by Diana Palmer
“Not me. I had a big lunch. Cook made pork chops and potatoes and onions. Not to mention, homemade rolls.”
“I’m not living right,” JL sighed. “I should have a cook full-time, instead of pleading with my housekeeper to do it three nights a week. This isn’t one of those nights, and I’m sick of my own cooking.”
“Your bunkhouse cook is awesome. You should come eat with us.” Drum’s eyes twinkled. “Of course, I do understand that it would work a hardship on you, eating with the peons . . . watch it!” Drum added, having just sidestepped a swat from that big hand.
“You watch it. I’m not a bad man.”
“You sure about that?” Drum asked. “I haven’t checked the FBI’s most wanted list in a while. . . .”
“I’m going to town. Be back later.”
“Good luck.”
JL sighed. He was going to need some of that.
* * *
He sat down in a booth and waited for Cassie to come out. But she didn’t. Sarah, a buxom middle-aged woman, came out instead.
“Hey, JL,” she said pleasantly. “What can I get for you?”
“Where’s Cassie?” he asked.
“Had to go home,” she replied. “She was sick. Coughing her head off. Well, Mary made her go home,” she amended. “She didn’t want to. Mary promised she wouldn’t fire her. She called her dad to come get her.”
He was more concerned now than before. He glanced at the clock. “How about making me up three plates to go?” he asked, and chose the special.
“You going to take supper to her? That’s nice,” she said gently.
“I owe her a supper,” he said. “She got sick riding around in the cold with me yesterday. She didn’t have a proper coat.”
“I told her that a week ago,” Sarah said with a sigh. “She said she couldn’t afford anything better right now. Proud, that one.”
“Yes,” he said, feeling small. His conscience was killing him. “Very proud.”
“I’ll get this ready as soon as I can. Want coffee while you wait?”
He nodded. “Please.”
* * *
Cassie felt even worse as the afternoon wore on. She was going to have to try to get up and fix something for her father to eat, but she was too sick to stand at the stove and cook.
She dragged herself out of bed, wrapped in a pretty embroidered chenille housecoat that fell to her ankles. It was something from the old life that she’d brought along. It had been her mother’s.
She held on to the wall as she wobbled toward the kitchen and prayed that she could make it that far. As it was, she had to stop halfway down the hall to pant for breath.
She heard a vehicle drive up and the engine cut off. She glanced at the clock. It was ten to five. Her father wasn’t due home for at least thirty minutes. She grimaced. She didn’t have dinner ready. . . .
There was a knock at the door. Surely that wasn’t her father, she thought as she went to the door very slowly and opened it.
Her lips parted as she saw JL standing there with a big white bag in his hand.
He made a face. “You look like death warmed over.”
“I’m not feeling up to company,” she rasped.
“Good Lord,” he said softly. He moved in past her. “I’ll just put these in the fridge.”
He opened the refrigerator door and grimaced at the lack of food in it. He slid the diner meals inside and closed it.
“What was that?” she asked from the doorway.
“Food,” he said. “I brought supper. But you aren’t eating anything until you’ve seen the doctor.”
Her face flushed. “I don’t need . . . !”
He picked her up gently and walked out the front door, pausing to pull it closed behind them with Cassie balanced on one powerful, raised thigh. “We can argue later.”
She fought tears. She didn’t want to tell him that she couldn’t afford a doctor. She had health insurance, but she was afraid to use it. And it didn’t cover office visits, even if she’d been willing to risk it. An enterprising reporter would be looking for things like insurance claims. Any good skip tracer would jump on the charges like a duck on a june bug.
“I can’t afford—” she began.
He kissed her forehead. She felt feverish. “Just hush,” he said gently.
She couldn’t hold back the tears. He was being so kind!
He put her into the cab of his ranch truck and closed the door. He handed her his cell phone as he got in beside her and started it, checking to see that her seat belt was on before he fastened his. “Call your father and tell him where we’re going,” he added softly.
She wiped away the tears. She punched in numbers. “Dad? JL’s kidnapped me,” she rasped, “and he’s taking me to a doctor.” She frowned. “Turncoat,” she accused. “Yes. Yes. All right. He brought supper, too, it’s in the fridge.” She gave JL an accusing look, which he ignored. “Okay, Dad. Yes, I’ll tell him. Good-bye.” She hung up and passed the phone back to her companion. “He said to thank you and that he’s sorry about this morning.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not his fault if he didn’t know who I was,” he replied, sticking the phone in his coat pocket.
She wrapped up closer in her robe. “I should have changed first.”
“You’re sick, and we’re going in the back door, anyway,” he replied.
“The back door?”
He nodded. “The doctor’s a good friend.”
“Oh.”
* * *
He pulled up to the back of a one-story building with a big parking lot, pulled out his cell phone, and made a call.
He explained the situation. “Yes. I’ll bring her right in. Thanks, Sandra,” he added, a smile in his voice. He hung up.
“Lorna’s receptionist said I could bring you in the back. The nurse will wait for us.”
“Thanks,” she managed weakly as he lifted her out of the truck and bumped the door shut with his hip.
“You look terrible,” he remarked, searching over her pale face.
