* * * *
When she woke again, the light had changed. Not long ‘til dark. A dog whined outside. Scratch that; a puppy whined. She looked over at the window where Carly Robinson had been—had she dreamed that? Dallas held Annie and they both gazed in at her like a display at the zoo.
“Hey.” She mustered as much energy as she could for a smile.
“Hey, Tasty. Feeling better yet?”
God. Of course she wasn’t going to feel better—she had a virus with a fifty-percent mortality rate and a hundred-percent your-life-is-over rate. “A little.”
He looked so worried. She hated that part the most. “I brought you a bowl of SpaghettiOs. It’s on the front steps. But you’ve gotta go get it, okay? You can’t leave it out there like you did last night.”
Shoot. She hadn’t ever gone for her supper because she’d been too busy throwing up lunch.
“Food out there will bring in the sickies,” Dallas warned. “And with an unlocked front door on a dark house, you’ll have company.” Had they come last night for her food? “I finally picked it up last night, at eight.”
“What were you doing running around after dark?” she snapped. He’d get himself killed.
“I brought my truck over here, and sat in it.”
“All night?” At his nod, she went off. “Dallas, you need to rest!” How was he even functioning? They’d barely slept the two nights before that.
“Right. Like I’m gonna go in the house and just get a solid night’s sleep, knowing you’re out here sick with who-knows-what—”
“We know what.” She sighed.
“Stop that!” He’d raised his voice, a rarity. “Look at her.” He nudged Annie with his cheek. “Life wouldn’t be so cruel as to take a second mom from her, would it?”
“God. Yes, life could be that cruel. Half of everybody is dead, and the other half are…worse.” Really, she’d been thinking about it, and dying might be better than the other outcome of this virus. She might ask Dallas to lock her up somewhere if she went that way, so people could study her and work on a cure.
“You’re not leaving me. Please…” He looked up toward the sky, pleading with God? “Don’t. Just…will you go get your dinner and eat it? I’ll hang out here while you do.”
He wasn’t going to leave until she ate. Her stomach growled at the thought of hot SpaghettiOs. She nodded, sat up. Rearranged the tank top she had on. Crap. Where were her shorts? Well, she had her panties at least, so she pulled the tank as low as it’d go, past her butt, and hurried down the hall.
When she opened the front door, his cat-call whistle almost made her pull the shirt down some more, but instead she pretended not to hear him.
On the top step, he’d left a cookie sheet with a plate-covered bowl, a small plate of something covered by a dish towel, plus a bottle of water and can of Dr. Pepper, both of which dripped condensation.
She looked down the length of house at him. “Are these actual cold drinks?” Her hand on the bottle told her yes, and so did his nod. “God. Where did you get them?”
“Carly and Nick. They’ve got two fridges and two deep freezers running. Her whole house runs on solar.” He lifted his chin. “Check out the plate.”
She lifted the flour sack dish towel. Two wedges of… “Cheese!” Cheddar, by the looks of it. “Oh my God. I love Carly and Nick.” And maybe the guy who’d brought this stuff to her, too. “Can I move in with them?”
He stared back, eyes narrowed.
“Seriously, though. Thank you for your kindness, sir.” She made prayer hands and half-bowed toward him.
“Get it inside, before the SpaghettiOs smell up the whole neighborhood.”
Once she was back in the bedroom with the tray of food and drinks, she set it on the bed, then put her hands on her hips. “I thought we agreed we weren’t making hot meals at dinner time anymore, so we wouldn’t draw the neighbors in.”
“You needed a hot meal.” He said it with such finality, such authority. “Don’t argue. Just sit down and eat, so I can get the bowl back to the house and wash it before dark.” He glanced at the western sky, where the sun had almost set.
Great. If she put up a fuss about him acting like a dictator, then she’d only make him stay outside in the danger zone longer. So she sat down and ate.
“You know them before?” she asked past a spoonful.
“I worked for Carly’s husband, Preston, remember? He’s the solar guy. And I played baseball with Cole.”
