by Judy Baer
“It’s Merry. Can I bring your breakfast up to you? It will be noon soon, and I imagine you want to get to Blue Earth.”
Jack mumbled something that sounded like “water.”
“Excuse me, but I didn’t quite get what you said. Did you want water? I can bring up some cold bottles if . . .” She pushed open the door and came to a complete stop.
Jack was still in bed. Every blanket, throw, and coverlet in the room was piled on top of him, the fireplace was roaring, and when she checked the thermostat, it was set on eighty-five degrees.
Always so put together and unruffled, this was a new Jack. His hair was sleep tousled, his face flushed, and his forehead beaded with sweat.
Her substantial nurturing instincts coming to the fore, Merry crossed the room and put her hand on his forehead. He was burning up. And despite the stiflingly hot room and heaps of covers, he was also shivering uncontrollably.
When she touched his cheek, he opened his eyes. “Sick,” he muttered, stating what was already supremely obvious to Merry.
She hurried into the bathroom and began to run cold water in the sink. When she’d soaked a washcloth in the icy water, rung it out, and picked up a container of bottled water, she returned to Jack’s bedside. She laid the cold rag on his forehead and he winced slightly, as if the cold pained him. Then she opened the water bottle and, with her hand supporting his shoulders, made him drink.
She felt like she’d touched a hot fireplace poker as she withdrew her arm. He must have a temperature of at least 104.
“I’m going to call my doctor,” she announced in the direction of the bed.
“I just need some sleep.”
“If your temperature gets any higher, you’re going to need the fire department. In fact, that might be a good idea. I’m going to call the ambulance.”
“No!”
“Then I’ll take you to the clinic.” She said it firmly, not believing for a minute that the man could even stand up.
There was nothing but a groan from the bed.
Merry marched down the stairs and called the clinic.
“Sounds like he needs to be seen,” the nurse informed Merry. “If he can’t get here on his own, you’ll have to call the ambulance. Do you have a thermometer?”
“Somewhere. I can dig it out.”
“Take his temperature and call me back.”
“Okay,” Merry said hesitantly. The woman might as well have said to wake a grizzly bear from hibernation and stick a thermometer in its mouth.
It took her several minutes to unearth the thermometer. When she returned to Jack’s room, she was surprised to see him sitting on the bed. He’d dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt but his feet were bare. He was sweating profusely, as if the labor of getting dressed had taken every ounce of his strength.
And it probably had, Merry thought. Jack looked, as her mother used to say, “like death warmed over.”
“What’s this? You’re up.”
“I’m not going anywhere in an ambulance.” His voice was low and throaty, and it sounded as if it hurt him to talk.
“Then you’ll let me take you to the doctor?”
“I told you, I just need more sleep.”
She brandished the thermometer in his face. “We’ll do this. If your temp is under 102 degrees, you can stay here. If it’s more, we go to the doctor. Now open up.”
* * * * *
“Your thermometer has to be wrong,” Jack muttered as they drove toward Blue Earth. He was perspiring again but still shivering. She’d warmed up the car, given him three blankets to put over his legs, and insisted on his bundling up like a child going outside to build a snowman.
Thankfully the exertion of getting dressed and into the car had worn him out, and he fell asleep almost immediately. She knew he would have complained for eleven and a half miles if he were awake. She glanced over at him and smiled. In repose, he looked younger, and she could imagine the little boy that he’d been. Without the tension of responsibilities showing on his features, he was incredibly handsome, so unlike the legend of Jack Frost, the imaginary sprite that had managed to haunt him his entire life.
His lips were parted, his features flushed, and his long dark eyelashes fanned out from his closed eyes. Merry’s heart jolted unexpectedly at the affection she felt for him. To her dismay, she realized she also felt a less welcome emotion—attraction.
That would have to stop. He was a transient guest in her home and a potential source of pain and trouble for a number of people she counted as friends. There could be nothing serious between them. They were on opposite sides of the fence over what should happen to Frost . . . and Christmas.
