by Marla Monroe
“Look at her arm. It’s awful swollen. Is it supposed to do that?”
Brandon slipped between him and the bed and pulled back the cover to look at Heather’s arm. It looked even larger to Bolton since the last time he’d looked at it.
“Yeah, it’s pretty swollen. It’s gonna swell some from all the trauma, but I’m afraid she’s going to end up with an infection, too. It’s too early to tell, though. We’ll keep it clean and dry. I’m going to get a towel to put under it, and we’ll keep the cover off of it. Grab a pillow and let’s elevate it some, so maybe it won’t throb when she wakes up.” Brandon stood up and walked over to the bathroom, then returned a few seconds later with a towel.
Bolton sat aside his meal and helped him situate her arm on the pillow and towel. They folded the cover back away from it.
“Can’t we get those bloody clothes off her?” Bolton asked.
“Not now. Let’s wait until we see if she’s going to run a fever, then we’ll bathe her and changed her clothes.”
“You think she’s going to get sick, don’t you?” Bolton sighed.
“Her arm is too puffy already.”
“What can we do for her if she does get sick?”
“Keep her dry and comfortable and pray. It’s about all we have to work with, Bolton.”
Brandon started to walk away, but Bolton stopped him. “Why, Brandon?”
His brother didn’t say anything for a long time. He didn’t even turn back around to look at him. Finally his shoulders dropped and he hung his head.
“Because I was a fool. I wanted her to love me like she loves you, but all she sees me as is her keeper. She thinks I feel like I’m stuck with her, so I’m making the best of it.”
“That isn’t true, Brandon.”
“I know that now, but before…” He didn’t finish. Instead he drew in a deep breath and walked out of the room.
Bolton rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. The whole world was fucked up, and they were still screwing up their own little piece of it, as well.
Chapter Seven
Brandon and Bolton took turns sitting with her the rest of the day and into the night. Around four that morning, Brandon touched her forehead and found it burning up. She was spiking a fever. He cursed and grabbed the thermometer he’d found in the first aid kit and ran it along her forehead. It registered one hundred and five degrees.
“Bolton! Wake up.” He pulled the covers off of her and began undressing her.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Bolton sat up in the bed and watched him in horror.
“She has one hundred and five temperature. We’ve got to get it down. Help me take her clothes off, and go get wet towels. We’ll bathe her and see if that will bring it down.”
Bolton disappeared into the bathroom. Brandon heard the water running. Then he was back with several cool, wet towels. They washed her down with them. Brandon placed one of them across her neck, and another across her forehead. After a few minutes, he took her temperature again, but it hadn’t changed.
“Fuck! It’s not working.”
“What can we do?” Bolton had pulled on a pair of jeans now, and was struggling into his socks.
Brandon searched his mind for what they could do to break her fever. All he knew was to keep bathing her in cool water. He couldn’t put her in a cold tub because of the wounds on her abdomen and arm. They couldn’t get the stitches wet. Panic tightened his throat and lodged a rock in his chest.
“Go downstairs and get one of the washtubs. Bring back some more towels and we’ll run cold water in it and keep bathing her with it. It’s all I know to do right now.”
By the sound of it, Bolton ran down the stairs. He’d be lucky if he didn’t break his fool neck, Brandon thought. Shaking his head, he removed the drying towels and replaced them with wet ones again. Her fever was drying them out as fast as he replaced them.
When Bolton returned to the bedroom after filling the washtub with cold water, Brandon had him help hold her up so he could try and force more water down her. She fought it, but they managed to get a little more in her.
“Roll her over and let me bathe her back,” Brandon told his brother.
After he had cleansed her back, they began laying cold, wet towels over her body, working through the rest of the early morning hours. At a quarter of seven, Bolton finished dressing and took his turn at doing the daily chores and tending to the animals. Brandon remained with Heather, sponging her down over and over. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, but he wasn’t giving up.
Several hours later, Bolton returned and took over the job. Brandon stood up and stretched. He felt like death warmed over. Then he felt guilty for thinking that. He was healthy, and Heather was fighting for her life. He crawled up next to her in the bed and took her uninjured hand in his. Then he willed himself to sleep. He needed as much rest as he could manage, so he could stay up with her again that night and relieve Bolton.
He must have dozed at some point, because Bolton shook him awake.
“I need to check the cows and fix us something to eat.”
“What time is it?”
“A little after noon.” Bolton waited for him to shake himself awake and climb out of the bed. “I’ll be back up in a few hours, and then we need to talk.”
Brandon grimaced, but nodded. He was right. They needed to talk before Heather woke up. They needed to settle things before they had to face her. Dear God. Let them have to face her.
He checked Heather’s temperature and found it was still 104. He didn’t know what else they could do. He continued bathing her in the cold, wet towels and forcing Tylenol down her every four hours. All the time he was caring for her, he was thinking about how he should have been caring for her all along.
You were a fool, Brandon. She tried to let you know she cared about you over and over again, but your stupid fucking pride just wouldn’t believe it.
