Читать книгу Lies And Lullabies: Courting the Cowboy Boss - Джанис Мейнард, Yvonne Lindsay - Страница 13

Six

Mellie located both medicines and fetched orange juice from the kitchen, as well as a notepad to record the time. She didn’t want to be responsible for overmedicating her patient. With a little prayer for patience, she returned to the bedroom.

It was a relief to know that Case hadn’t been lying sick and alone in this big house for three days. But that also meant he still had tough hours ahead of him. The flu had hit early this year and with a vengeance. Many people had been caught off guard, thinking they still had time to get a flu shot. Fortunately, Mellie had already gotten hers.

Now she knew why Case hadn’t answered her text this morning. He’d been out cold, maybe since he’d stumbled home last night. Poor man. She sat on the edge of the bed again, choosing to ignore the fact that the poor man was worth seven or eight figures. Even so, he was human. And at the moment he needed her.

She put a straw in the juice since she wasn’t sure she could coax him into sitting up. “Case...” She spoke in a loud voice, hoping to rouse him. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes.

“Case.” She touched his arm. While she’d been in the kitchen, he had tossed back the covers. His body was still hidden from the waist down, but a broad masculine chest was on display.

His skin was hot. Too hot. She said his name a third time. Finally, he lifted one eyelid. “Leave me alone.”

Grumpy and sick was better than semiconscious. “Dr. Reese—Parker—said you need to drink some juice and take something for your fever.”

Case rolled to his side, taking the covers with him. He started shivering again. Big, visible tremors that shook the bed. “Parker c-c-can kiss my a-a-ass.”

Exasperated, she glared at the lump of truculent male. “You told me to call him.”

“Did not.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She moved around to the other side of the bed and crouched so she could reach his mouth with the straw. “Drink this. Now.” She was only slightly astonished when he opened his lips and sucked down a good portion of the OJ.

The muscles in his throat worked. “Tastes good.”

“Of course it does. Now open up one more time. You have to swallow these pills.”

She tapped his chin. He cooperated, downing the medicine without protest, but afterward he blinked and focused his fever-glazed eyes on Mellie. “Did you just poison me?” he asked.

“Don’t tempt me.” She glanced at the clock. Hopefully, his temperature would improve in half an hour or so. She grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over Case. “Better?”

His nod was barely perceptible. “Thank you.”

Those two words went a long way. He might be sick and ornery, but at least he had enough sense not to alienate the only person helping him. “I’ll check on you again in a bit. Sleep, Case. That’s all you need to do.”

Unexpectedly, he reared up in the bed. “Gotta go to the bathroom.” He lurched to his feet before she could stop him. And promptly fell over like a giant redwood. His head caught the edge of the bedside table as he went down. A trickle of blood oozed from the small wound.

Dear God in heaven. Save me from stubborn men. She got down on her knees beside him. “Are you okay?”

He rolled to his back, his face ashen. “I never get sick,” he said, a look of puzzlement creasing his brow.

His bafflement would have been funny in another situation. But their predicament erased any humor she felt. How in the heck was she going to put him back in bed?

“Can you get on your hands and knees?” she asked. “I’ll help you up.”

“Of course I can.” Five seconds passed. Then ten. Case didn’t move. His eyes were half-open, his attention focused upward. “Please tell me there aren’t really snakes on my ceiling.”

“Your fever is very high. Those are swirly lines in the paint.”

“Thank God.” He closed his eyes, and his breathing became heavy.

Mellie rubbed his arm. “You said you needed to visit the bathroom. Let’s go.” Her heart contracted in sympathy, but she kept the drill-sergeant tone in her voice.

She pushed on his hip, hoping to give him a nudge in the right direction. Finally, muttering and coughing, he rolled over and struggled onto his knees.

“Good,” she said. All men responded to praise, right?

Putting her arm around his shoulders, she urged him upward, her back screaming in protest. Fortunately, his brain got the message, and he finally stood all the way upright, albeit with a little stagger.

Slowly, carefully, she maneuvered him toward the open bathroom door. She had cleaned every inch of this luxurious space. It was now as familiar to her as her own. But somehow, with the master of the house sharing it with her, the area shrank.