Oh yeah. She remembered going to baseball games and seeing Cole. Cute kid. But she’d spent more time ogling Dallas, even before Prom. “And Nick?” The cheddar was amazing. If this turned out to be her last supper, she couldn’t complain about the food.
Dallas shrugged. “His family ranch is just up the road a ways. I think my dad knows him from school. They rode the bus together.”
“What’s the deal with him and Carly?” She cracked open the soda can. Drank long. Yum. Cold drink. It had been a long time since she’d had anything cold.
“He’s got it bad for her, I know that. Seems like they were a thing for a long time in high school. He talked about her a lot today. Pretty much talked about only Carly.”
“She thinks her husband’s still alive.”
Dallas shook his head. “Doubtful. Preston never struck me as the tough type.”
“Too bad for Nick, then, because she’ll keep believing until she has proof he’s gone.”
“She’ll give up hope eventually,” he predicted. “A lot of the sick won’t make it through winter.”
“Great. Thanks,” she muttered.
He chewed his lip. “I didn’t say I hope all the people we know who are sick don’t make it. I just don’t expect they will.” He paced away from the window, still holding Annie, then came back. “Hey, did you ever have Mono?”
“No.” She shoveled her mouth full. The sun was almost gone, and he needed to be, too.
“Oh.” His disappointment was clear. “Because sometimes Mono comes back.” Poor guy really wanted her to have some other illness. “Survivorman says there’re probably a bunch of scientists working in bunkers to find an antibody to kill the virus. It’s only a matter of time.”
“True. The epidemic is only a week in,” she agreed, stowing the remaining cheese on her nightstand.
“Ten days,” he said, looking westward again. “Okay. Keep the drinks and take the tray back to the front step.”
Only after she’d returned to the bedroom and watched him walking through the trees back to the house did she realize— “Hey!” She opened the window and yelled. “Drop it! You can’t be touching shit I’ve touched! You’re gonna expose yourself and Annie to the virus!”
He kept walking, but yelled over his shoulder. “No, I won’t. Because you don’t have it.”
Damn him. Damn, damn. His denial was going to kill him.
Hopefully he’d had a cold drink and some cheese, too.
She lay back on the bed, closed her eyes. Thought of Dallas, his smell—she’d sniffed his cologne bottle on the bathroom counter every time she’d been in there in the other house—his touch. Those eyes, those lips.
The sound of his truck door opening and shutting right in front of the trailer.
Seriously? He was spending the night out there again?
She went back to the front door, threw it open and glared.
He waved at her, lifted a flashlight and then his handgun. Showing her just how armed and ready he was. The guy was going to make himself sick, between not sleeping and exposing himself to her germs.
And then who would be around to take care of him?
* * * *
Dallas stood at the foot of the bed where Jinx slept, his gas mask on—because he knew she’d raise hell if he didn’t wear it—trying to decide whether to tiptoe out of the room and act like he hadn’t been there.
She was naked. At least, from the waist up. The sheet blocked his view of her south forty, so he couldn’t tell abou
t that. Part of him could stand there forever staring at her bare chest, but the rest of him knew he was a garden variety sicko because while she suffered from some mystery illness, here he was, perving on her.
Boobs.
It kept echoing through his brain. And yeah, it’d been months since he’d laid eyes on some, and that had been courtesy of the internet. Even longer since he’d touched some.
Boobs.
He had to back away. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up and know he’d been there. One of her arms was bent, the hand against the side of her head. What was that red… Around the wrist area… The other arm was against the bed and he couldn’t see the wrist.
A rash? He hadn’t heard of any rash with Screwy Eyes Virus or SEV, as Nick and Carly called it. A four- or five-inch swath of red bumps along the wrist… He stepped in for a closer look at the rest of her arm. All clear, normal skin. But…just between her armpit and her ribs…a red spot. With a faint ring around it.
Hell, yeah.