She laid her cheek against his coat. It was cold from the wind and it felt good against her fevered skin. “I feel terrible,” she said in a hoarse tone.
“You’ll be better soon,” he promised.
He carried her in the back way. An elderly nurse was waiting for them with a gentle smile. She led them into a cubicle and went out to get the doctor.
JL deposited Cassie on the examination table and dropped into one of two chairs against the wall.
Before he could speak, a young woman with thick chestnut hair and dark eyes came into the room. She was wearing a white lab coat and there was a stethoscope draped around her neck.
She glanced at JL curiously and then at the redhead on the table. “I’m Dr. Lorna Blake,” she introduced herself.
“Cassie Reed,” came the hoarse reply. “Thanks for seeing me.”
The doctor frowned. She put the stethoscope against Cassie’s chest and had her breathe and cough while she listened. She looped it back around her neck, took Cassie’s temperature, and asked questions, a lot of them.
“I’m pretty sure it’s bronchitis,” she said. “I need to send you over to the hospital for a chest X-ray. . . .”
“No. Please.” Cassie’s eyes were troubled. There was no way she could afford that.
The doctor sighed. “All right. I’ll send you home with antibiotics and instructions, but if you’re not better in two days, I want you back here and you’ll definitely get an X-ray then,” she added firmly.
“Okay,” Cassie said.
The doctor filled out a prescription and handed it not to Cassie, but to JL. “Go to bed,” she added to Cassie. “Plenty of fluids. Take the antibiotic. Got cough syrup?”
Cassie nodded.
“Acetaminophen for the fever,” the doctor added.
“Okay,” Cassie agreed.
“Thanks, Lorna,” JL said as he lifted Cassie from the table into his arms.
She grinne
d. “You’re welcome.”
He sighed. He knew what was coming later. He’d never brought a woman to his high school friend as a patient, not even that she-shrew he’d been engaged to. It was unusual to see JL so concerned about anyone’s health. He was sure Lorna sensed a romance.
JL gave her a speaking glance as he walked out the back door with his patient. Lorna was still grinning when she shut the door behind them.
* * *
JL stopped by a pharmacy on the way home, leaving the engine running so that the heater would stay on, and Cassie wouldn’t get chilled while he coaxed her prescription out of an amused pharmacist inside. He didn’t have to wait. The pharmacist was dating Lorna, so they’d have plenty to talk about on their next evening out, JL was sure.
He drove Cassie home. By then, her father’s car was parked at the door. Roger Reed opened it for them as JL carried her inside, straight to her bedroom. He deposited her gently on the bed.
“I heated up supper. You’re staying for it, right?” Roger said pointedly.
JL hesitated.
“I made strong coffee,” Roger added.
JL glanced at Cassie. “Okay,” he said.
She smiled, her eyes bright with fever and delight.
“You can have yours in bed,” her dad told the patient.
“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”
He just smiled.
He punched the microwave, where the first of three plates was waiting to be heated. When it was done, he added utensils and a napkin and gave them to JL to take to Cassie on a tray he’d found earlier under the cabinet.
“Can you manage this?” JL asked her as he propped the tray on her legs.
“Yes, it’s fine,” she said.
He paused to read the directions on the antibiotic and shake a capsule out into her hand. She took it and he gave her a spoon and the cough syrup. She knew it was useless to argue. She took that, too.
He smiled. “You’ll be better in no time.”
“Thanks. For everything.”
He brushed back her wild reddish-gold hair. “I’m sorry, about what I said,” he told her with genuine regret. “I’m not good with people.”
She managed a smile. “Me neither.”
He stood up, searching for more words, but he couldn’t find any. He smiled, turned, and went out to the dining room, where her father had two plates sitting on the table, along with two mugs of steaming, strong black coffee.
“I didn’t know who you were,” Roger told him in an apologetic tone as JL sat down. “I’m truly sorry. I’m not really good at working with the public. It’s pretty much a life-changing experience,” he added with a soft chuckle.
JL just nodded. The man had a very cultured voice, like that of a radio announcer. It sounded oddly familiar.
“Not your fault,” JL said after he’d sipped coffee. “I never came inside and introduced myself when I took Cassie out to the ranch.” He grimaced. “I should have realized she was getting too chilled. I didn’t know about the asthma, either. I chided her for being melodramatic when she gasped for breath.” He ground his teeth together. “I’ll have hell living with that on my conscience, let me tell you,” he added curtly.
“We all make mistakes,” his companion said quietly. “God knows, I’ve made my share.”
“Well, a friend of mine said that’s why they put erasers on pencils,” JL replied.
“I’d need a very big eraser,” the other man commented.
They ate in a pleasant silence. The food was good. Mary had one of the best cooks in the county in the kitchen at her restaurant.
“This is really good food,” Roger commented.
“Nobody cooks like Mary,” JL replied. “We all know each other pretty well around here. Benton’s only got a population of about two thousand souls. Only a few people ever leave, mostly kids who want more excitement.”
“I’ve had all the excitement in my life that I care for,” Roger said quietly. “The peace and quiet is comforting.”
“I heard about what happened to you,” JL said.
