by Linda Turner
If he’d had half a brain in his head, he would have jumped at her suggestion and gotten the hell out of Dodge. And not because he was afraid of getting sick—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much as a cold. No, his need to get out of there had nothing to do with Becky’s flu and everything to do with an attraction he’d felt sure he’d put in perspective while he was in Dallas. It was a physical thing, nothing more, he’d concluded, and could easily be dismissed.
But now, seeing her so frazzled and exhausted, all he could think about was drawing her into his arms and promising her he’d take care of everything. And that scared the hell out of him. Because there was nothing so dangerous as a vulnerable woman to a man who found it easy to play the white knight.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Not when she was out on her feet and obviously needed help. “I’m not leaving you to deal with this alone,” he said flatly. “Where’s Robby?”
“At school. He ate breakfast like it was going out of style this morning and seemed perfectly fine, so there was no reason to keep him home. The doctor said if he doesn’t show any symptoms within the next twenty-four hours, he probably won’t get it.”
The phone rang then, and with a tired sigh, she turned to answer it. “That’s probably Mrs. Johnson again. She called before six-thirty this morning to complain that they didn’t have any hot water. I put in a call to the plumber, but he had another emergency and hasn’t shown yet.”
Grim-faced, he stepped in front of her to block her path to the phone. “I’ll deal with Mrs. Johnson. You go to bed.”
“Bed? You can’t be serious! Look at this place. I’ve got to do some laundry. Oh, and I need to show you some sketches for the attic—”
“No, you don’t. Not now.” Ignoring the ringing phone, he set his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward her bedroom. “Go lie down and take a nap,” he said, and gave her a gentle push in the right direction. “I’ll take care of the phone and the laundry and anything else that pops up. You get some sleep so you can take care of Becky when she wakes up.”
“But Robby will be home soon. Mrs. Tucker’s going to pick him up at school. The pharmacist said for him to drink grape juice. It might keep him from getting sick...”
“I think I can manage to pour him a glass or two. And if we run out, I know where the store is. Okay? Now will you lie down before you fall flat on your face?”
She didn’t want to. Even with her back to him, he could see her trying to gather the energy to protest. But she just didn’t have it in her. Her stiff stance abruptly melted and with a quiet sigh, she gave in. “All right. But just for a little while. And don’t do the laundry. I’ll do it when I get up.”
“Fine,” he said. “Have a nice nap.”
Stumbling toward her bedroom like a drunk heading for a bar and the first desperate drink of the day, she waved a hand in acknowledgement and never looked back. The second the bedroom door closed behind her, Mitch snatched up a pile of sheets and dumped them in the washing machine with enough soap to kill a truckload of germs. Then he headed for the kitchen.
Housework wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but his mother had made sure her boys knew how to cook and clean up after themselves, and he set about righting the apartment with grim determination. All kinds of juices littered the kitchen counter, not to mention half-full glasses that had barely been touched, and he could almost see Phoebe trying to coax her niece into drinking first one juice, then another in an effort to bring down her triple-digit fever. She must have been frantic.
Something clenched in his gut at the thought of what she must have gone through all by herself last night. A blind man could see that she loved those kids like they were her own, but being their sole caretaker was a heavy responsibility for her slender shoulders. If he’d been there, he could have helped her or at least walked the floor with her while she worried.
Watch it, man, a caustic voice sneered in his head. You keep thinking like that and someone might think you’re starting to care about the lady. And we both know better than that, don’t we? Nobody’s going to get past that hard shell around your heart, especially a homeless waif towing two rug rats behind her.
Scowling, he reminded himself that he didn’t have to apologize to anyone for who and what he was. But as soon as he had the dishwasher loaded and running, he pulled a frozen chicken out of the freezer and started a pot of soup. When that damn little voice wondered how Phoebe would react if she knew she was the first woman he’d cooked for in a decade, he told it to shut the hell up. If he wanted to cook in his own damn apartment, it was nobody’s business but his own.
In a bear of a mood, he’d just put the last load of sheets in the dryer when Robby ran in from school. Bright-eyed and excited about the grade he’d made on a short story he’d written, he could hardly stand still. “Where’s Aunt Phoebe?” he asked, fidgeting from one foot to the other. “My teacher said I might be the next Mark Twain. You know—he wrote that story about those two boys...Huck and Tom? Wait’ll I show Aunt Phoebe. She’s really going to like my story—”
Clutching the crumpled story to his chest, he started to dart around him, only to be brought up short when Mitch grabbed him by the arm. “Hold up there, pardner. Why don’t you show it to me, instead? Your Aunt Phoebe’s lying down right now. I’m sure she’d love to see it later.”
It was a simple enough excuse, one that shouldn’t have alarmed Robby in the least. But he went as white as a sheet at Mitch’s words and frantically began tugging at his arm to free himself. “Let go! She’s sick, isn’t she? That’s why she’s lying down. She’s sick and you don’t want me to know it!”