They needed a wheelchair to get him into the clinic because Jack’s knees kept buckling when he walked, and he was immediately put in an examination room.
“Stay with him till the doctor comes in, okay?” the middle-aged nurse with a compassionate smile said. “I don’t want him passing out and hurting himself.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Jack muttered, but he also didn’t tell Merry to leave the room.
When the doctor arrived, Merry stood up to leave. She felt Jack’s hand on her arm. “Stay.”
She dropped back into her chair, surprised by his request.
Dr. Henderson was a brisk, efficient, and dedicated physician. It didn’t take him long to make his assessment of Jack. “We’ll do x-rays, but my guess is he has double pneumonia and a nasty virus going on. In fact, we can do the x-rays in the hospital once we admit him. I’ll put him on some . . .” Henderson began doctor-speak about medications and their dosages.
“No hospital,” Jack croaked.
“You could also have strep throat,” the doctor said as if he hadn’t even heard Jack. “Your throat is raw. We’ll run a test for that as well. I’ll send the nurse in to help you get admitted.”
“No . . .” Jack protested, but the doctor was already gone.
“It’s okay,” Merry assured him. “You’ll get better more quickly with IVs and good care. It’s much better than lying around my house until you have no choice but to call for help.”
“You’ll be late for work,” he said, surprising her.
“Thank you for thinking of me, but I called Abby. She’s taking care of things at the store. And there’s no school today. That’s why Greta got to stay up so late last night. Oh dear. Do you think making snow angels with Greta had anything to do with it? It had to be chilly on the ground.”
The nurse entered with several papers and directions to hospital admissions, and there was no more conversation.
Later, Merry re-read the same Arthritis Today magazine for the third time as she sat in the hospital family room. She wasn’t even sure that Jack would want to see her once he was settled since she was basically responsible for putting him here.
Finally a nurse entered. “You can go into Mr. Frost’s room now.”
Merry jumped to her feet. “How is he?”
“We’ve made him as comfortable as we can, and his temperature is down a little. He looks exhausted, so if you want to speak with him, you should go now.”
Quickly Merry gathered her purse and jacket.
“Hey,” she said as she stood over Jack’s bed. He was frightfully pale and very still.
His eyes opened slowly. “Hey, yourself.”
His voice was scratchy and his smile wan, but she felt a flicker of relief. He was important to her, she realized, although it was difficult to explain why she felt such attraction to this man who’d managed to criticize much of what she held dear.
“Is there anything I can do?” She felt helpless and surprisingly upset.
“Can you stay?”
“Here?” That was the last thing she’d expected him to ask. “With you?”
“Just for a while. I hate hospitals.”
“Sure. I’d be happy to.” She pulled a chair next to the side of the bed and sat down. Merry was not only taken aback at his request but curious as to what was be
hind it. Maybe nothing. Maybe he just wasn’t crazy about being alone right how. She didn’t doubt she’d feel the same.
“Jack, when was the last time you were in the hospital?”
Pain flickered in his eyes. “When Jamie died.”
“No wonder you don’t like them. Don’t worry, I’ll stay as long as you want.”
He nodded as his eyes drifted shut. In moments, he was asleep.
When she was sure he wouldn’t wake, Merry slipped into the hall outside his door and called Abby.
“What’s going on?” Abby demanded. Merry hadn’t explained her absence beyond “Jack is sick.”
“I’m in the hospital. They just admitted Jack. He’s very ill. Double pneumonia, they think. I don’t know what else.”
“That’s awful!”
“I’m going to hang around for a while. I want to talk to the doctor. In fact, would you open the store tomorrow too? Things are so up in the air.”
“Don’t worry about it. In fact, I’ll ask Hildy if she’ll come over and help me. She can wrap gifts and keep the coffee and cookies going. That would help me a lot. You take the day off. Rest, if nothing else.”
