Goldie, buried in a mound of quilts, had slipped into a light slumber. Earlier, she’d found one of Dani’s flannel nightgowns and a pair of Phoebe’s Snoopy slippers for her icy feet. Luke was uneasy with the question of a concussion still unresolved. The last time he’d checked, her pupils were normal and responsive to light, but she also had three nasty bumps on various sides of her noggin. He’d feel better when she could be checked into the hospital, but for now the storm had settled in over them like a broody hen.
He should phone his mom or she’d pin his ears back for making her worry. He could feel it, even with miles and Mother Nature between them. He felt reluctant to call her or his brothers. He hadn’t planned this. So why didn’t he want to talk about it? He tried the words out in hi
