It would take a man of herculean strength to deny such a request from her. And, he was discovering she was his weakness. He went with classic Burns, singing it low and slow.
“My love is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
My love is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.
How fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I;
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till all the seas gang dry.”
As he sang the next verse, he considered the state of his love life. “Dry” about summed it up. Or perhaps “barren” was more apt. By the time he finished, she was asleep, her fingers slack between his. He extricated himself and tucked her arm under the blanket.
Pacing in front of the windows, he threw glances toward the couch every few seconds. He didn’t even consider his bed upstairs as an option. If she awoke during the night, he needed to be close. Worry kept him on edge.
The moon was high when he finally pulled a leather armchair close to the couch and settled in with a book. After reading the same page three times, he put the book down, stretched his legs out, and did what he really wanted to do. He watched her sleep. Hopefully, not in a creepy way.
Her face was flushed, and except for her puffy eyes, the evidence from her crying jag had faded. Her mouth was slightly parted, and she’d shifted to her side, her hand under her chin. At some point, he dozed off but was awakened by her restless moan. Her fever had soared. Iain dosed her with medicine, but she was unable to take more than a few swallows of water.
Holding her throat, she said, “My throat is lined with broken glass.”
“Might be streptococcus. You need to see a physician tomorrow.” He sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers itching to offer a small comfort.
She shivered and curled closer to put her head in his lap, her cheek against the top of his thigh and her arm slung loosely around his waist. “I’m so cold.”
He hesitated only a moment before stretching out beside her on the couch and tucking her into his body. While she might feel cold, the fever had turned her into a space heater.
“I don’t want to get you sick.” Her protest was muffled where her face was pressed into the side of his neck, her lips tickling his sensitive skin. Her legs twined with his and her hands slipped under his shirt to press against the bare skin of his back. Now he was the one who shivered as a different sort of fever raged.
Chapter Ten
Without opening her eyes, Anna could discern it was no longer dark. Summer light danced beyond her. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure she could even open her eyes. They felt gritty and dried shut. She swallowed and winced. If possible, her throat was worse than it had been the night before. A hot tea with honey would put her back to rights.
She tried to roll to her back, but she was on a couch, not in her bed. Memories crept into her consciousness like thieves. She had been at Stonehaven working when exhaustion had swept over her. Iain had been kind and wonderful, and she’d repaid him by crying all over him. And not a cute cry. A snotty one. She vaguely remembered wiping her nose on his T-shirt.
Pulling a pillow over her face, she wondered if she could smother herself with it. What other mortifications had she brought upon herself? A recollection of him singing her to sleep bobbed to the surface like a life buoy. He really did have a panty-meltingly sexy voice.
With any luck, he wasn’t around to see her bed head because she had work to do. She hadn’t finished the map, and it was due today. She had classes to teach, things to do, people to see.
But before she could do any of that, she had to open her eyes. The effort it took to blink did not bode well for her plans to work on the computer and then drive home. The brightness of the white ceiling hurt her eyes, and the birds tweeting outside made her head throb.
A couple of aspirin would fix things. She lifted her head and the room spun. Okay, fixing things wasn’t happening. Merely functioning would be a stretch. Her eyes stung with the desire to cry, but she was so parched, nothing materialized.
“Ah, you’re awake.” Iain’s unmistakable voice rumbled from somewhere on the other side of the room.
He came into view, looming over her, his hands propped on the back of the couch. She should have been annoyed or embarrassed at her display of weakness in front of him, but she didn’t have the energy. He might not be her friend, but he’d taken care of her the night before without complaining or making her feel even worse.
“Morning.” The single word took three tries to get out of her shredded throat.
“I would ask how you’re feeling, but I’m not daft or blind.”
Her laugh stuttered to a stop before it could get started. She gasped and grabbed her throat. “Hurts.”
“Aye. I figured as much.” He checked his watch. Was he itching to get her out of his hair? She couldn’t blame him.
Grabbing the arm of the couch, she hauled herself to sitting and then heaved herself to standing, her knees wobbly. “I’ll go.”
“I called this morning and made you an appointment with a physician. It’s in a half hour. That’s how it works here, right?”
“How did you know which doctor?”
“Google. I called a couple before I found the right one.”
She formed an O with her lips, but didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure what to say. He was so dang capable. She might have stomped her feet in annoyance if she weren’t so grateful.
He held out a glass of water and shook two pills into her palm. “Take these. They’ll help until we can get something stronger prescribed.”
She did as he instructed without any arguments, even though the pills felt like jagged rocks bumping down her throat.
“Do you need the loo?” he asked.
She nodded, and he helped her stand. She couldn’t locate enough strength or pride not to take his arm and let him guide her to the downstairs powder room. When it appeared he was ready to squeeze into the small half bath with her, she shooed him away. “I can handle it from here, I think.”
“Call if you need me.” He backed to the far wall, crossed his arms over his chest, then dropped his hands to his side, looking like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.
His jeans had been worn soft and fit every slope and bulge of his body. Not that she could blame them. Even deathly ill, she could commiserate with the urge to fit herself close to him. She shut the door before the sight of him made her any more light-headed.
Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she let out a gasping yelp. Her hair was like a haystack blown over by the Big, Bad Wolf. Her pallor wasn’t a porcelain white, but a sickly greenish-yellow against the flowered wallpaper. And, it tasted like something had died in her mouth.
First, she peed. Then, she washed her hands and face. The color the scrubbing imparted faded fast. Finding a mini tube of toothpaste in one of the drawers, she finger-brushed her teeth and made herself gag. Everything felt hypersensitive, and she didn’t need a thermometer to tell her the aspirin hadn’t made a dent in her fever yet.
Her clothes were wrinkled, and she felt stale, as if she’d been through some fever-sweat cycles during the night. She stared at herself in the mirror and patted her cheeks. Iain was seeing her at her worst. While she tried to work up proper horror, she really just wanted to feel better.
She opened the door and scraped her shoulder against the frame on her totter out into the hall. “How do I look?” she joked.
He gripped the back of her neck and the support was so welcome, she let her head rest in his grasp. His thumb stroked her jaw, and she closed her eyes. She should pull away from him and maintain a safe distance. She’d learned not to rely on anyone. Not her mother, not any of her boyfriends, not even Izzy.
“You look like shite, Anna.” The sympathy in his rumbly brogue took any of the sting out of the words.
“I appreciate your honesty.” And, strangely enough, she did. I
ain didn’t seem like the type to sugarcoat or feed a person what they wanted to hear. He was a man of hard truths, but truths nonetheless.
“Your appointment,” he said.
“Yep. Where are my keys?” She tried to remember if she’d brought her purse in or left her keys on the desk in the office.
“I’m driving you.”
“But I can—”
“Lass, don’t be stubborn, you can barely walk. You’d be a danger to yourself and anyone else on the road. I’m driving.” His voice brooked no argument. Not that she really wanted to make one. She meekly followed him outside to where Izzy’s old pickup was parked close to the front door. Had he moved it so she wouldn’t have to walk so far?
He opened the passenger side door as if it were a date. The seats were warm from the sun, and as the warmth seeped into her fever-chilled body, she closed her eyes and turned boneless.
A hard arm pressed against her torso and her eyes popped open. His head was close. So close, she could see his dark hair wasn’t one color, but made of many shades. This was what happened when she let herself get close. Things got complicated and interesting. She wanted to sift her fingers through the strands and study each one. She raised her hand—
He pulled the seat belt across her body, snapping it into place and snapping her out of her reverie. The fever was planting foolish thoughts. The jouncing trip to town left her feeling vaguely nauseous, and she sank lower in the seat and took deep breaths.
“You’re not going to toss your biscuits, are you?”
“My appetite is nonexistent at the moment.”
His laugh was like hot chocolate on a cold day or being covered in wriggling puppies or a BLT made with sun-warmed freshly picked tomatoes. In other words, it made her feel good and might qualify as one of her favorite things.
“Tossing your biscuits means throwing up.”
“Oh.” She smiled despite the roil of her stomach. “No, I think my biscuits will remain untossed.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to explain to Isabel how her truck became a biohazard when I get back.”
Her smile flipped upside down. It was a good reminder he was leaving and she shouldn’t get attached. “I’ll be fine,” she said defiantly, not sure if she was talking about getting over her sickness or the reality of him eventually leaving.
She helped him navigate his way through downtown Highland, where the summer bustle was in full swing. The number of tourists would explode as the festival drew closer. Iain parked in front of a plain cement block building a mile out of town.
She’d gone to Highland Family Practice since she was a kid, but couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in. As a small business owner, her healthcare insurance was costly, and she had adopted a “this too shall pass” mentality. But she would sign over her first-born child—if she ever had one—to feel better.
Iain rounded the cab and opened her door. When she tried to get out, it was like the weight of the universe pressed her back down.
“Seat belt,” he said shortly.
“Huh?”
He reached across her again and freed her from the pressing weight. She exhaled. “Thanks. My brain is spinning its wheels and getting nowhere.”
Inside, they shared a waiting room with people of all ages. A coughing toddler and an eighty-something-year-old lady twirling a cane between her knees were called back.
Finally, Mrs. Pettigrew, the nurse practitioner, stuck her head out of the door to the exam rooms and called Anna’s name. Iain rose with her, but she waved him off. If she was getting naked in front of him, it wouldn’t be like this. The vision rampaged through her along with another chill.
She shuffled toward the door, where Mrs. Pettigrew tutted. “Come on back. I haven’t seen you at the office for years. You look like death warmed over.”
“Gee, thanks. Isn’t it bad form to be joking about death in a doctor’s office?” she asked.
“It should reassure you. If I thought you were really at death’s door, I wouldn’t crack a joke. Let’s get you in a room before you fall over on me.” A comforting hand between her shoulder blades guided Anna into a small exam room.
Mrs. Pettigrew possessed a soft motherliness that appealed to some base instinct Anna carried from childhood. Her mom was all angles and bones. With an ample bosom and arms made for dispensing hugs, Mrs. Pettigrew was the glue of the medical practice. She was also a staunch volunteer during the festival and headed up the library’s used book sale that coincided with the annual parade. It funded literacy projects around the county.