“You are the best, my friend. Thanks so much.”
“What are friends for but to help in time of need? Take care of yourself, hon. I’ve got to go. There’s a three-hundred-dollar sale heading toward the till right now.”
Merry stepped back into the hospital room where Jack was sleeping and sat down beside him. As she looked at him, she wondered who it was she should call to inform them of his illness. He’d said he had a couple cousins, but what could they do if they had young children at home? She’d have to wait until he woke up to ask him. In a worst-case scenario, she could call his work. A man as handsome as Jack surely had a girlfriend who’d be worrying about him.
And if she were going to stay for a while, she wanted to be comfortable—or at least as comfortable as possible in a hospital room. She arranged the recliner and one other chair as best she could in order to stretch out, then leaned back to try to get some rest.
Perhaps she’d close her eyes for just a moment. . . .
Chapter Thirteen
• • • • • • • • • • • •
“Miss? Miss?”
Someone was shaking her shoulder as Merry swam up from a deep sleep. “Hmmm?”
“Would you like a tray?”
Her eyes popped open. “Is it lunchtime?” She tried to straighten, but it was as if her muscles had molded to the chair.
Jack was still sleeping. His tousled dark hair, unnaturally rosy cheeks, and dry lips, slightly parted, were appealing, like those of a small boy sleeping. His vulnerability did something odd to Merry’s insides.
“Not lunch. Dinner. It’s roast chicken. Would you like some?” The aide held out a tray. Merry’s stomach turned at the sight of milk and juice in paper cartons. The institutional covers over the plastic plates and the tiny packets of salt and pepper didn’t bode well in her mind, but she nodded anyway. She’d slept away the day and her stomach was growling.
Next, the aide shook Jack by the shoulders. He winced and groaned, as if the touch hurt him.
“Why don’t you come back in ten minutes with his tray?” Merry suggested. “If you can keep it warm till then, I’ll wake him up and help him.”
The aide looked relieved. “That would be great. The hospital is very full. There’s a nasty bug going around, and our numbers are up.”
Nasty bug indeed, Merry thought as she ate the pale piece of chicken and a baked potato. Both foods were the same color, and she wondered if boiled chicken wouldn’t have been a better description. The squash was colorful but watery. Still, it tasted wonderful to someone as hungry as she.
How on earth had she slept so long? She’d have to chalk it up to exhaustion. Nights had been short and days long all month. She set aside her tray when the aide returned with Jack’s dinner. Quietly she removed Merry’s empty tray and left again. Merry hated to wake Jack, but he needed nourishment as well.
“Jack? Can you hear me? Can you wake up for dinner?” She put the tips of her fingers on his cheek and felt the unnatural heat there.
“Not hungry,” he muttered.
“I’m not sure that matters. You haven’t eaten. If you don’t, the doctor will put you on a feeding tube, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”
The bedclothes stirred, and he opened his eyes. “I want to go home.” He stared at her with a dark intensity that belied his condition.
“Home?” she echoed. “To California? Do you realize how long a trip that is?”
“Not there. Your place. I can sleep just as well there.” He punched weakly at his pillow before closing his eyes.
So now he considered her place home?
She tinkered with the salt and pepper packets on his tray before she said, “You can talk to the doctor about that when he comes by. If you aren’t eating, I’m sure he won’t consider releasing you.”
Not that he would anyway, Merry thought, but at least it got Jack struggling to sit up in bed.
He wasn’t doing a good job on his own, so Merry pressed the bed’s control button and, with her arm around his back, helped him up. She could feel him trembling and realized what a toll this had taken on him already. Sick or not, Jack was big, strong, and masculine, and it felt right to be holding him. Merry felt herself reluctant to let go.
Surprised at herself, Merry steadied him and left him to sit on his own. She didn’t understand why Jack elicited this feeling within her. Jeff didn’t. Zeke hadn’t. The cute but persistent telephone man, Kip, didn’t. She’d even disliked Jack when she’d met him. What was going on?