The accusation stunned Mitch...and explained the sudden fear in the boy’s eyes. He’d already lost his parents; Phoebe was the only stability he and his sister had left in the world. If they lost her, too, they had to know they would be totally alone in the world. No wonder the poor kid was terrified. Most adults couldn’t handle the thought of being alone. For a child, it had to be the most frightening thing in the world.
“C’mon, Robby, you know I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said quietly. “Your aunt was up with Becky most of the night. She was so tired when I came in that she could hardly see straight, so I sent her to bed. She’s okay. Really.”
His brown eyes searching, Robby obviously wanted to believe him, but he was too worried about Phoebe to let go of his fear. “You promise?”
“I’ll do better than that,” Mitch said easily. “I’ll show you. C’mon.”
Preceding him to the bedroom door, he motioned for the boy to be quiet, then silently eased open the door. Just as he’d promised, both Becky and Phoebe were asleep and didn’t so much as stir when the door opened. Exhausted, Phoebe hadn’t bothered to change and had crawled into bed fully dressed, shoes and all. She hadn’t even pulled the covers over herself.
His mouth twitching into a smile, Mitch started to close the door now that Robby had been reassured, but then his gaze locked on Phoebe’s flushed cheeks and he frowned. She hadn’t had a drop of color in her face when he’d sent her to bed, but now her cheeks were a rosy hue that he doubted came from sleep. Suddenly concerned, he quietly crossed the room to her bedside and gently cupped her cheek in his palm, only to swear in alarm. She was burning up with fever, too.
Chapter 7
“Phoebe? Wake up, sweetheart. You need to take something to bring your fever down.”
Weighed down by a hot, heavy blanket of sleep, Phoebe vaguely heard Mitch’s voice coming to her from somewhere. She shifted restlessly on the bed. It seemed like every time she closed her eyes, he was there in her thoughts, and now she was dreaming that he had called her “sweetheart.” It had to stop, she told herself dully. She was so tired, and she never could find the time to catch up on her sleep. As soon as she got up from her nap, she was going to tell him to stop pestering her. A woman ought to be able to go to bed without a man taking up space in her dreams and making her want things she couldn’
t have.
“I know you’re tired, honey, but you’re burning up with fever. Wake up just long enough to take some aspirin, and I swear I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
Frowning, she tried to sink deeper into her dreams, but that persistent, husky voice followed her, coaxing and prodding and refusing to be ignored. Her head starting to throb, she groaned. “Go ’way. Need sleep.”
“I know. And I’ll let you,” he promised. “Just as soon as you take some aspirin.”
Still caught up in her dream, she felt his hand on her cheek again, and it was so real that she could no more resist his touch than the tides could resist the pull of the moon. Struggling toward consciousness, she forced open heavy-lidded eyes and blinked in confusion at the sight of Mitch sitting on the side of her bed. Where had he come from? He was supposed to be in Dallas. Instead, he was there, in her bedroom, cupping her cheek and frowning down at her worriedly. And she was sick.
“What are you doing?” she asked hoarsely. “You have to get out of here. I’m contagious.” She started to push up into a sitting position, but the second she lifted her head off the pillow, her stomach reacted violently in protest. Moaning, she bolted from the bed and ran for the bathroom.
Sick as a dog, she never knew Mitch was right there with her until he slipped an arm around her waist from behind and gently wiped her face with a damp washcloth. Mortified, she protested weakly, “Go away. You shouldn’t be in here.”
“And where else would I be?” he growled. “On the telephone wheeling and dealing while you’re sick in the bathroom? I don’t think so. Are you done here?”
She nodded, and in the next instant found herself swept up in his arms. Her head spinning, she clutched frantically at him. “Mitch! Put me down! I can walk.”
“Sure you can,” he snorted. “Look at you. You’re so weak, you couldn’t swat a fly if your life depended on it. Relax. I’m just carrying you to bed so you won’t fall on your face in front of the kids. They’re worried about you.”
“Oh, God!” she whispered. The kids. She’d completely forgotten them! Her head throbbing and her stomach still cramping, she glanced around as Mitch carried her into the bedroom, only to feel her heart clench at the sight of both kids sitting on the lower bunk. Becky, abruptly awakened from her own nap by Phoebe’s mad dash to the bathroom, appeared to be on the mend and would have looked almost like her old self if silent tears hadn’t trailed silently down her face. Next to her, huddled close, Robby was drawn and quiet, his brown eyes far too somber for a child who had gone laughing off to school just that morning.
“Hey, guys, why the long faces?” she teased weakly as Mitch laid her on the bed. “I’m okay. Really. I’ve just got that nasty old flu bug. This time tomorrow, I’ll be back to my old self, so don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”
“Then why was Mitch carrying you?” Becky sniffed. “Can’t you walk?”
“Of course I can,” she replied. “I was just a little wobbly and Mitch was afraid I’d fall. I’ll be fine, honey, after I rest a while.”
Unconvinced, Robby said accusingly, “You said you never get sick. You’re not going to die, are you?”