Instead, he had felt sorry for himself because he believed she loved and cared about his brother, and only tolerated him. She had said that he was her keeper, her jailer. He believed she meant it. Maybe she had in the beginning. He’d been tough on her, but it was dangerous in the world today, and he was responsible for making sure she was safe. There was that word again, responsible.
Several hours later, Bolton returned with a grim expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just trying to figure out how in the hell we ended up in this mess.”
Brandon shook his head. “It’s all my fault. I let my feelings get hurt and made a mountain out of a molehill.”
“If you didn’t love her, why did you keep fucking her at all? You could have said something to me. I would have talked to her, and it would have been all right, eventually.”
“Because I do love her, dammit!” He ran a hand over his face. “I’ve loved her ever since she stepped out of the back of that trailer in Barter Town.”
“I don’t get it. If you love her, why did you pull away from her like you did?”
“Remember when we first got home with her? She said I didn’t really care about her. That she was just a responsibility, and I was her jailer. She kept away from me after that, and nothing I did got her to warm up to me. I let it get to me and refused to let her under my skin, but she was already there.”
“Why in the hell would you go and act like a fucking three-year-old?” Bolton demanded.
“Because I didn’t believe she could love me and you, both.”
“Now we might never know,” Bolton said.
Brandon continued changing out the towels on Heather’s neck and forehead.
“So you were jacking off in the shower and she caught you.”
“I’d been trying to pull back, so you and she could maybe bond and be a couple. I honestly didn’t think she could ever care about me like she did you. I felt like I was forced on her.”
“She cared about you, Brandon. Hell, I think she even loved you.” He hit the d
oor facing with his hand. “And we’re talking about her like she’s gone or something.”
“I can’t get her fever down, Bolton. We’re going to lose her if I don’t get it to break.”
“Maybe it would be better to soak her in the tub and just let the damn stitches get wet.”
“I know. Hell, why didn’t I think of it before?” He ran out of the room with Bolton calling after him.
“What?”
“Just a minute,” Brandon called over his shoulder as he took the stairs two at a time.
He grabbed a box of freezer bags out of the pantry and opened the back door to scoop up snow and ice into each one of them. When he had four bags of ice, he closed the door and ran back up to the bedroom.
“What?” Bolton asked again.
“Here, take these and put them at her groin. Hold them there. I’m going to put these under her arms. I remember now, when you had the measles and ran such a high fever that mom did this to you to get the fever down.”
They pressed the bags of icy snow at her pulse points where the blood would grow cooler as it passed by the bags of ice. Brandon went down again and replaced the thawed water with more ice bags two more times before her fever finally broke. Once it got down to a little over a hundred, Brandon stopped the ice treatments and they cleaned her up and dried her off.
It took both of them to dry her and change the sheets each time she sweated more of the fever off. They took turns with the animals and farm chores. Neither of them got much sleep, but she was doing better, and all Brandon could do was pray that the fever hadn’t caused any brain damage. He knew that could happen, but hadn’t mentioned it to Bolton.
On the third evening, Brandon was forcing more water down her when she opened her eyes for a few brief seconds. He was so excited he opened the window and called out to Bolton to come up quick. His poor brother nearly broke his neck running up the stairs.
“What is it?”
“She opened her eyes for a few seconds. She’s coming around now.”
“Ah, hell yes!” Bolton grabbed the chair and sat down to rub his knuckles across her cheek. She turned her head into it.
Brandon smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. Maybe it had been forever.
“Can you hear me, baby? Wake up for us, Heather. We miss you.” Bolton brushed her hair away from her eyes and leaned in and kissed her lips.
She licked her lips and made an “mmm” sound. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes again.
“She’s waking up.It won’t be long now,” Bolton predicted with a wide smile creasing his face.
“What were you doing? I’ll go finish it and you can sit up here with her for a while,” Brandon offered.
“I was finished and coming in the house anyway. Don’t go anywhere. She might wake up. She’s going to want to see you.”
“I’m probably the last person she’s going to want to see.”
“You’re not pulling away until I hear her tell you she doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’re going to explain, just like you did to me, what you’ve been doing,” Bolton argued.
Brandon shook his head, but sat on the edge of the bed and willed her eyes to open. He missed seeing their sky blue orbs with the twinkle in them when she was amused or up to something.
When they finally did, he breathed a sigh of relief.
* * * *
Heather felt as if her arm had been through a meat grinder. It didn’t just ache. It hurt enough there were tears in her eyes. She moaned and opened her eyes to see what was wrong with her arm. Both brothers were there. Brandon sat on the edge of the bed near her knees and Bolton sat on a chair next to the bed at her side. Something was wrong.
“Hey, baby. I’m so glad to see you awake.” Bolton placed his palm against her cheek.
“Hurt,” was all she could manage to get out.
Bolton grabbed a bottle of something and handed it to Brandon. Then he helped her sit up while Brandon pushed two pills between her lips and held a glass of water to her mouth. She swallowed the pills with a little sputtering, but managed to get them down. She took a few more sips of the water and then turned her head away. Bolton eased her back down in the bed.
