was it possible that she had finally chosen what she wanted? Had she finally chosen him?

He hardly dared to hope.

Moments after her departure, several bodies filed into the room, followed by kind words and loving embraces from his family members. He was so grateful for them. All of them. And he was grateful to be alive. Grady had saved his life. He would never forget that.

"I am so happy you're all right," Ma cried, sniffing back her tears.

"Well..." Tavish said innocently. "Except for your toes. We had to cut a few of them off."

"What?" Finbarr squeaked, trying but failing to pull the blanket off his feet.

His brothers laughed all while Tavish struggled to apologize between breaths of laughter and groans of pain as if Ma held him by the ear. He wouldn't put it past her to hold a grown man by the ear.

"Your toes are fully intact, Finbarr," Ma said, followed by something that sounded remarkably like a swat and another laughing groan from Tavish. Finbarr was grateful for Tavish's laughter. Otherwise, he felt like he might fall apart.

He laid back on his pillows, exhaustion overcoming him. Fighting against the water current as long as he did had nearly done him in. Every single limb felt heavy and sore, and lying in bed seemed to be about the only thing he could do.

"Please forgive me," Patrick said. "I didn't mean to let go."

"Anyone would have," Finbarr said quietly, finding a newfound respect for the brother he hardly knew.

"How's that for your first taste of Wyoming, Patrick?" Pa chuckled, though his voice sounded on edge. He was obviously putting up an appearance for Finbarr's sake, and for once, he was grateful for it.

"Welcome to Hope Springs," Tavish said with a hint of a jest. "It's been a while since the last incident. We were due for one, you know."

His mouth twitched, but he couldn't quite laugh. His heart ached far more than his body did. He missed Grady so much. How could his heart possibly recover?

As if sensing his turn of emotions, his ma started to shoo everyone from the room. "Biddy'll have a pot on for dinner. I'll stay with Finbarr to see to his needs—"

"We'd be happy to look after him until he recovers," Katie said, cutting into the conversation. If Finbarr had been strong enough, he might have jumped at the sound of her voice. How long had she been there?

"Are you sure?" Ma asked worriedly. "He's my little baby."

And again, he would have winced at that, but he was far too weak and exhausted to care.

"Quite sure," Katie confirmed. "I love Finbarr like one of my own. You've been here for days. You need some rest too, you know."

Days?

Finally, Ma relented and in the next minute, the house was quiet when the O'Connors made their exit. Katie was heavent sent. He always floundered in chaotic noises and crowds, even if that crowd was his own boisterous family.

"Finbarr?" a small voice asked shyly, and Eimear stepped into the room. "Can you read me a story?"

He reached out a feeble hand and pulled Eimear into the crook of his arm. "Not today, A stóirín." Though he only made up the stories because he could no longer read, Eimear loved it when he "read" to her. "Perhaps tomorrow."

He kissed the top of her head and relaxed into her fond sisterly snuggle.

Another set of footsteps entered the room, and he immediately recognized them as Emma's. Despite his frail state, his heart rate picked up at her nearness.

"Do you think you will be able to eat potato soup and bread?" she asked.

With a nod, he gave her a grateful smile. "That sounds wonderful."

Just beyond the doorway, Katie called to Eimear, "Come down for dinner, sweetie. Let Finbarr rest."

Eimear ran from his arms, and he and Emma were suddenly blessedly alone. Unless Joseph stood as still as stone in the corner, but he didn't pick out any sounds other than Emma. She carefully set a bowl of soup in his lap, guiding his hands to where he could find the spoon and a piece of bread.

"Thank you," he whispered, though he meant far more than for just making him dinner.

"Don't thank me just yet," she said cheerily before placing something in his hand. He brought it to his nose and picked out the fresh smell of berries. A berry tart.

He forgot his soup entirely and took a bite of the berry tart, memories of years past coursing through his raw emotions. Tavish always said that Finbarr was far too emotional for his own good. He was starting to suspect that his brother was right.

"Do you know why berry tarts are my favorite?" he asked, feeling as if the tart gave him back a little piece of his energy.

"Because they taste good?" she ventured a laughing guess.

