“The doctor.”
“Jock, she’s fine. She just has a fever. Your mom is right out back. Let me see if she has what we need. If she doesn’t, I can ask your mom to run me to the store and get it. I should pick up Pedialyte, juice boxes, and a few other things, too. I don’t think we should take her on the ferry. Do you think your parents will mind if we stay another night?”
“Of course not.” He paced, rubbing Hadley’s back. “I want the doctor to check her out.”
“Just let me take her temperature. Little kids run high fevers.”
“Daphne, please?”
Her brows knitted, and then understanding showed in her eyes. “Oh, Jock. This is scary for you, isn’t it?”
More than you realize. “Bet you didn’t know there were two girls who could bring me to my knees.”
“Actually, I did.” She went up on her toes to kiss him. “Thank you for loving her. She’s going to be fine, I promise. She probably just has what my mom had. My mom texted earlier and said she’s feeling better. But you can call the doctor if it’ll give you peace of mind. I’m going to check on the thermometer and Tylenol. I’ll call Rick and let him know I won’t be in tomorrow.”
He pressed a kiss to Hadley’s cheek and said, “I’m going to call the doctor, but what else can I do for her?”
“I don’t think she’ll put up with you wiping her with a wet washcloth to try to bring her temperature down, or even putting one on her forehead, but if she will, it would help until we can get medicine in her.”
“I’ll try.”
As Daphne went downstairs, Jock called the doctor. Dr. Fletcher was on his way back from the Cape and had just gotten on the ferry. He told Jock that Daphne was right: Try the wet washcloth, make sure she was drinking plenty of fluids, give her Tylenol, and he’d be there as soon as he could. Jock was filling Hadley’s sippy cup with water when Daphne and his mother came into the room. His mother fawned over Hadley and reassured Jock she’d be okay.
“Your father went to the winery, and Lenore went to a friend’s house. I’m going to take Daphne to the store, but we won’t be long.” His mother rubbed Hadley’s back and said, “Are you okay, honey?”
“Yeah,” he lied, but he didn’t want to thrust his worries on them.
“Want me to stay with her?” Daphne asked.
Hadley clung to him. “No, we’re okay. I’ve got her.”
“Okay. We’ll hurry back.”
After they left, Jock sat on the edge of the bed, but Hadley whimpered, so he got up and paced again. “How about we try that washcloth?” He carried her into the bathroom and held his hand under the water until it was warm, then worried that maybe it should be cooler. But how cool was too cold? He pulled out his phone and said, “Siri, what temperature should a wet washcloth be to help reduce a fever?”
Siri said, “Here’s what I found,” and a list of websites appeared on his screen. He navigated to the first and scanned the information, gritting his teeth at the mention of febrile seizures. He went back to the list and clicked on the next site and once again found a reference to seizures. He clicked on the link for seizures. High fevers can cause convulsions in young kids without a history of neurologic symptoms? Holy fucking hell. He shoved his phone in his pocket, pacing again, silently cursing Siri for being no damn help at all.
“We have to do this, princess. We can’t let you have a seizure.” He wrung out the washcloth, hoping he got the temperature right, and felt like a villain as he said, “I’m sorry about this, but I have to try to get your fever down.”
He ran the washcloth down her arm. She cried and pulled her knees up to her chest against his body, like she wanted to burrow inside it.
“Sorrysorrysorry.” Shit. “We need to cool you down, baby.”
She shook her head, whimpering.
“Will you take a drink of water for me? Please?” He set the washcloth down on the sink and handed her the sippy cup.
She buried her face in his neck and cried. “No.”
“Look, Had. I’ll drink it.” He pretended to take a sip, and she shook her head, her lower lip trembling. “Okay, no drink, no drink,” he said quickly, and set down the cup. He picked up the washcloth again and paced, bouncing her a little, worrying about her blazing skin. A few minutes later, he said, “Can we try the washcloth one more time?”
“Mm-mm.” A definite no.
He tried again to get her to take a drink, to lie down, and to allow him to cool her off with the washcloth, but she didn’t want anything except to be held while he paced the floor.