He backed out as quietly as possible and once he’d closed the front door, he vaulted over the railing, ran for the house, stripping off the gas mask and tossing it in the bed of his truck on the way past. Inside, he went straight to the book shelf and pulled off the one Mom had always referred to when anybody was sick, at least up until they’d gotten the internet and she’d fallen in love with WebMD.
In seconds, he had the pages open to “T”, where he started reading.
Minutes later, he calmed his breathing, snuck back into the trailer, carefully pulled the sheet up to Jinx’s shoulders, set Annie on the bed with Jinx, and waited. The pup scampered up to her and snuffled along her neck. Jinx groaned, turned to her side away from the pup, and stiffened when Annie whimpered.
“Annie? Wha? No.” She clutched the sheet to her, and looked around the room. “Why? Get out!”
He just shook his head. “Answer me this: Are you horny?”
“Dallas! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ha. He’d known that would rile her.
“You don’t have massively dilated, sensitive eyes.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “You clearly haven’t lost speech capability.” Now for number three. “And you don’t have a raging sex drive. All hallmark symptoms according to Survivorman.” And Carly. “Also…when did you get bit by a tick?”
She’d started to open her mouth, but snapped it shut. Then opened it again. “The second or third night I was on the mountain.” She indicated the area under her right arm. “I pulled it off, but… Oh. You think…” Careful to not expose even her sideboob, she looked at the spot.
“Tick fever.” He stepped up to the bed and opened the fat, worn book with Home Guide to Family Medicine in green lettering on the cover. “Symptoms include fever, malaise, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, and often a rash around the wrists and ankles.” He could hardly keep his voice calm, he was so happy. “Tick fever, Tasty. That’s all it is!”
And she wasn’t dying.
She pulled the sheet to the middle and poked a foot out. Yep. Red spots around the ankle. She looked at her wrists, too.
“Get your clothes on. I’m taking you back to the main house.”
“God. You’re so bossy,” she fake-complained.
She wasn’t dying! Or becoming a crazy-looking, nontalking, night-hunting lunatic.
“Chop, chop.” He clapped his hands twice. “Nick’s coming at nine with the city’s backhoe to start trenching for the fence. It’s seven now and I want you all settled in so I’m ready to work when he gets here.”
* * * *
He didn’t have any business reading it. That much he knew. He’d left the letters with Dad and WPRA written on the outside folded. But this one had his name on it. He knew Jinx had written them for if she’d died. But still.
It had his name on it.
She’d been back in the house for a day and night now and she was almost feeling normal. He’d gone out to the trailer to grab the rest of her stuff and lock the doors so it didn’t become squatting grounds for any sick folk. And there they were, folded and addressed in Jinx’s curvy chick-writing.
DALLAS.
How could he ignore his name in all caps?
Dear Dallas, (he read after unfolding it)
If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. It’s going to suck being here alone but hopefully this epidemic will end soon.
First, thanks again for rescuing me in town that night. It was very big of you to even talk to me. Considering life as we knew it ended, I think w’vee had an okay time together the past couple of days. I can’t think of anybody else I’d rather survive an apocalypse with. You’ve been the perfect combo of strong, capable, funny, and comforting. And hot. Though I’d never ever say it to your face, I’ll say it now. You’re hot, Dallas. Smokin’. It’s a pretty big crime against humanity—or women at least—that you’ve been keeping your bod hidden away in the hills every summer. If you ever feel guilty about anything, it should be that. (And now I hope you’re standing outside while reading this or your fat head will be so swollen you won’t be able to get through a door!) ; )
Second, I’m sorry for screwing everything up when we were 18. I’m an idiot for assuming you were like other guys and only wanted sex. That was dumb because, well, if you were like other guys I wouldn’t have liked you in the first place. If I’d been straight with you and given you a chance, maybe we could have been a thing. Maybe we’d have been together this whole time. My biggest regret is not having a chance to be your actual girlfriend.
If I live, I really hope I don’t come attack you and eat your face. Or any other parts.
