Strung

by Costa, Bella

  "You look more like a jeans kind of girl," she says smiling "But this might be easier to get on without hurting your ankle. I also have some new underwear that should fit you and a pair of shoes." She glances at my strapped foot. "Well, okay... a shoe!" We both laugh again.

  "Thanks, I'll pay you back for the underwear."

  "What? No! Even the dress honey, keep it. I can't wear this stuff anymore! I was going to donate it all anyway."

  "Is your brace permanent?” I ask quietly, sensing the sadness that has crept over her.

  "I will eventually get a smaller, less obvious one, but yes. I'm stuck with it."

  "What happened?"

  "My husband and I had an argument about something and he had been drinking heavily. I told him I would drive but...well men are stubborn, aren't they! He didn't make it." Her eyes shimmer with un-shed tears.

  "I'm sorry." I take the dress from her and lay it on the bed.

  "It's done." She says brushing imaginary lint off her arms.

  "Will you be alright?" I ask, in awe of her bravado.

  She looks me square in the eyes and smiles wistfully. "One day I will be. For now I'll just keep practising."

  Chapter 4

  I close my eyes, willing myself to relax. Aside from the mutiny of USS Acacia by rebellious hormones, the unfortunate twist of events leading to my captivity in the luxurious wilderness of the Cascades and my near constant state of humiliation over the last twenty-four hours – I think am holding up pretty well.

  I scowl, remembering sitting in my office, the day the two suited detectives strolled in and slapped a search warrant on my desk. Just a few days before I had closed a deal to refurbish the two hundred and thirty nine guest rooms, of the Four Seasons Hotel in Denver. I was anxiously waiting for the hotel's approval, for the twenty-one suites as well. I could not have asked for a more prestigious contract. With that under my belt, I would finally be able to expand the business.

  The detective looked almost apologetic as he asked me step away from the computer so I could not delete evidence. Two days later, my world effectively crashed around me. Robert, in a calculated act of retribution, had stolen it all. Including the deposit paid by the Four Seasons to cover materials. How had I not seen it coming? Worse still, I could not prove that I was not involved.

  This was why I needed to take control. Trust no one but myself. I am still trying to clear my name and rescue what there is of my reputation. Gratefully, a generous chunk of Washington State's influential, have been supportive. Soliciting funds for the shelter would be near impossible otherwise. I suspect having Victoria on the shelter's board has helped.

  I groan inwardly, rubbing my forehead between a pruned thumb and forefinger. Grant estimated the trial would run on for another year still, but if they have reopened the investigation into Robert, the trial will probably be delayed due to the possibility of new evidence arising. As much as I want Robert held responsible for his actions, I want my part in this mess, over and done with.

  I scrub my hair and body, trying to erase the memory of Robert, from every cell. Thoroughly scrubbed and dry, I tidy up the bathroom. Wrapping myself in a huge soft bath towel, I crack the bathroom door open a slither and peer down the corridor. All clear. I quickly swing across to Savannah's room on my crutches. Savannah has neatly laid out the dress, a camisole with built in support and matching panties on the bed and a pair of soft black ballet type shoes on the floor.

  I dress and comb the knots out of my hair with a comb left on the bed before finger drying it under a hairdryer I spy plugged into a socket. I study myself now in front of the full-length mirror attached to one door of the wardrobe.

  The dress is stunning. So simple. Holding on to the ornate bed frame for support, I turn to look at the back and pucker my lips in satisfaction as the dress swirls sensually around my legs. I smooth my hair down and grab the crutches. Acacia is back in control. I grin smugly.

  When I return to the large living room, Savannah is seated stiffly at a small writing desk I had not noticed earlier. She is talking on the phone and her voice is soft but authoritative.

  "Morgan, you are over reacting. No. You do not need to call in the Marines. Besides, if we can't get out, no-one will get in." She looks up and notices me, giving me a reassuring smile. "All I'm saying is Chayton needs to stay here for a couple of days. I am sure you can sort something out. Thank you."