He continued to smile and reached for her hand, and moments later, he found his fingers laced with hers. It felt so good to hold her hand again. It had been far too long. "I believe I was twenty-two at the time, and you were fifteen. My family and I had just finished building my house, and you came over with a basket full of berry tarts for a room full of sweaty men. You placed a tart in my hand, and your fingers lingered there for a few seconds longer than necessary. It stirred up emotions I didn't realize I had inside me. It was the first moment I realized I was in love with you." He lovingly caressed her cheek. "Berry tarts are my favorite because they remind me of you."

Emma sniffed loudly and held his hand to her cheek. "I thought I had lost you, Finbarr. I saw the river drag you under. And then we couldn't find you for hours. I couldn't..." Her chin trembled under his palm. "I could never live without you. I love you so very much."

In a single moment, he felt as if his entire world had fallen into place. He had been waiting for a declaration of love from her for such a long time, one where it had been exactly the right time.

"I love you, Emma," he whispered.

However, his expression of love turned into full-blown panic when he realized that the shirt he wore was flannel and not cotton. This was not his shirt.

He gasped, panic racing through him as he bolted upright, only to brace himself when a wave of dizziness washed over him. He was not wearing the same shirt he had worn before he had been swept away by the river.

"Where's my shirt?" he gasped, placing his bowl of soup on the bedside table and attempting to pull the blankets off of himself, but his movements were sluggish and weak.

"You're wearing a shirt, Finbarr," she said, gently pushing him back down into the soft pillows.

"Not this one. Where is my shirt?"

Panic nearly consumed him, and if it wasn't for his weakness that was no match for Emma's insistence that he lie down, he would have leaped to his feet and rushed downstairs. He needed his shirt. But in the chaos of the storm and the flash flood, he was terrified it was gone. Surely, it got washed away down the river, lost by the current forever.

Emma smoothed her fingers over his hair and pressed a sweet kiss to his temple, which nearly made him forget his underlying panic. "Your clothes have been drying by the fire. I'll grab your shirt, but you better promise me you won't get out of this bed."

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, his neck muscles aching even as he performed that simple feat. It felt like torture to hear her footsteps walk away from him, and his heart continued to race, on the edge of panic as he waited for her to return. At last, he heard her footsteps on the stairs, and then she handed him his dry cotton shirt. The first thing he did was fish inside the breast pocket, where he felt the diamond ring still nestled safely inside. The locket was no longer there, but the ring had somehow gotten trapped in the threads of the pocket, otherwise he would have lost it to the river. It was too precious to lose to the river.

"You seem overly fond of that shirt," she laughed, obviously not aware of the ring.

A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as he laid back against the pillows, working on untangling the ring from the threads and holding the ring safely inside the palm of his hand.

"Overly fond hardly begins to explain it," he smiled exhaustedly, taking her hand in his free hand. He had always thought he would have been beyond nervous to propose, but he didn't feel nervous. This felt right. He needed Emma in his life like he needed air, and he couldn't wait any longer. Not even several more days for him to gain back his strength.

"Would you like me to fetch your pants as well?" she asked jokingly. "I promise they are right as rain."

He shook his head, wishing more than anything that he could see her face.

"I always get you and your siblings something at the depot every year."

"And you got me this shirt?" Emma chuckled. "I've always wanted a shirt."

"Shh," he said with an amused chuckle of his own. It was not easy to propose when the woman wasn't taking him seriously. "I thought it was perfect for you and Joseph agreed."

His protesting, aching muscles didn't object in the slightest when he relaxed his grip on the ring and opened his palm. Emma gasped immediately, though she didn't say anything for the longest time. Until she sniffed, he hadn't realized she started crying.

"I feel like I have been waiting years to ask you this question, Emma," he said softly, encouraged by the way her thumb caressed the back of his hand. "I'm ready. And if you aren't, I can wait longer if you need me to. I love you with all my heart, Emma, and I'm asking you now if you will become my wife."

Emma's quiet sniffles turned into sobs as she threw her arms around him. It was all he could do just to hold onto the ring as she placed kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, and finally his lips. His stomach flipped pleasantly as he slipped his hand behind her neck and pulled her closer.

"Yes," she whispered against his lips. "A thousand times yes."

Finbarr smiled into the kiss, suddenly feeling as if he were living in a dream. Emma had apparently rejected Peter so soundly, that he almost expected to get the same treatment. But whereas Peter received a watery rejection, Finbarr received a watery acceptance.

Despite his aching body. Despite the cuts and the bruises and the ache inside his heart, he was happy. With Emma at his side, he knew everything would be all right.