“I know your arm hurts, but how do you feel other than that?” he asked.
“Tired.” Her voice came out in a husky whisper.
“Get some rest, Heather. When you wake up I’ll get you some broth to eat. You need to eat something to fight the infection.” Brandon stood up after squeezing her leg through the covers.
Heather wanted to know what was wrong with her arm, but couldn’t keep her eyes open. The lids were so heavy. She closed them, but could hear everything going on around her.
“She’s going to be okay, now,” Bolton said.
“Yeah, she’s going to be fine. I’m going to go cook up some chicken broth for her. She’ll probably wake up again in a little bit. I want to get at least a few spoons of it in her. She’s weak and needs the protein to heal.”
“Thanks, Brandon. You know she would have died if you hadn’t been here. I couldn’t have taken care of her alone.”
“You’d have managed.”
Heather couldn’t figure out what was going on. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened to her? Something bad had to have happened for them to act like she’d almost died.
Several hours later, she managed to pry open her eyes again, and this time Brandon was in the room with her. He smiled when he realized she was awake.
“Hi there, sleepyhead.”
“Hi.”
“How are you feeling now?” He leaned forward in the chair.
“Better. My arm doesn’t throb as bad as it did. What happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. I remember getting up and going into the bathroom to help you bathe. Then I can’t remember anything after that.”
“You were mauled by a wolf, Heather. We thought we had lost you.”
“A wolf? Oh, God. How bad am I?”
“Your arm is pretty bad, but it’s getting better.”
She looked down toward where her arm lay on a pillow. She gasped at the sight of it. There were raised red lines with stitches all over her arm. She looked like a jigsaw puzzle. She attempted to move her fingers, and when they didn’t move at first, she started crying.
“What is it, baby? Do you need something for pain?”
“I can’t move my fingers.”
“Shh, baby. They’re probably just stiff. Hold on.” He knelt next to the bed and carefully moved her fingers. Then he moved her wrist. “Okay, try and move just your fingers again.”
Heather was afraid to try. She shook her head.
“You can do it. Move your fingers, Heather.”
She drew in a shaky breath and willed her fingers to move. When they bent, she started laughing in relief. She looked up at Brandon and smiled.
“Told you. Now don’t go moving your arm around. I want your stitches to heal straight as possible. We did the best we could, but they aren’t perfect.”
“I know you did. I’m sorry I worried you both so much.” Her throat felt raspy and it was hard to talk. “Can I have something to drink?”
“Of course.” He helped her to sit up then handed her a glass so she could hold it with her good arm.
She looked down at it and winced. “I even have some on this arm.”
“Only a couple. Go ahead and drink up. You need to drink as much as you can. When Bolton gets back up here, I’ll go warm up the broth and you can eat some.”
“Where is Bolton?”
“He’s finishing up chores. We’ve been taking turns sitting with you for the last four days.”
“How did I get away from the wolf, Brandon?” she asked.
“Bolton got to you first, and grabbed it by the neck and tried pulling it off of you. It kept the wolf from getting to your throat. Then, when I got there, I had a gun. I shot him.”
“Thanks for ta
king care of me, Brandon.”
“You mean so much to me, Heather. I—”
Bolton burst into the room. “You’re awake!” He hurried over to the bed.
“Hey, Bolton.” She smiled up at him.
“I’m going to go fix that broth for you. I’ll be right back.” Brandon got up and left the chair for Bolton to sit on.
Heather went to reach for his hand, but cried out when she moved it.
“Hey,” he said. “Don’t move it.”
“I wanted to hold your hand.”
He reached across the bed and took her other hand and squeezed it. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him disappear out the door then turned her attention to Bolton. He had a funny look on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. What do you remember?”
“I really don’t remember anything but getting out of bed the other morning. Then bits and pieces of hurting, until now.”
“Well, all that matters right now is that you get well. We want you healthy again.”
Heather felt like they were still keeping something from her, but try as she might, she couldn’t remember, and it only gave her a headache to try. She had a feeling whatever it was would hurt her almost as much as the wolf had.
Chapter Eight
Several days passed, and it came time for her stitches to come out. Brandon dreaded doing it. It wouldn’t feel good, but it shouldn’t really hurt either, he hoped. Heather was a real trooper, and hadn’t complained when they moved her and checked her arm and side each day. She still hadn’t remembered anything, and he knew his time was running out. He needed to come clean with her before she remembered on her own.
“Okay, this is going to feel weird. It shouldn’t really hurt though, so if it starts to hurt, tell me.”
Bolton stood by with a garbage bag for him to drop them as he pulled them out. Halfway through, they all three needed a breather.
“It’s not that it hurts, it just feels funny,” she told them.
“That’s okay. Just relax for a few minutes and we’ll start again. So far it all looks good.”
“Yeah, well, considering the alternative. I still look like a Frankenstein.”