Mrs. Pettigrew closed the door, and Anna lay on the paper-lined table. “My throat feels like I ate broken glass, and I’m pretty sure I have a fever.”
Mrs. Pettigrew took her temperature and blood pressure then clicked on a mini flashlight and looked in her mouth. “You do have a fever, and I would guess you have strep throat, but we’ll work up a culture to verify.”
“That’s what Iain thinks too.”
Mrs. Pettigrew’s eyes sparked with an unholy interest. “Is Iain the sexy snack out in the lobby waiting for your return with bated breath?”
“Gross exaggeration, but yes.”
“You’re right. He’s not a snack, he’s a three-course meal. Do tell me all about him.”
“He’s Scottish and—” Anna gagged as Mrs. Pettigrew swabbed her throat, then resumed, “Izzy is getting ready to pop, and of course, Rose wanted to be there, so they sent Iain over to help with the festival.”
“And what’s going on between the two of you?”
“Nothing. Why would you think there was something going on?” Defensiveness crept into her voice. Had Mrs. Pettigrew picked up on Anna’s internal thoughts? The swirl of emotions Iain inspired were conflicting.
Mrs. Pettigrew’s gaze sharpened. “If I wasn’t sure before, I am now. You’re red as a radish. It’s not every man who will accompany a woman to the doctor when she’s sick, especially looking like you do right now. Danny Tinkle made his wife drive herself to the hospital when she was in labor with their third because he was on the seventeenth hole and wanted to finish.”
“You’re telling tall tales.” Anna wanted to laugh, but even more, she wanted to curl up on the paper and take a nap.
“I swear on a Bible.” Mrs. Pettigrew shook a small canister. “That didn’t take long. It’s positive.” Mrs. Pettigrew picked up a tablet and tapped on the screen. “By the time you get to the Drug and Dime, they should have your script ready.”
“How long until I feel human again?”
“Once we get you started on antibiotics, it won’t take long, but it will be twenty-four hours before you aren’t contagious.” Mrs. Pettigrew wagged her finger at Anna. “So no sampling the three-course meal waiting on you.”
Anna sputtered as she followed Mrs. Pettigrew to the checkout desk. A young girl tapped on the computer and informed her a bill would be in the mail. Anna couldn’t even bring herself to worry about how much it might cost.
She stumbled into the waiting area. Iain stood, and a wave of emotion threatened to swamp her. It’s not like she had expected him to bolt, but on the other hand, neither would she have been surprised to find him gone.
She walked up to him and croaked, “Diagnosis: strep throat. You were right. Do you mind running me by the Drug and Dime to pick up my antibiotics?”
“Of course I don’t, ye silly woman.” His brogue grew thicker when he was teasing her.
Iain loaded her back into the old truck. He rolled down his window and cocked his elbow out, the wind ruffling his hair. Anna lolled her head on the back of the bench seat and allowed herself to stare at him.
In profile with his scar front and center and his beard obscuring any softness, he was even tougher looking than usual. And he was tough when it came to how hard he could work, but he wasn’t mean. Her fingers itched to explore the old wound. How had it happened? Was it a knife fight in a dark alley? Had he been injured while deployed? She wanted to know everything.
<
br /> He cruised down Main Street, taking the first available parking spot, which was in front of Loretta’s All Things Bright and Beautiful shop. The Drug and Dime was across the street and farther down.
“You stay here while I pick up the medication.” Iain had the door open before she could argue. Not that she wanted to. The pharmacy felt like a grueling uphill hike away.
She leaned over and grabbed his arm before he could close the door. “Wait. Don’t forget my birthday.”
“Do you want me to get you a prezzie from the pharmacy? Lip balm? Tissues?”
She fell prone on the seat, giggling. His face came over hers, upside down, his grin looking like a frown. Without thinking, she touched his cheek with the scar. His mouth drew into a neutral line, and she snatched her hand back and tucked it under her chin.
“You need to tell the pharmacist my birthday to get the medicine.” She rattled off her birthday.
He cocked his head. “The day after Christmas? That’s bad luck.”
“Yeah, it was the worst as a kid. When is your birthday?”
“April fifth.”
Another fact about him she ferreted away like a squirrel with a nut. “That’s a nice time of year. Spring. Rebirth.”
“I’ll be back in a jiff.” He backed out of the cab and closed the door.
Anna lay across the bench seat until it grew hard to breathe in the heat. She hauled herself to sitting and opened the passenger window using the old-style crank. A breeze skidded off the foothills of the Blue Ridge and offered a measure of relief.
What did she need to get done today? Her mental to-do list was scarily blank.
A knock on the door of the truck jolted her out of a semi-doze. Loretta stood at her window, looking in at her with hard eyes. Dealing with Loretta required a pep talk in the mirror and the Rocky theme music, neither of which she had on hand.
“Hi, Loretta. Thanks for the deposit.”
“Thank Iain. He really is quite something.”
Was there a hidden meaning behind the offhanded compliment? Anna decided to take the woman at face value. “He is very handy.”
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 13