  She hangs up the phone and swivels the small office chair to face me. "Well the pass is closed, so I'm afraid you're stuck here for a few days, until we can get it cleared. He doesn't know it yet, but Chayton will be staying here with you."

  "You're going somewhere?" I ask confused.

  "Yes, a friend is getting married in two weeks and she is completely hopeless so I'm going to spend a few days helping her get organised."

  "But the pass?” I ask, sinking into a chair.

  "She lives on the same side of the pass as us I'm afraid."

  "Oh. Okay. How long before the pass is clear?" I ask. This is not a welcome development.

  "A couple of days."

  "I um, have important business to attend to in Seattle on Monday," I reply, thinking about the proposal I wanted to go through with Grant.

  "Well, it's possible...but not likely. Can your business be done via video conference, or email? We have facilities here, which you are more than welcome to use."

  I chew on my lip in thought. I could ask Grant to email the proposal over with his notes and arrange a conference call for Monday evening with the full committee. If I can get my Black Berry charged, I can at least keep in touch with the accountant and with Grace. Other than that, I am sure life will carry on just fine without me. If I can keep busy, I can hopefully avoid spending too much time with Chayton as well.

  "Yes. Thank you. I guess I can work remotely. Do you have a charger for a Black Berry? Mine is dead."

  "I'm sure there is one in the office. Shall we have lunch first?"

  We stand and both wince loudly.

  "Gosh, we are a pathetic sight," she giggles rubbing a spot on her back tenderly.

  "Yes we are. The last of the great walking wounded!" I sigh in amusement and Savannah bursts out laughing again.

  ~.~

  25th March

  "Sit. I think I can manage to put a breakfast together," Chayton orders and with relief, I slump onto a dining chair at the table. Savannah left last night when her friend came to collect her. I have discovered that there is a full time cook and cleaner but she is on leave for a few days, so Chayton and I are completely on our own. I do not know what rock he crawled under but this is the first time I have seen Chayton since the good doctor's visit yesterday.

  He is looking hot as ever, although his stubble is getting a little out of hand. This morning he is wearing dark black jeans and a loose fitting white t-shirt, his feet are bare and his hair is a sexy mess.

  I watch him move gracefully around the kitchen, more at home in the space than most men I've known. Within minutes the coffee machine is gurgling softly, filling the house with its rich warm aroma and the smell of bacon under the grill is just starting to permeate the air.

  Chayton is completely focused on something sizzling in a large pan; the eggs I think. One hand subconsciously smoothes the skin on his neck and jaw repetitively. As I watch his knuckles stroke rhythmically from his Adams-apple to his ear, I imagine what those fingers would feel like against my throat.

  "How do you like your eggs?" he asks.

  "Dead will do," I reply.

  "Dead huh?" His face splits in a huge grin as he throws me a glance.

  "Yup. No little chicks running all over my plate, thank you." I return his infectious grin.

  "Two dead chicks, coming up!"

  He dishes up our food with organised efficiency and sets our plates down on the table. I am starving and ladle my eggs and mushrooms onto my toast to make a huge toasted sandwich and dig in, grumbling when a few mushrooms escape.

  Chayton eats a li
ttle more refined and as I watch him, I start to feel guilty about my rather messy table manners. I put my sandwich down and endeavour to chew through the generous mouthful I have taken, without filling my cheeks. After a few mouthfuls of egg and mushrooms, Chayton stops eating and pushes his plate away preferring to nurse his coffee.

  "Not hungry?" I ask.

  "I am, but I think I'm coming down with something. My throat and jaw is feeling a little tight and raw."

  "Maybe just a cold?"

  "I've never had a cold in my life."

  "Then perhaps you are long overdue," I mutter.

  "I suppose there is a first time for everything."

  I take another bite of my sandwich, a smaller one this time, and we sit in silence for a few minutes.

  "It's good to see a woman eat properly," he comments making me blush. "Most women insist on eating like rabbits. You work out?"

  "I keep fit. It helps control the stress." I murmur around a mouthful. Your table manners Acacia!