Third, I think (and maybe this is like how so many people “find” God when they know they are dying or very ill)… I love you. Maybe I always have since you tried to give back your money from the 4-H auction to save the lamb you’d raised when we were 9. Or when I saw you give that homeless guy the key to your hotel room in Cheyenne, and you slept in your truck. Each time you saved me from something: Prom, Leanne/Jolene’s dress problem, being eaten by our fellow townspeople, I fell for you a little harder. I couldn’t ask for a better person to be the last one I see on this Earth.
Love always (or as long as this weird disease lets me—do zombie-type people feel love?),
Jinx Peterson
Damn it.
He shouldn’t have read it. How could he face her now, without her figuring out he’d gone snooping? Would she ever have said those things if she hadn’t been dying?
He just shouldn’t have read it.
* * * *
Jinx towel-dried her hair on the way to her bedroom. She finally felt mostly normal again, though she got tired fast and usually needed a long nap in the afternoon. It had been a week since she’d gotten a fever and, well, she was sick of being sick. But at least she hadn’t caught what most people had. Movement in her bedroom made her jump back and crack her elbow on the door jamb.
“Dallas!” God.
He swiped something from the nightstand and hid it behind him, then tried to be smooth about shoving it in his pocket. Or pants? “Uh. Hey.”
He’d been such a weirdo since she’d been back in the house. And he hadn’t kissed her once, even though they’d read the entire section on tick fever and it wasn’t contagious. Well, maybe she’d have to fix that. No more living with regrets for her. “What are you doing?” She walked straight up to him, tossed the damp towel to the armchair in the corner, rubbed her poor aching elbow.
He crackled—well, something paper did—when his backside hit the wall.
“What is that?” She tried reaching behind him for it.
“Ohhh, Jinx!” He laughed. “Are you grabbing my butt?”
She poked his stomach so he’d double over, then she grabbed at the back of his waistline. Eureka.
“Wait!” He snatched it back.
All she’d seen was a notebook page, folded in half with her name on it. “Why would you bring that in here while I showered and then take it away?”
/> He heaved out a breath. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine. I can stand.”
“Sit down,” he insisted, pointing at the bed.
“You know, I’m not that weak. Just like I could’ve walked all the way to the house Friday. You didn’t need to scoop me up and carry me like some macho superhero.”
He lifted an arm and flexed for her, turning side to side then narrowed his eyes, all serious. “You went completely white and were about to crumple to the ground. Then you’d have been all dirty and I would’ve had to sweep you off before bringing you in the house.”
“Whatever.” She had felt pretty crappy right about then. And at the time, she’d been grateful to be in his strong, warm arms. Being carried was pretty okay. Sometimes his ideas were good. So, she sat on the bed.
“Thank you.” He mock-bowed and backed away, the paper behind his back again. He was leaving?
“Dallas! I swear to God. What is up with you?”
“I guess we’re doing this now.” He looked a little pale. Nervous? Something she’d never seen in him, but he was chewing his lip. “Uh. So, I wrote this for you. Seemed like the easiest way to get it all out there. But then it felt so…high school.” He showed her the paper, folded it smaller and shoved it in his front pocket.
She finger-combed her hair, sniffed it.
“Your shampoo smells good,” he said.
Sure. Try to distract her with a compliment. “Finally got the campfire smell out of it.” Sniffing again, she thought maybe it still smelled a little smoky.
“There are worse smells,” he said. “Like…”
“Cooking broccoli,” she supplied.
“The floor of a stock truck after the cows are unloaded.”
“Gross!” She laughed. “The inside of my dad’s irrigating boots.”
“Good one. Mr. Mahoney.” The history teacher had epic BO.
“Uhhhm.” She searched for something funny.
“I read your letter!” he blurted. “The in-case-you-died one.”
Her mouth dropped open. She knew it, but had no desire to close it until the right yelling words came to her. Geez. She’d written that while feverish, had said things to him about his hot body. Things she’d never, ever say to him otherwise.
Cowboy Strong (Cowboy Up Book 5) Page 29
