Roz noticed that he didn’t say he hadn’t felt obligated, just that obligation hadn’t been the only motivating factor. It was better than nothing, she supposed.
They sat for a while, neither of them speaking. Finally, Roz stood. “I guess I’ll go to bed. Good night. See you in the morning.”
* * *
Paul sat in the dark, pondering Roz’s words. He’d loved her all those years ago, but he hadn’t known anything about her. Sure he knew her favorite flowers, but none of the really important things. He’d never thought of what her life must have been like, living with her great-aunt. Not once had he considered how her aunt would treat a five-year-old who’d upended her life. Now that he knew, he understood how desperate she must have been to have come to him for help. At least she’d had the peace of mind that came with being in her own home. She wasn’t an outsider here. He was. Yet she’d never made him feel that way. She’d always made him feel welcome. At home.
He should go to bed, but he was glued to the chair. Twenty minutes had passed since Roz had left the room, yet her scent still lingered in the air. Her bedroom was next to the kitchen, so, for several minutes, he heard her moving around as she took off her clothes and then slipped on her nightgown.
He pictured her sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing lotion on her hands and feet, keeping her skin as soft as a baby’s.
He couldn’t leave this room as long as the image of her was at the forefront of his mind. He wasn’t sure whether he would go up the stairs to his bedroom, or across the room to hers.
He dragged a hand down his face. Nothing made sense. He wasn’t in love with Roz anymore. He hadn’t been for years. Yet there was something about her that drew him. He was like a fish caught on a hook. Fate had allowed him plenty of line, letting him swim away as if he were free, then snatching him back. Something kept pulling him back to Roz and he was unable to untangle himself. Even more confusing, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be free. As crazy as it seemed, he liked having her in his life again.
Paul inhaled deeply and blew the breath from his nose, too tired to try to sort out his feelings for Roz. Morning came fast when you lived with little kids. The girls were at an age when they woke up early. Though Suzanne was quiet, Megan was fully charged, and both were ready to eat. They didn’t differentiate between school days, vacation days or weekends. It was “up and at ’em.” At eleven, Nathaniel appreciated the beauty of sleeping late. Paul, like his nephew, liked to ease into his day. Unfortunately, unlike Nathaniel, Paul no longer had that luxury. Tomorrow might be Sunday, but he still would have to get up early.
After checking that the doors and windows were locked, he climbed the stairs and got into bed. Barely a minute had passed when he felt his right eye being pried open.
“Suzanne, stop that.” Nathaniel’s voice.
Paul’s eyelid dropped over his eye again and he struggled to open both eyes. Obviously, he’d slept longer than he’d intended if Nathaniel was already awake. Odd, since he still felt tired. He finally managed to open his eyes, then tried to push himself into a sitting position but was too exhausted to pull it off. Why was he so weak and out of breath?
“Mom, he’s awake,” Nathaniel bellowed, making Paul’s already pounding headache hurt even more.
“Coming,” Roz replied. Her voice sounded far away.
“You slept a long time,” Megan said from her position at the foot of his bed. She was looking at him as if not sure what to think.
“I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” Suzanne said in a tiny voice.
Despite feeling like a truck had driven over him while he slept, he reached out a hand for the little girl, surprised at the effort it took to raise his arm. “I guess the sandman dropped a little extra sand in my eyes last night.” They felt so gritty that there might be a beach in there.
“Who is the sandman, and why would he put sand in your eyes? That’s mean. Did he break into the house while we were sleeping?” Suzanne asked, looking frightened. He’d forgotten how literal she was. Great. He’d given her something else to worry about.
“The sandman is a pretend person,” Roz said, coming through the door. Dressed in a yellow top and denim skirt, she outshone the sun, and his sore eyes definitely appreciated the sight. “Kind of like the three pigs. In his story, he puts sand in people’s eyes to help them fall asleep at night.”
“So he’s not a bad man?” Megan asked. Obviously, the idea of putting sand in someone’s eyes didn’t sound like a good thing to her. To be honest, it didn’t sound good to him either.
“He’s not a bad man,” Roz confirmed.
“I don’t want sand in my eyes,” Suzanne said.
“Good, since nobody is going to put any in there,” Roz said, tugging on her daughter’s braid. Roz looked at him and smiled and his aches temporarily vanished. “Why don’t you run along so I can talk to Uncle Paul?”
“Okay. Bye, Uncle Paul,” the girls cried as they ran from the room.
He tried to respond but suffered a sudden coughing fit.
“I’ll get the cough medicine,” Nathaniel offered.
“Thanks,” Roz said, stepping closer to Paul’s bed. “Looks like someone has come down with the flu.”
“No way. I’m never sick.”
“No? You do a pretty good imitation.” She reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her hand. It was so cool. So soft. So arousing. “You feel warm.”
“Hot is more like it.”
She raised her eyebrow at his double entendre but otherwise remained silent. Good, because for the life of him he couldn’t think of a way to make that statement sound purely innocent. Which proved her point. If he couldn’t think on his feet, even lying flat on his back, he had to be sick.
“Let me take your temperature.” She reached out and he grabbed her wrist before she could touch him again.
“That’s not a good idea.”