  "We have a small gym at the end of the left wing. You're welcome to use it."

  "Thank you. I might just do that." Immediately my mind starts compiling a twisted-ankle-safe workout, as I finish my sandwich. He stands and clears the table, washing up in double time and loading the dishwasher. He stubbornly refuses any help.

  "I have some work to do in my office. I will be a couple of hours if you think you can keep out of trouble. Explore the house a bit if you want."

  "I think I'll read." I noticed a good collection of books on a shelf in the living area.

  He nods and stalks off, his hand at his throat again.

  ~.~

  It is lunchtime before Chayton reappears and tears me away from a Wilbur Smith novel. I glance up as he walks into the room and eases himself onto a couch.

  "God, you look awful!" Sexy, hot, adorable and green around the gills.

  "Gee thanks," he mutters.

  His face is flushed and his neck and jaw looks like it is starting to swell on both sides.

  "Let me get you something cool to drink." I start to climb to my feet, grappling for the crutches.

  "I have a sore throat, I'm not paralysed. Sit!" he orders sternly.

  He stands and makes it three steps before his eyes glaze and he stands swaying gently. "Oh"

  "Chayton! Sit down before you fall down!" I yell.

  Slowly he sinks back onto the sofa and rests his head back, one arm draped loosely across his eyes. I have managed to get myself into a standing position and untangled the crutches when I hear him moan.

  "I don't feel so good."

  Shit, is he going to throw up? "Chayton, what do you need?” I ask urgently. He just shakes his head slowly under his arm, his lips pressed into a firm line. "Hold on."

  I scoot across into the kitchen, as quick as the crutches will allow and manage to find a small bucket under the sink. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge on my way past. With the bottle tucked under my chin and holding the bucket and crutch together in my right hand, I quickly scoot back to the sofa. I barely have time to get the bucket between his legs when he leans forward and retches. Lovely! I am not a queasy person, but something about seeing this strong manly hunk reduced to this, pulls at my stomach and heart.

  I leave him wrestling with his stomach and head to a bathroom in search of two towels. When I return it looks as though he may have stopped retching, for the time being anyway. He is still leaning forward on his knees and groaning mournfully into his hands. I offer him a towel to wipe his face drape the other loosely around his neck. When he has recovered a little, I pass him the bottled water and he takes a few tentative sips.

  "Thank you."

  "My pleasure; I think."

  "Must have been something I ate."

  "I don't think so," I say thoughtfully. "How long has your throat being playing up?"

  "It's been bothering me a little for about three days. Only this morning it's got quite bad."

  "Mmm. Look at me." I settle awkwardly into the seat next to him and he turns toward me.

  "Chin up." He obediently lifts his chin and I feel his glands. I avoid looking directly into his eyes; the feel of his skin under his soft stubble is enough to quicken my pulse.

  "Mouth been dry?" He nods a little uncertainly. I know the feeling!

  "Ever had Mumps?" He shakes his head.

  "Been vaccinated?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well given that you appear to have a case of the dreaded Mumps, I very much doubt it." I sit back letting my hands drop to my lap suddenly aware of his knee pressing against mine.

  "Really! Mumps is for little kids," he looks at me incredulously.

  "I helped my mother a lot; she was a doctor. Out in the bush I saw many cases of Mumps, Chicken Pox, Measles and Malaria. Believe me, adults are not immune from kiddies maladies."

  "I'll go and call the doc."

  "Sit, I'll do it."

  "Isn't it contagious?"

  "Yes," I reply.

  "What about you?"

  "I was vaccinated as a baby. Besides - if I were going to get it, I would have already - helping my mother at the clinic. Unless you develop complications, there is nothing the doctor will be able to do for you anyway. A couple of painkillers for the pain and fever, a compress for the swollen glands, plenty of fluids and bed is the best thing for you - Now!” I order softly.

