“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 l
ooking 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.
Seven
Case opened one eyelid and groaned when a shard of sunlight pierced his skull. Dear Jesus. If this was a hangover, he was never going to drink again. And if this was hell, he was going to beg for another chance to relive his thirty-six years and hope for a better outcome.
He moved restlessly. Even his hair follicles hurt. His chest felt as if someone had deflated his lungs. But his brain was clearer than it had been. Though he didn’t want to, he made himself open both eyes at the same time. Sitting in an armchair beside his bed was Parker Reese.
Parker hadn’t yet noticed that Case was awake. The other man was checking emails and/or texts, frowning occasionally and clicking his responses.
Case cleared his throat. “Am I at death’s door? Have you come to show me the error of my ways?”
His doctor friend sat up straight, his gaze sharpening as he turned toward the bed. “You should be so lucky. No...you’re going to be fine.” Even so, Parker’s expression held enough concern to tell Case that something serious was afoot.
“I didn’t know you made house calls.” Turned out, it even hurt to talk.
“I don’t. Here. Drink something.” Parker picked up a glass of ice water and held the straw to Case’s lips.
Case lifted his head and downed the liquid slowly, trying not to move more than necessary. “Seriously. Why are you here?”
Parker’s eyes widened, expressing incredulity. “Maybe because you’re half-dead with the flu?”
“Only half?” Case tried to joke, but it fell flat.
Parker pulled out his stethoscope, ignoring Case’s wince when the cold metal touched his skin. Listening intently as he moved the disc from side to side, Parker frowned. “We have to watch out for secondary infections, pneumonia in particular.”
“How did you know I was sick? Did I look that bad when I left the poker game last night?”
Parker sat back, his head cocked with a clinician’s focus. “Today is Saturday. The poker game was Thursday night.”
Case gaped at him. “What happened to Friday?”
This time Parker’s grin held a note of mischief that rattled Case. “You tell me. I’ve only been here twenty minutes.”
Case subsided into the warm nest of covers and searched his brain for an explanation. He remembered someone in the bed with him, but that someone definitely hadn’t been male. He’d been far too sick for any fooling around, so the woman he remembered must have been a dream.
He wet his chapped lips with his tongue. “No more jokes, Parker. Did I really lose an entire day? Surely you didn’t wait on me hand and foot. You’re a good friend, but not that good.”
Parker chuckled. “I’ll take pity on you. Yes, you lost a day. You’ve been out of it for thirty-six hours. And no. I wasn’t here to help, though I’m damned sorry about that. You picked the worst possible time to get sick. We’ve had baby after baby born at the hospital, some of them in worse shape than you, unfortunately. I haven’t even been to bed yet, but I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Then who—?”
Parker held up his hand. “Mellie Winslow showed up to work yesterday morning and found you semiconscious, burning up with fever. She stayed with you all day and all night. To be honest, you might have ended up in the hospital if it weren’t for her. You’ve had it rough.”
“Damn.” It was the best response Case could summon, and the most articulate. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he remembered someone helping him into and out of the bathroom. Mellie Winslow? Good Lord. “Where is she now?” he asked hoarsely.
“I sent her home so she could change clothes and get some rest.”
“Is she coming back?”
“I’d say that’s up to you. Mellie knows you like your privacy.”
Case winced. “Yeah, I guess she does.” He’d certainly hammered home that lesson when he hired her. “I don’t know why she stayed with me. I haven’t been exactly cordial.” In fact, he’d been a bit of a jerk the last time he saw her.
Parker shrugged. “I can hang around until midday. That gives you some time to think it over.”
* * *
By the time noon came and went, Case had managed a shower with only a little help, had consumed a modest breakfast and lunch, and had realized with no small dose of humility that he had a lot for which to be thankful. Maybe he could salve his conscience concerning Parker by writing another large check to the hospital. Parker got absolutely giddy when he talked about upgrading technology in the NICU.
But what about Mellie?
Parker was on the way out the door when his phone dinged. Case saw his buddy glance down and then look at him.
“What?” Case asked. “
Who is it?”
“Mellie wants to know if she needs to come back. What should I tell her?” There was no judgment in Parker’s steady gaze.
“I barely know her,” Case muttered. “She’s not under any obligation to take care of me.”
“She’s a nice woman. You could do worse.”
“Nathan says Amanda will hunt me down and neuter me if I trifle with her friend.”
“Trifle?”
“You know. Play around with her.”
Parker shook his head in disgust. “I know what the word means. Are you tempted to trifle?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. She’s seen me at my worst.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I’m pretty sure Mellie Winslow isn’t interested in my money.”
“We were talking about you and the flu. Have you changed the subject?”
Case leaned against the doorframe, his knees the consistency of spaghetti. “I need to get back in bed.”
“Yes, you do. Your color is lousy.”
“Tell her I’ll call her after I take a nap.”
“You sure?”
Case nodded. “Yeah. Maybe by then I’ll have had an epiphany.”
“Sounds painful.”
“Very funny.” Case held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Parker returned the handshake. “Glad I could help. If you get worse, don’t hesitate to call. Men make lousy patients. Being a hero in this situation is the worst thing you could do.”
“Duly noted.”
With Parker gone, the house was quiet again. Case stumbled back to his bedroom and fell facedown on the bed. Parker had made him swear to take medicine on schedule. Case intended to keep that promise, but first he had to sleep.
* * *
Mellie paced from one side of her smallish living room to the other. Dr. Reese had said that Case would be in touch. But Reese had contacted her right after lunch, and it was now almost five o’clock.
In the interim, she had put together a dish of homemade lasagna and baked that, along with some oatmeal cookies. The house smelled wonderful, but it looked as if she was going to be eating alone.
Courting the Cowboy Boss: Reclaimed by the Rancher Page 6