She shook her hand free. “Why not? The thermometer goes in your ear and only takes a second.”
“You shouldn’t even be in here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m sick and you’re vulnerable to me.”
“You think I’m going to fall head over heels in love with you because your eyes are glazed and you’re covered with sweat? I think I can manage to contain myself. We need to get you another T-shirt by the way. That one is drenched.”
“Don’t be dense. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Actually, I don’t think anyone knows what you’re talking about, including you.”
He suffered another coughing fit before talking. “I’m contagious. And you’re compromised.”
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. Finally, she smiled. “My immunity is compromised, you mean.”
He nodded. He must have rocks in his head, because they banged around, making his head hurt even more. “Right. I don’t want you coming in here. You’ll make yourself sick.”
“I’m no longer undergoing chemo. I haven’t had a cycle since before the surgery. It’s out of my system. It’s perfectly safe for me to take care of you.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Roz.”
“And I’m not yours either, Paul.”
“Of course you are. That’s why I’m here. You need me to take care of you.”
Her eyes narrowed and he could practically see lightning bolts shooting from them. Had he just compared her to the sun? She was more like an atomic bomb, ready to incinerate him.
“I don’t need you to take care of me. Not anymore. I’m stronger now.”
“Go away and leave me alone. Don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll never be able to leave.”
Roz gasped and stepped back. The pain in her eyes had him replaying what he’d just said. The jumbled words didn’t accurately reflect what he was thinking. But his head was muddled and t
he connection between his brain and mouth had short-circuited. Her hand on his skin felt so good he could barely resist her. If he let her continue to touch him, it would be harder to walk away from her. And he needed to walk away, if only for the time it took to figure out how he felt and to focus on his business.
“Fine. You win. I’m out of here. You can hack up a lung for all I care.” She spun and brushed past Nathaniel, who was standing just inside the door, holding a bottle of cough medicine and a spoon. Paul hoped Nathaniel hadn’t heard the conversation.
“Do you want this or not?” Nathaniel snapped. Yep. He’d heard. And he hadn’t liked the way Paul had spoken to his mother.
Paul heaved out an achy breath. “Please.”
Nathaniel crossed the floor and handed over the bottle and spoon. Paul squeezed the top and twisted. Nothing. The top didn’t budge. He must be sicker than he thought if he couldn’t even open a bottle. Sighing, Nathaniel snatched the bottle, opened it and poured medicine onto the spoon. For a moment, Paul thought the kid was going to tell him to open wide and shove the spoon down his throat. Instead, his nephew handed him the spoon, watched him swallow the cough syrup, repeated the process, then turned to walk away.
“Wait.” Paul couldn’t let Nathaniel’s anger fester. Paul was discovering that doing so hurt everyone, including innocent bystanders. Besides, he owed his nephew an apology. Nathaniel turned back around, his young face marred by anger. Nathaniel was protective of his family. Paul mustered his energy and scooted to the center of the bed. “Sit down a minute. Please.”
Too well-raised to disobey, Nathaniel frowned and sat on the very edge of the bed. His eyes conveyed the angry words he wouldn’t say.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to your mother like that.”
“You should be telling her that.”
“I will. That is, if she ever steps foot in this room again.”
“She will. Mom can’t stay mad at anyone for long.”
Not like Paul, who could hold a grudge like it had a handle dipped in superglue. He needed to work on changing that. “I also want to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have disrespected your mother. Or you. Being sick isn’t much of an excuse, but it’s all that I have.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I get mean when I don’t feel good, too. A lot of people do. Well, not Mom. She never gets mean about anything.”
“No. She doesn’t.” It wasn’t anger he’d seen on her face when she’d fled the room. It was pain. Sorrow instead of fury. And humiliation. All because he’d gotten his thoughts muddled, saying only part of what he was thinking and none of what he meant.
“And, Uncle Paul, I’ll take care of you. That way Mom won’t get sick again. I hate it when she’s sick.” He leaned in closer, his voice a near whisper although the two of them were alone. “Don’t tell anybody, but I was a little scared, too.”
“I know.” For all his maturity, Nathaniel still was a little boy who’d lost his father and needed his mother.
Paul was about to say that he didn’t need much help when he began to cough. Not only that, but he was suddenly chilled and began to shiver. The fresh T-shirt that Roz had mentioned was starting to sound good. As hard as it was for him to accept, he did need help.
Once he could talk again, he asked Nathaniel to bring him the shirt, which Nathaniel quickly fetched.
“Thanks.” After changing his shirt and swallowing some orange juice, Paul sank under the blanket and closed his eyes. He’d find a way to apologize to Roz later when he wasn’t so tired. Or contagious.
* * *
“Are you sure that bad man won’t put sand in my eyes?” Suzanne asked for the umpteenth time. She was fighting as hard as she could to stay awake. Every time Roz thought she’d gotten her daughter to fall asleep, her eyes would pop open and she’d look around the room, frantically searching for the bad man.
“I promise. Remember, he’s only make-believe, like the three bears. And he only helps people who can’t fall asleep.” Roz rubbed Suzanne’s back as she’d done when she’d been a baby and needed soothing.