“‘Eyes on You,’” she said in a voice as thin as air.
Her weak voice cut straight to his heart. Thank goodness he’d sung her version of the song with Daphne enough times to know it by heart. He began singing and continued pacing, rubbing gentle circles on her back. “We’ve been to North Carolina, seen the big blue sky. Driven down the coast a time or two. Brewster, Eastham, Wellfl—”
“What the hell song is that?”
Jock turned at the sound of Archer’s voice. His brother stood in the doorway, brows knitted, a bruise peeking out from beneath his beard.
“It’s her song, and she’s sick,” Jock said sharply. “Did you know kids can have seizures from high fevers? She can’t have a seizure. Doc Fletcher is on his way back from the Cape, and Daph went to get medicine. I’m supposed to wash Hadley down with this.” He shook the washcloth. “But she won’t let me. She won’t drink, either.”
Archer looked at him like he was nuts. “Jesus Christ. Give me that.” He tore the washcloth from Jock’s hand and disappeared into the bathroom. When he walked into the bedroom, he said, “Lie on your back on the fucking bed.”
“Why?”
Archer scowled. “For the kid. And put her next to you.”
“She doesn’t want to lie down.” Jock toed off his shoes and lay on his back, shifting Hadley to the bed beside him. Hadley whined and curled against him. He put his arm around her and said, “See?”
Archer uttered a curse, unlaced his work boots, and lay down on Hadley’s other side. He put a wet washcloth on Jock’s forehead; then he lay flat on his back and put one on his own forehead.
“Do me,” Hadley said, settling onto her back between them.
“Seriously?” Jock said. The three of them lay on their backs staring up at the ceiling with wet washcloths on their foreheads. “How’d you know to do this?”
“I don’t know. Watching Levi, I guess. If you’re going to have kids, you can’t be a pussy. You have to know how to do this shit.”
“Don’t curse around her.”
“What the hell can I say?” Archer asked.
“I don’t know. Nothing…Poop.”
“I’m not saying poop.”
“Well, you’re not saying shit, either.” Jock winced. “Sorry, Hadley.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“I love her, man. She hurts, I hurt. Is that so hard to understand?”
“You’re the adult. You gotta figure this shi—poop—out. She’s counting on you.”
“No shi—poop—genius,” Jock snapped, tucking Hadley closer to his side. “It freaks me out a little, okay?”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Why? She’s a kid. She’s got a fever. She’ll be fine.”
“Because it stirred the memories, okay?” Jock barked.
“What memories?”
“Of Liam, you idiot. I know she’s not him, but I…” His throat thickened, the rest of his confession vying for release. Fuck it. He had to let it out. “I held him at the end, and the memories are pretty tough.”
Archer looked at Jock. “Oh man, I’m sorry. Was he…?”
Struggling against the sadness clawing at his chest, he met Archer’s gaze and said, “I held him as he…went.”
“Aw, fuck.” Archer sounded as tortured as Jock felt. His eyes darted to Hadley, and he said, “Shit…Aw, he—heck!”
Jock gritted his
teeth, but Hadley had gone soft against him. “She’s sleeping. Just keep it down,” he said quietly. “I can’t let anything happen to her. I wouldn’t survive it. Daph wouldn’t survive it.”
“She’s not gonna die, dude. She’s not him. She just has a fever. She’s going to be fine, but I’m really sorry, Jock. I had no idea that you held Liam in the end.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Archer swallowed hard and said, “I never should have said that stuff to you at the hospital. I’m sorry.”
“We’re past that. Just don’t do it again or I’ll knock you on your ass.”
“Butt,” Archer said, and they both chuckled.
Jock pressed a kiss to Hadley’s head and said, “Thanks for doing this for her. She’s a special girl. I’m pretty sure there’s a little magic inside this one.” He looked at Archer and said, “Or a future therapist.”
“Are you guys sick, too?” Daphne startled them as she came into the room with their mother.