Case noticed himself in the mirror. His mouth gaped. “I look like hell.”

“No argument there.” She steered him toward the commode.

Her patient locked his knees suddenly, nearly toppling both of them. “I don’t need your help.”

She counted to ten. “If you fall in here, you could kill yourself on the ceramic tile.”

“I’ll hold on to the counter.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t as if she wanted to be privy to a personal moment, no pun intended.

Case leaned on the vanity. Mellie retreated and closed the door. She hovered in the middle of the bedroom, half expecting any minute to hear a crash. Instead, nothing but silence.

At last the commode flushed and water ran in the sink. Finally, she heard something she hadn’t expected at all. “Mellie? I could use a hand.”

She opened the door cautiously and found him sitting on a bench underneath the window. His face was pasty white. He looked miserable. The fact that he had actually asked for help spoke volumes.

Without comment, she leaned into him and looped her arm beneath his armpit and around his back. “You ready?”

He nodded. It was hard to keep a professional distance from a guy when pressed hip to hip with his big, muscular body. Fortunately, the brief trip across the bedroom rug passed without incident. She managed with Case’s help to get him underneath the covers and settled with his head on a pillow.

Without thinking, she put a palm to his forehead to gauge whether or not his temperature was improving. Though Case was clearly befuddled, he raised one eyelid. “You should go home.”

His voice was hoarse and thready. She could barely make out the words. “I marked off my book today to work on your house. I’m cleaning the kitchen. It’s no trouble to check on you now and then.” It was possible he didn’t even hear her response. Already his chest rose and fell with steady, harsh breathing.

There was nothing she could do for him now. Instead, she returned to the kitchen and tackled the mess she had made. She had learned a long time ago that to completely overhaul a closet or a cabinet meant creating chaos in the beginning.

The rest of the day crawled by. Dr. Reese’s reference to bland foods was a moot point. It was all she could do to coax Case into drinking water and juice from time to time—that and keep him medicated.

At five o’clock she had a decision to make. She didn’t have a child at home or a husband waiting. If she’d been in the middle of something jobwise, she would have stayed an extra half hour to complete the task.

But the kitchen was mostly finished, no mess in sight. And Case’s request to put his house in order came with no timeline, no urgency. So there was no reason for her to hang around except for the fact that Case Baxter was sick and alone.

They barely knew each other...at least if you overlooked the not-so-subtle physical attraction and the way he had almost kissed her earlier in the week. Still, this wasn’t about flirting or finding a possible love interest or even indulging in some carnal hanky-panky.

Her current situation was dictated by the need of one human to help another.

Wow, even in her head that sounded like pretentious rationalization.

Finally, she worked out a compromise between her conscience and her sense of self-preservation. She would wait for Dr. Parker Reese to arrive, and then she would head home.

Seven o’clock came and went. Then eight. Then nine. The sun had long since set. Outside, the world was cold and gray. Case’s house echoed with silence.

Mellie lived alone, and she was perfectly happy. Why was she so worried about a man who chose to be a bachelor? He liked his freedom and his privacy. It was only because he was sick that she felt sorry for him. Surely that was it.

At nine thirty Case’s cell rang, with Parker Reese’s number appearing on the caller ID. Mellie had kept Case’s phone with hers, not wanting him to be disturbed.

She hit the button. “Hello? Mellie Winslow here.”

Parker sounded harried and distracted. “I am so sorry, Ms. Winslow, but we’ve had two moms check into the hospital in early labor and they’re having problems. I’ll likely be here most of the night. How is Case?”

“He’s sleeping. The fever is down some, but it hasn’t broken.” She’d found a thermometer in Case’s bathroom and had kept tabs on the worrisome numbers.

“You’re doing the right things. Don’t hesitate to call or text if he seems dramatically worse.”

“Oh, but I—”

Parker said something to someone in the background, unwittingly interrupting Mellie’s response. “I’ve got to go,” he said, his tone urgent. “Keep me posted.”

Mellie hung up and stared at the phone. How had she gotten herself into such a predicament?

She wandered down the hallway and stood in the doorway of Case’s bedroom, watching him sleep. Today was Friday. The only things she had planned for the weekend were laundry, paying bills and a movie with a girlfriend on Sunday afternoon. Nothing that couldn’t be postponed.