Suzanne didn’t answer and her eyes stayed closed. Thank goodness. Who would have thought an innocent comment would cause this much worry? Suzanne’s reaction wouldn’t be so troubling if she weren’t already so stressed.
Not that Suzanne was the only one being pushed to the emotional edge. They all were teetering on the brink. The effects of the past months hadn’t dissipated simply because she was feeling better. If they weren’t careful, the stress would bubble over into every area of their lives. She needed to find a way to turn down the heat. If she didn’t, a big explosion was on the horizon, with the potential to blow their lives apart.
Speaking of explosions, she stepped out of the room, closed the door behind her, then headed across the hall to Paul’s room. She’d avoided him all day, letting Nathaniel take care of him. Well, Nathaniel was the one who’d entered the room. But Roz had cooked the chicken soup and filled pitchers of water and glasses of orange juice throughout the day. She’d been the one to tell Nathaniel when it was time to give Paul another dose of medicine. Nathaniel was asleep now, so it was up to her to make sure that Paul had everything he needed for the night. If he wasn’t too stubborn, she’d change the sheets. They had to be damp by now. Nothing felt better than lying on clean sheets when you were sick.
She knocked on the door and he coughed in reply. Interpreting that as an invitation to enter, she stepped inside. He was lying in bed, looking pitiful. Despite her intention to keep her feelings protected, her heart ached for him. Misery filled his red-rimmed eyes. The blankets were twisted around his body in a way that couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Crumpled tissues overflowed the garbage can and several tissues dotted the floor nearby.
He raised his hand as if that could keep her out. She would have snapped at him if she didn’t know his reluctance to have her around stemmed from his genuine concern for her health.
“I checked with my doctor,” she said, standing just inside the door. “Like I told you earlier, I’m not at risk. But since I know you won’t be satisfied, I’ve got gloves. And a mask. Okay?”
In the midst of a coughing fit, he nodded.
She donned the gloves and covered her mouth and nose before she approached him. By that time, he’d managed to stop coughing. “When was the last time you took some cough medicine?”
He shrugged and her eyes were immediately drawn to his massive shoulders. His T-shirt was drenched and clung to his sculpted muscles. There was a time when she had the right to run her hands over that torso, but that was no longer the case. Chiding herself for ogling him when he was obviously uncomfortable, she forced her eyes away from his chest and looked into his eyes. Even drowsy with sickness, she feared they could see to her very soul. Thank goodness it wasn’t her soul that was filled with longing.
“Can you guess?” she asked, trying to get back on track. She’d told Nathaniel when to bring in the medicine, but that didn’t mean Paul had actually taken it.
“What time is it now?”
“Nine thirty.”
“About five hours, I think.”
“Time for more.” She grabbed the bottle and dug through the pile of discarded tissue and dishes to find the spoon. “I’ll be right back.”
She stacked the bowls and glasses, then walked to the door, aware that his eyes followed her every move. Grateful for the years spent waitressing in high school, she managed to move without dropping anything. In the kitchen, she quickly rinsed the dishes and put them into the dishwasher. Her nerves jumped up and down, trying to draw her attention, which was ridiculous. She was so over Paul. Okay, that was a lie, but a necessary one. Because she knew he was so over her.
She grabbed a clean spoon and returned to Paul’s room. He’d stopped coughing and was now propped against the headboard, two pillows behind his back. She filled the spoon with medicine an
d offered it to him. Instead of taking it, he leaned forward, his eyes locked with hers, and closed his mouth around the spoon. Mesmerized, she watched his lips as he pulled back.
She let her arm drop to her side and tried to slow her rapidly beating heart. Caring for a sick man shouldn’t be this hard. And it definitely shouldn’t turn her on. If she didn’t want to waste time pining for Paul after he left, she needed to stunt her growing attraction.
And he was ready to go. He’d been unequivocal about that. He was probably counting the minutes until he could return to Florida. He might even try to reignite his relationship with Kristin. Now that Paul wouldn’t be living in Sweet Briar, Kristin might be inclined to take him back. Regardless of what happened between Paul and Kristin, it was in Roz’s best interest to get her feelings under control so she could avoid heartbreak.
“If you want, I can change your sheets,” she offered.
He looked conflicted. Clearly he wanted fresh sheets but didn’t want her to overdo it. Perhaps he thought she would keel over from the effort. She mentally rolled her eyes and waited for his reply.
“I do,” he finally admitted, “but I don’t think I can stand up long enough for you to change them.”
So it wasn’t about her at all. She’d totally misinterpreted his silence. “I have three children. I’ve perfected the art of changing sheets with someone in the bed.”
“In that case, thanks.”
She hurried to the linen closet and grabbed clean sheets, pillowcases and two fresh blankets, and returned to his room.
Paul looked at her. “What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing. Just stay where you are.” She crossed to the far side of the bed and loosened the soiled sheets, then pulled on the clean ones, tightening them at the head and foot of the bed. After pushing aside the old sheets, she smoothed the new ones across the mattress until she was practically touching Paul.
He groaned and she spun around. “Are you okay?”
The Single Mom's Second Chance (Sweet Briar Sweethearts Book 7) Page 13