“No. Had wouldn’t let me do the washcloth thing. Archer got her to do it,” Jock explained.
“Aw, look, Daphne,” their mother said. “Your baby is lying with my babies, and mine aren’t killing each other.”
“I’m out.” Archer swung his legs off the bed.
Jock grabbed his wrist. When Archer looked over, he said, “Thanks, Archer. I mean it.”
Archer nodded curtly. His eyes shifted to Hadley, lingering for a moment before he pushed to his feet and headed for the door. When he walked past Daphne, he stopped and said, “He’s really good with her. He was singing to her when I came in.”
“He was?” she asked dreamily.
“Yes, but if writing doesn’t work out, singing should not be considered an option.” He grinned and said, “I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He glanced at Hadley. “I mean a poophole.”
“It’s okay,” she said sweetly. “Thank you for helping with Hadley.”
He nodded again, eyes serious, and headed for the door.
“Oh, no you don’t,” their mother said as she grabbed his hand and hauled him into her arms, squeezing him tight. “I love you, and I’m so very proud of you, you grumpy poop.”
As Archer stepped out of her embrace, she took his hand, unwilling to let him escape. Her loving eyes moved over each of their faces, and she said, “It takes a village to raise a child, but it takes an even stronger one to bring peace. I’m so glad we’re all part of the same village.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Archer said. “My job here is done. Just don’t expect me to babysit.”
He walked out the door, and their mother said, “Are things okay here?”
“They will be,” Jock said, and he believed with his whole heart it was true.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
DAPHNE FINISHED BRUSHING her teeth and looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair was damp on the ends from her shower, her cheeks had a little color from their afternoon in the sun, and her eyes held the unmistakable sheen of a woman in love. She’d seen the look on the faces of each of her girlfriends, on her mother, and on Shelley. She’d seen a similar look on herself after Hadley was born, and she remembered the shock of seeing that deep-seated emotion in the mirror for the very first time. She’d nurtured her baby inside her own body, her feelings for her daughter growing with every kick, every thought of what would be, and still she’d been bowled over the second she’d heard Hadley’s first cry. She looked down at her bracelet, soaking in the shivers of love spreading through her chest. How did she get so lucky to have found a man who loved Hadley like his own? A man who fought with everything he had to be theirs? An honest man who valued family and was selfless enough to have put his twin’s happiness above his own?
Clutching her braceleted wrist to her chest, she threw a silent thank-you out to the universe and opened the bathroom door to Hadley’s bedroom. Her heart stumbled once again. Jock was reclining against the headboard with Hadley draped over his chest. His eyes were closed, and he had one hand on her back. His laptop lay open beside him. He’d hovered over the doctor earlier, rattling off questions about dehydration and seizures, as nervous as Daphne had been the first few times Hadley was sick. They’d gotten her fever under control, and the doctor had reassured Jock that she probably just had a twenty-four-hour bug. Jock had stayed with Hadley all day, making sure she drank plenty of fluids and took medicine at the appropriate times. When she’d refused to take it, he’d come up with the best parental hack of all. He’d cut open one side of a juice box and put the medicine cup inside it, tricking Hadley into drinking it through the straw. Was there anything he couldn’t figure out how to do?
Her gaze moved to the Parenting and Highlights magazines on the nightstand beside Hadley’s house flyer. Archer had brought the magazines up a few hours ago when he’d said he was checking on Hadley, but Daphne had gotten the distinct impression he’d really been checking on Jock.
Jock’s eyes opened as she came into the room. “Hey, angel.”
“You’re going to completely unFerberize my little girl,” she teased. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and touched Hadley’s back, glad she was still cool.
“She was squirming in her sleep. I just wanted to comfort her.” He pressed a kiss to Hadley’s head.
How could Daphne do anything but smile? Her little girl had gone from having a daddy who had never wanted her to being loved by a man who couldn’t help but love her.
He patted the space beside him and said, “Sit with us.”
“We should put her to bed, let her sleep.”
“We will soon, I promise. I need a little more time.”