With every bite he took, Jack made a face, as if she were feeding him something awful. “This isn’t as good as your food,” he finally said.
“I’m so glad!”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I cook small portions for me and my B-and-B guests. I don’t have to feed a building full of people. Considering the task, I think they do pretty well.”
“Hmm . . .” He looked at her with unfocused eyes that slowly drifted shut.
His head lolled, and she could see him slipping off to sleep again. Merry eased his bedside table away, helped him find a more comfortable position on the pillow, and sat down to keep watch over him. She really should go home and tend to business, but she just couldn’t leave. The man was sick, and there were no family or friends to look after him. And she really didn’t mind. Asleep—and not bashing Christmas—was how she liked Jack Frost best.
* * * * *
Why was everyone trying to wake him up? Jack thought irritably as the voices in the room grew louder. Couldn’t a man sleep when he wanted to? And he felt so rotten . . . every muscle and bone in his body ached. Even his hair and his fingernails hurt.
His head was filled with little men wielding sledgehammers and pounding stakes into the backs of his eyes. He heard a groan and realized he was the one making it. Maybe he’d been hit by a truck. A semi. With a full load. Of iron.
“Here he comes.” This time it was a male voice that spoke. Jack opened his eyes a slit, long enough to see a white coat and the end of a stethoscope. “Good morning, Mr. Frost. Remember me? I’m Dr. Henderson.”
Jack felt someone settle on the edge of his bed. When he opened his eyes he saw the doctor peering down at him and Merry hovering anxiously over his shoulder.
“Wha . . . happened?” he managed.
“Basically, you caught a bad bug and quickly developed pneumonia. You’re dehydrated. You’re getting IV fluids and antibiotics right now, and we’re going to keep a close watch over you. This stuff can turn nasty.”
“Turn nasty?” Merry blurted. “It’s already nasty!”
The doctor nodded and checked Jack’s chart. “I’ve ordered respiratory therapy, and we’ll give him oxygen if he needs it. I’m going to start him on potassium, and I’ve also ordered frequent blood draws to watch his white blood c
ount.” He turned to Merry. “Are you his wife?”
“No . . .” She felt a blush spreading across her neck and cheeks. Little did he know!
The doctor turned to Jack, who, although his eyes were closed, seemed to smile a little. “Is there anyone you’d want me to give information to should you be unable to answer for yourself?”
“She’s okay,” Jack said without opening his eyes.
“Very well.” The physician closed the chart, nodded to Merry, and turned to leave.
When he was gone, Merry neared the bed. “Are you sure you want to do that? Is there someone I should call? Family or friends? I’m hardly qualified to . . .”
“No one.” He shifted restlessly as if he couldn’t find a comfortable spot. “Everyone I know is in California.”
She wanted to press him, but he was obviously miserable. She’d try again later.
Unfortunately, later was a long time in coming. As the evening progressed, Jack’s fever elevated and his already fitful sleep grew even more restless.
Merry became alarmed as the parade of nurses, phlebotomists, and x-ray technicians grew.
Her cell phone rang, and she slipped into the hall to answer it.
“Hi, it’s Abby. What’s going on?”
“He’s really sick. Really sick. I don’t know what to do.”
“Come home and sleep, that’s what. He’s in the hospital. Besides, he’s not your responsibility.”
Merry hesitated. “That’s not exactly true.”
“What do you mean? He’s a complete stranger!”
Merry turned away so the nurse coming down the hall couldn’t hear her. “The doctor asked for a next of kin or someone to confer with if Jack couldn’t.”
“And Jack chose you?” Abby didn’t try to keep the shock out of her voice.
“There wasn’t exactly a roomful of options. I was there. He didn’t have much choice.”
“I suppose . . .” Abby’s tone was doubtful. “What does it mean, exactly?”