Roger felt the blood drain out of his face. “Oh?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent when he was churning with fear inside.
“Yes. From Cassie. It must have been very difficult, losing your wife in such a way.”
Roger swallowed, hard, and felt relief at the same time. “It was traumatic, for Cassie and me,” he said. “We were all close.”
“You should sue the people who drove her to it,” JL said firmly.
“I’m not that sort of person,” Roger replied with a sad smile. “Besides all that, there would be too many to summon to court.” He sighed. “Far too many.”
JL frowned. It was an odd comment.
Roger realized that, just in time. “She had a page on Facebook,” he added. “I hate social media.”
“I know what you mean. Say one thing that offends somebody, and the world camps on your doorstep,” JL chuckled. “Happened to my foreman a couple of years back. He’s very political. Doesn’t pay to advertise what party you support. Somebody’s always waiting with smart remarks and threats.”
“Tell me about it. We’re too connected, I think sometimes. Cassie and I have a small TV set, but we don’t watch it much. We get our news from the Internet.”
“Me too,” JL confessed. “I don’t like getting news from a handful of people who own all the media in the country. They decide what’s news and what’s not.”
“Too true. Back when I was young, news reporters were required to be objective and even-handed. Now, it’s just a handful of executives pushing their own agendas and calling it news.”
JL chuckled. “We think alike.”
“On that issue, of a certainty.”
“I’m sorry I let her get chilled,” JL said, nodding toward the bedroom and lowering his voice. “I knew that coat was too thin. I should have made her wear a heavier one.”
Roger couldn’t bring himself to mention that she didn’t have a heavier one here. Actually, she did have one in storage back home; a very expensive one, but they didn’t dare wear any couture stuff out here. It would stand out like a sore thumb.
JL noted the pained look on his companion’s face and translated it as wounded pride. “You do the best you can when you’re living on a budget,” he said after a minute. “When I was a kid before we moved back here, my dad worked as a paleontologist and taught at a college in Texas. Times were hard, because my mother was fragile and couldn’t hold down a job. It wasn’t until my grandfather asked Dad to come back that we were able to afford good clothes and warm coats.” He frowned because it sounded odd even to him that his father’s salary didn’t cover such essentials. “Funny,” he said, almost to himself, “I never looked at it that way.”
“Budgeting is new to me, and I’m not very good at it,” Roger confessed. “But I’ll get the hang of it. I want to get Cassie a gaming system for her birthday next month. She misses playing online.”
JL’s eyebrows raised. “She games?”
He laughed. “She games. She loves this space game called Destiny 2. She played it all the time when she lived in Georgia.”
“I thought Cassie said you lived in New York?”
“We all did, when Cassie was small. She went to Georgia State University in Atlanta and liked it so well that she stayed.”
“Yes, she worked as a reporter, she told me.”
“She was a good one. She worked for a weekly paper.” He laughed. “She found the most unusual people to do feature stories about. Her columns were often picked up by major dailies.”
“She might get on with our local paper,” JL said thoughtfully.
“She gave it up,” Roger replied. “The stress made her asthma worse.”
“Oh. I see.” He grimaced. “I’ll have to be a lot more careful with her, when I take her out,” he added, thinking ahead. “I’ll make sure she’s bundled up properly, even if I have to roll her up in one of my rugs.”
Roger laughed at the pic
ture that made in his mind. “She’s a black belt,” he reminded his companion.
JL grinned. “So am I.”
“I heard about that.”
“I’ll take care of her, just the same. She’s got a bagful of medicine. Make sure she takes it. And don’t let her go to work tomorrow. Mary already tried to get her to go home today and she argued about it.”
“I’ll get a strong chain with a lock,” Roger agreed, grinning.
“I can pick locks!” came a hoarse voice from the bedroom.
Her father just laughed. So did JL.
* * *
Cassie was flushed with excitement and joy when JL came in to say good-bye.
“You get better,” he instructed.
“I’ll work on it every day,” she said in a hoarse tone, and smiled.
“Next time we go riding, I’ll get you one of the old coats Nita left when she moved to Denver.”
Her lips parted. She searched his dark eyes and felt warm inside, as if a fire had been kindled there.
He was feeling something similar. He reached out and brushed back her disheveled red-gold hair. It had been a very long time since he’d been needed by anyone. His mother was often ill, and he’d been attentive when she was. His father was never sick; his older brother had never even had a cold. But here was this little newcomer who needed nurturing and he felt a bond with her already.
He drew in a breath. He recalled what he’d told her, that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. He was feeling surprisingly comfortable with her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been around a redhead in my life,” he teased softly.
“We’re rare,” she had to admit. She smiled. “It comes with freckles.”
He chuckled. “I like freckles.”
She drew in a rasping breath. “I don’t, but it isn’t as if I get a choice about having them,” she laughed.
“You need to sleep,” he said gently, getting to his feet. “I’ll check on you in the morning. You can call me if you need anything.”
She looked at him with wonder. “I can?”
“Where’s your cell?”
“In my housecoat pocket, there,” she said, pointing to the robe she’d draped around the back of a chair.
He lifted it, admiring the intricate embroidery. It looked very expensive. Definitely not something off the rack.