“You’re both spoiled.” She leaned in and kissed him. She moved his laptop and settled in beside them. He’d been writing on and off all day while Hadley slept. “Are you going to let Sutton read what you’ve written? She asked me to try to get you to send her your manuscript.”
“At some point. It’s not finished, and I want you to be the first person to read it.”
“Really?”
“You’re the reason I’m writing again. Your love for Hadley is what inspired the story.”
“It did?” She thought about the first time he’d come into Hadley’s bedroom when she’d been putting Hadley to bed, when he’d gotten so inspired he’d written until the wee hours of the morning. Her body heated thinking of their intimate celebration that had followed.
“Do you want to read it?” he asked.
“Of course. Now?”
“Why not?”
Reaching for his laptop, she said, “Is it scary?”
“Not horror scary. I’d give you a warning if I thought you needed it. It’s intense, but nothing you can’t handle.”
Excitement bubbled up inside her. “Are you sure? I feel like I’m peeking into your private world.”
“You are, but I want you to.”
She glanced at the screen and read the cover page: Eyes on You, by Jock Steele. “You’re using our good-night song? And Jock instead of Jack?”
“I’d like to use your song, if you don’t mind. But I can change the title to What He Sees if you’d rather I didn’t.”
“No, it’s totally fine as long as the heroine doesn’t get killed.”
“She doesn’t, and yes, I want to use Jock.”
“Won’t your publisher want you to use the same name as before?”
The edges of his lips tipped up. “That brain of yours is always thinking. Normally, yes, but I actually sent the editor who bought my last book a synopsis of this one, and he said the genre is different enough that it would be a good thing to use a slightly different name, so as not to confuse readers. But who knows if it’ll even get published. Now, stop procrastinating and read.”
“My, aren’t we pushy tonight?”
“Just excited.”
She loved knowing he was excited, too, so she dove into the story. Within the first few sentences she was riveted to the world he’d created and the tale he’d spun about a single mother hunted b
y a deranged killer. Her heart raced as several near captures played out like a movie on the page. Her pulse raced for a whole different reason as she became infatuated with the detective who had lost his family years earlier and was slowly falling in love with the killer’s prey. Jock’s writing was fluid and mesmerizing, sprinkling in just enough intrigue about the romance without overshadowing the intensity of the central plot. Daphne held her breath when the killer got so close, she could feel his heartbeat jumping off the pages. She cried when the overwhelmed heroine sank down to the floor of her pantry sobbing while her little girl watched television in the other room, and several chapters later, she lost her breath when the detective took the heroine in his arms and held her while she cried.
By the time she looked up from the story, Hadley was fast asleep in her bed and Jock was wrapping a towel around his waist after a shower. She hadn’t even realized he’d gotten up. She stood up and wiped her tears, too distracted with the story to let the tingles in her belly take over, and said, “What happens next? I need to know.”
“You and me, both,” he whispered, reaching for the laptop.
She clung to it. “What do you mean? I need to read it,” she said quietly. “You can’t just leave me hanging.”
He turned on the baby monitor and said, “Babe, it’s not on purpose. That’s all I’ve written.”
“What?” She whispered, “How do you sleep at night?”
He took her hand, leading her through the bathroom into his bedroom, and closed the door behind them.
“How can you leave it unfinished and still function?” she asked as he set the laptop on the chair and turned on the monitor. “I’d be writing twenty-four-seven if I were you.”
He locked the door to the hall, turning a seductive gaze full of sinful promises on her. He cut the lights, and moonlight spilled in through the curtains, illuminating his path as he strode toward her. Desire gusted off him like the wind, engulfing her like a lasso and drawing her in. His gaze slid down to her mouth, lingering there so long her thoughts fractured. He drew her into his arms, holding her against his damp, hot, and deliciously hard body. Her fingers trailed up his back, then down to the edge of the towel, and his hips pressed forward. The desire tingling and burning inside her radiated outward, to the very edges of her being.
Tempted by Love: Jack Jock Steele (The Steeles at Silver Island Book 1) Page 37