  Chayton stands - bucket, towels and water in hand - and creeps off towards the left wing of the house and I assume the room he is staying in. I ring the number for the doctor who visited yesterday and run Chayton's symptoms by him. He is in full agreement and I promise to contact him if there is any change.

  I check the time and decide to explore the gym before allowing myself a late lunch. The gym is very well equipped. I search through Savannah's closet for sweat pants and a tee shirt and hit all the machines that do not require the use of an ankle.

  Forty minutes later I have showered, re-strapped my ankle and I am ready for lunch. I decide to search out Chayton first to see if he wants to attempt a bowl of soup. I find the door to the room I think Chayton has crawled into. It is the only door in the left wing, which is closed. I knock gently but get no reply.

  Slowly opening the door, I poke my head into the room. It is a huge room, bigger than Savannah's. The furniture is all dark, heavy wood. The white walls are broken by soft burgundy drapes and one wall is panelled in wood. I find him, facedown, on top of burgundy satin bed covers, still fully dressed.

  I swing into the room on my crutches, the plush cream carpet, absorbing the sound. He looks so helpless, lying there. Very gently, I lean over and sweep his fringe off one closed eye. They say cuteness is what separates reptiles from the rest of the animal kingdom. Cute instils feelings of protectiveness in us. It is the lack of cuteness, which explains why reptiles do not nurture their young, apparently. Right now, I just want to gather this adorable creature into my arms, soothe his troubles away and make everything all right. No chance!

  "This wasn't quite what I meant, when I sent to you bed!” I complain waking him up. He cannot sleep in those jeans, but he does not look in any condition to take them off himself. Well he will just have to. I have limits.

  "Chayton, stand up please." I rest on my crutches, waiting as he struggles up. "Jeans off!" I order. While he struggles with his jeans, I try not to look, but can't help notice his beautiful toned legs and the tightness of his butt cheeks as the muscles move under his boxers. I am definitely hormonal. I would not normally notice these things – well not in full Technicolor. If I did, it would be a brief 'that's nice' and I would be able to push the thought out of my head. Now, with this man, it is all I can think about. I just can't get the frustrating thoughts out of my head.

  I fold down the covers of his bed. When he is down to t-shirt and shorts, I gently push him onto the bed and fold the blanket over him. I give the bucket a quick rinse in the en-suite bathroom before setting it back on the floor within his reach. His neck has swollen
a little more and I suspect it could still get worse.

  "Do you think you could keep soup down?"

  "Uh-uh."

  "Very eloquent Chayton. I'll go and make some, just in case. Get some sleep in the mean time."

  I head to the kitchen. The crutches are going to make life very complicated. I ditch one of them to free a hand and search out some ingredients for a wholesome homemade soup. I will make a large batch and keep it in the fridge. Yes, that is what I will do. It can be warmed up as needed, over the next few days. Soon I have a neat little production line going. Peeling and chopping, reaching over to the sink to wash on my left and dumping in the pot on my right. It is not long before I have the pot simmering away happily and my nose is back in my book.

  I am putting the final touches to the soup and it is already getting dark when I hear noise down the corridor. I head off in that direction to see what's up.

  Chayton is lying in his bed, drenched in sweat, with the blanket pulled up to his chin. This is not good. A high temperature is normal but I do not need a thermometer to know he has a raging fever. I need to try to bring his temperature down and his drinking water is finished.

  Hobbling, with one crutch to the bathroom, I turn on the shower and adjust the temperature to lukewarm, I find a glass on the vanity and fill it will cool water from the sink and head back to the bedroom.

  "Chayton, sit up." He moans and tucks himself into the blankets tighter. "Come on, up you get," I order firmly.

  I gently tug the blankets and sheets and reluctantly he lets go. He sits up, hugging himself tightly, his teeth chattering. Shit the sheets are soaked through. I pass him the glass of water and wait until he's polished it off. He is obviously thirsty, hardly surprising given how much he has been sweating but I can tell he is also struggling to swallow.

  "Come on, get up. I need to get you into the shower." Shivering, he climbs out of bed, and shuffles to the bathroom with me following close behind.