But what would happen if she stayed here? Case might be furious.

Then again, could she live with herself if she went home and something happened to him? He was wretchedly sick, certainly not in any shape to prepare food or even to remember when he had taken his doses of medicine. As long as the fever remained high, he might even pass out again.

Her shoulders lifted and fell on a long sigh. She didn’t really have much choice. Only a coldhearted person could walk out of this house and not look back. Even if Case hadn’t been handsome and charming and sexier than a man had a right to be, she would have felt the same way.

It was no fun to be ill. Even less so for people who weren’t married or otherwise attached. Fate and timing had placed her under the man’s roof. She would play Clara Barton until he was back on his feet. When that happened, if he tossed her out on her ear, at least her conscience would be clear.

Her bones ached with exhaustion. Not only had she worked extremely hard today, she’d spent a lot of time and energy on her patient. Suddenly, a hot shower seemed like the most appealing thing in the world. Fortunately, she kept spare clothes in the car for times when she needed to change out of her uniform.

Though it seemed like the worst kind of trespassing, she made use of one of the guest bathrooms and prepared for bed. She found a hair dryer under the sink and a new toothbrush in the drawer. In less than twenty minutes, she had showered and changed into comfy yoga pants and a soft much-washed T-shirt.

Case’s king bed was large and roomy, and he was passed out cold. She would get more rest there than if she slept in the guest room and had to be up and down all night checking on him.

That reasoning seemed entirely logical right up until the moment she walked into his bedroom and saw that he had, once again, thrown off the covers. The man might have the flu, but looking at him still made her pulse race.

She would have to set the alarm on her phone for regular intervals, because Case was still racked with fever. When she managed to get the thermometer under his tongue and keep it there for long enough to record a reading, it said 101.2 degrees. And that was with medication.

No telling how high it would go if left untreated.

She gave him one last dose of acetaminophen, coaxed him into drinking half a glass of water and straightened his covers. After turning on a light in the bathroom and leaving the door cracked, she stood by the bed.

When this was all over, he would be back to his bossy, impossible self. But for now, he was helpless as a baby.

Refusing to dwell on how unusual the situation was, she walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down carefully. Case was using two of the pillows, but she snagged the third one for herself. There was no way she was going to climb underneath the covers, so she had brought a light blanket from the other bedroom.

Curling into a comfortable position, she reached out and turned off the light.

* * *

Case frowned in his sleep. He’d been dreaming. A lot. Closer to nightmares, really. His head hurt like hell and every bone in his body ached. Not only that, but his mouth felt like sandpaper.

He had a vague memory of someone talking to him, but even those moments seemed unreal.

Suddenly, the shaking started again. He remembered this feeling...remembered fighting it and losing. Aw, hell...

He huddled and gritted his teeth.

Above his head, a voice—maybe an angel—muttered something.

He listened, focused on the soft, soothing sound. “Oh, damn. I didn’t hear the alarm. Case, can you hear me? Hold on, Case.”

Even in the midst of his semihallucinatory state, the feminine voice comforted him. “S’kay,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”

Vaguely, he was aware of someone sticking something under his tongue, cursing quietly and making him drink and swallow. “You are definitely not fine.”

The angel was upset. And it was his fault. “Hold me,” he said. “I can’t get warm. And close the windows, please.”

The voice didn’t respond. Too bad. He was probably going to die and he’d never know what she looked like. Angels were girls, weren’t they? All pink and pretty with fluffy wings and red lips and curvy bodies...

Belatedly, he realized that if he survived whatever living hell had invaded his body, he might get struck dead for his sacrilegious imagination.

Suddenly, his whole world shifted from unmitigated suffering to if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. A body—feminine, judging by the soft breasts pressed up against his back—radiated warmth. He would have whimpered if it hadn’t been unmanly. Thank you, God.

One slender arm curved around his waist. “You’ll feel better in the morning, Case.”

The angel said it, so it must be true. Doggedly, he concentrated on the feel of his bedmate. It helped keep the pain away. Soft fingers stroked his brow. Soft arms held him tight.

Maybe he would live after all.