Chapter 72 Shocking Bad News
When they returned to the small courtyard, Lucas had already left. The yard was cleaned up and brightly lit.
Zachary led Quinley by the hand into the courtyard and turned on all the lights in the rooms. "Let's stay here tonight. Lucas will come pick us up tomorrow."
This place was far from Rosewood City, without the noise of traffic or the scheming of power struggles. Quinley hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time. She nodded. "Okay."
In this moment, time seemed to return to the past.
Zachary led her to the kitchen, where Lucas had left some supplies before departing. He opened the bag to reveal noodles and vegetables.
"Can you cook?" Zachary asked. Quinley could hear his stomach growling. After the long journey from Rosewood City, neither had eaten dinner, and she was truly famished.
"Yes." Quinley worked efficiently, pulling out two tomatoes from the bag, washing and chopping them, then beating eggs in a bowl. When everything was ready, she realized there was no firewood in the house.
"Go find some dry wood outside," she instructed.
"Okay." Zachary responded and his tall figure disappeared out the door.
Under the night sky, he bent down searching for dry branches outside the courtyard. Quinley felt uneasy and quickly followed him out. He was hunched over, seriously searching. The mountains had no shortage of firewood scattered along the roadside, but where there was wood, thorns often grew thick.
Zachary focused intently on gathering firewood, completely ignoring the tangled thorns. When he reached out to pull some branches, the thorns pierced deeply into his hands. He cried out and quickly dropped the wood.
Quinley hurried over and grabbed his large hand to look. His palm was covered in blood.
"Let me do it." She picked up a thick branch and beat forcefully at the areas with firewood, then pushed aside the thorns while collecting the wood with her hands. She gathered in front while Zachary collected behind her—they worked in perfect coordination.
Soon they had a small pile of firewood. "Is this enough?" Quinley turned to look.
"Not enough. We need breakfast tomorrow too—let's collect more." She planned comprehensively, making detailed arrangements, and Zachary cooperated fully.
After creating two small woodpiles behind them, Quinley finally stopped. "Let's go back and cook."
She picked up one pile, but Zachary stopped her. "I'll do it." He insisted, so she went into the kitchen first.
She lit the fire and cooked noodles. Ten minutes later, they each held large bowls, slurping noodles contentedly. Zachary had a good appetite—he quickly finished his large bowl and even drank another bowl of the noodle broth.
After eating, Zachary consciously washed the dishes while Quinley leaned back in a lounge chair in the small courtyard, counting stars. The wind was gentle, carrying a slight coolness like feathers brushing her heart—light and soft.
Zachary moved a chair next to Quinley and sat down. His masculine hormones mixed with a hint of sweat permeated the air.
Quinley suddenly remembered something. "Are there any sewing needles here?"
The courtyard maintained the simple appearance from when Doris had lived there. "I'll look around." Soon, Zachary found a sewing basket.
"What do you need this for?" He handed the basket to Quinley. She took it, found a sewing needle, and asked him for his lighter.
Flames shot from the lighter, quickly licking the needle tip. Zachary looked at her puzzled, not understanding.
Quinley looked up. "Give me your hand." She grabbed Zachary's large hand and spread it open. Under the bright phone flashlight, several brown thorns were embedded in his broad, thick palm.
Quinley bent her head, carefully using the needle to pick at the thorns, extracting them from his flesh. When finished, she touched her finger to her lips and applied saliva to his palm.
"Don't get it wet—be careful of infection."
The familiar words echoed in his ears. Memories revived in Zachary's mind. When he'd lived here with Doris, medical conditions were poor. Every time he scraped his knees, Doris would apply saliva to his wounds.
Whether saliva actually had antiseptic and antibacterial properties, Zachary didn't know. But this small gesture had warmed his heart countless times.
The phone flashlight suddenly dimmed, and the light before Quinley's eyes also faded. Zachary leaned down and kissed her lips.
Lips touching—he greedily yet restrainedly stirred her suppressed desires. Quinley wanted to push him away but had no strength left.
The wind that night was truly too gentle, and she couldn't help but fall into this damned tenderness.
Up and down, together and apart—the sparks of life's primal collision bloomed on this starry night. He firmly grasped her hand, wrapping it around his waist, leading her to swim in that mysterious ocean.
Much later, calm returned. Quinley lay on Zachary's chest, her long hair disheveled and scattered. Her eyes were hazy, her face like a peach blossom.
"Mr. Jennings, are we being too selfish?"
Zachary held her shoulder with one arm while tightly gripping her slender hand with the other. "I just want this moment to be perfect."
In this moment, she wanted to stay close to him. Drowsiness overtook her, and Quinley quickly fell asleep.
Zachary carried her back to the room. The bed was simple and narrow, so they lay cuddled together like two nested spoons. Both slept deeply that night.
When they woke, a violent storm raged outside with lightning and thunder. Quinley was terrified, constantly shrinking into Zachary's embrace.
"Don't be afraid—I'm here." He gently patted Quinley's back, helping her calm down gradually.
"Hasn't Mr. Murphy come yet?" Quinley broke free from Zachary's embrace and sat up.
The old house was in disrepair, leaking rain that splashed into small mud puddles with persistent dripping sounds. Both their phones were dead.
"With this storm, the village roads are impassable. Lucas won't come today." Zachary found pots and buckets from the kitchen, placing them where the roof leaked.
Drip, drop, drip, drop—the sound was quite crisp. He leaned against the headboard, holding Quinley, just listening to the raindrops hitting the containers.
The world seemed to quiet down, leaving only this clear sound of falling raindrops.
This rain was equally willful, lasting four full days. By the third day, the food Lucas had left was finished.
"Wait at home—I'll find something to eat." Zachary went out bareheaded.
The small village was sparsely populated with no nearby shops. He walked several hills without finding anything to buy. Eventually, he found an elderly man and obtained an old pumpkin from him.
Zachary, who had eaten every delicacy imaginable, was particularly content holding that old pumpkin. He trudged back to the small courtyard through mud and puddles while Quinley sat at the door eagerly waiting.
"We have pumpkin!" Zachary proudly handed the pumpkin to Quinley.
"Wonderful!" Quinley also broke into a brilliant smile.
That pumpkin became the most unforgettable delicacy in Quinley's memory.
But that very night, Zachary fell ill with a high fever. Even in his sickness, he still gripped Quinley's hand tightly.
"Don't be afraid—I won't leave you." Quinley soothed him gently, and only then did he relax his grip.
The small courtyard had no fever medicine, and the village had no clinic. Fortunately, Lucas had bought some ginger. Quinley brewed ginger tea for Zachary. After he covered himself with blankets and sweated profusely, his fever finally broke somewhat.
The rain finally stopped the next evening. Two days later, the village roads were clear again.
Quinley had been hoping and waiting, finally seeing Lucas arrive. However, she never expected that he hadn't just come—he'd brought shocking, devastating news.