“Oh, no, sweetie!” Horrified that he would think such a thing, she ignored her churning stomach and wobbly legs, not to mention Mitch’s disapproving frown, and climbed out of bed to give them both a hug. “I’m not dying. You hear me? I’m going to stick around until you two grow up and we’re all old and gray together. So don’t worry about me, okay? Now, why don’t we see about getting you guys a snack? Becky, do you think you could eat some Jell-O? I made your favorite—strawberry.”
When the little girl nodded eagerly, Mitch said firmly, “Come on, kids, I’ll get the Jell-O. You change into your nightgown and get back in bed,” he told Phoebe, and tossed her the gown she’d hung on the hook on the back of the bedroom door. “I’ll be right back with some juice and aspirins, then you’re going back to sleep.”
If she hadn’t been so miserable, she would have bristled at his high-handed manner and told him that he didn’t give her orders, especially about when she went to bed. But before she could even summon the energy to open her mouth, he’d scooped Becky up, much to her delight, and hustled Robby out to the kitchen for Jell-O.
Glaring after him as he shut the door, she was half tempted to defy him and go to bed just as she was. But he was a man who didn’t lack for arrogance, and she wouldn’t put it past him to strip her clothes from her himself and stuff her into her nightgown if she didn’t do as he said. Mumbling curses under her breath, she untied her shoes, then tugged them off, and was amazed at how much concentration it took. Frowning, she struggled out of her sweatshirt and pulled her gown over her head, but she couldn’t find the strength to manage her jeans. Sighing tiredly, she stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she promised herself. She’d just rest for a minute and work up the energy to get out of her jeans.
Mitch served the kids their Jell-O at the coffee table in the living room, turned the TV to the cartoon station, and strode back into Phoebe’s bedroom without bothering to knock. He’d seen the faint flash of fire in her eyes before he’d walked out and wouldn’t have been surprised to find her sitting in the middle of the bed, fully dressed right down to her shoes and openly defiant.
Instead, she’d collapsed in a heap on her pillow.
He should have been amused. Even though she’d made an attempt to change, she’d still found a way to defy him. Her sweatshirt and tennis shoes lay where she’d dropped them on the floor by the side of the bed, but she’d obviously run out of steam when she’d pulled on her nightgown. Still unbuttoned, the enticing curve of her breast clearly visible, the gown was bunched around her waist, exposing her jean-clad hips and legs. She’d never gotten around to squirming out of them.
If she’d wanted to thwart him, she couldn’t have found a better way. He either had to strip her out of those jeans or listen to his conscience nag him the rest of the evening for not helping her when she obviously couldn’t help herself. It was, he decided, a terrible thing, having a conscience. It damn near made it impossible for a man to mind his own business and keep his hands to himself.
Scowling, he knew he had no choice but to do the right thing, but he damn well wasn’t going to enjoy it. She was asleep, for God’s sake, and sick on top of that! Only a real pervert would get any enjoyment out of stripping a woman in that kind of condition, and he hadn’t sunk that low yet.
His jaw rigid, he sank down on the side of the bed and reached for the snap of her jeans. He was, he told himself, going to do this fast, then get the hell out of there. But in the sudden ringing silence of the bedroom, the sound of her zipper being lowered was like a rough growl. She was the one with the fever, but he was the one who broke out in a sweat. Swearing, he tried not to notice the softness of her skin, not to mention the lace of her panties, as he worked the jeans down her hips and thighs, but he’d set an impossible task for himself. He wasn’t made of stone, and she had the most beautiful legs he’d ever seen.
Grinding his teeth on an oath, he reminded himself that he was a man of principle, then tossed the jeans on the floor. A heartbeat later, her gown was pulled down, covering her all the way to her ankles, and the sheet and comforter were tugged up over her. Relieved, Mitch glared down at Phoebe’s sleeping form and didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or shake her. He generally expected some kind of a reaction from a woman when he undressed her. She didn’t even know he was there.
He should have left her then, but she still hadn’t taken anything for her fever, and she was burning up. He hated to wake her, but he didn’t see that he had any choice. A high fever was nothing to play around with. “Phoebe? C’mon, honey, wake up. I know you want to sleep, but we’ve got to get some aspirins down you.”
She moaned and tried to turn away, but he was having none of it. Gently shaking her shoulder, he coaxed, “Just two, and then I’ll leave you alone. I promise. C’mon, beautiful. Open your eye
s.”
She didn’t want to. She fought him, whimpering, but he was as stubborn as she was, refusing to let her rest until she did as he said. Finally opening pain-dulled eyes, she cried softly, “Why are you doing this to me? Can’t you see I’m sick?”
She sounded so pitiful, he winced. “I’m not trying to torture you, honey. Can’t you feel how hot you are? We’ve got to get your fever down. You don’t want to end up in the hospital, do you? Then take your medicine like a good girl. That’s right,” he said when she forced down the pills with a swallow of grape juice. “Just a little more juice, and then you can go back to sleep.”
Afraid she would get dehydrated, he tried to get her to drink all of it, but she could only manage two more sips before she pushed the glass back into his hands. “No more,” she choked, and collapsed back against her pillow with a tired sigh.
Just that little bit of effort had drained the last of the color from her cheeks, and Mitch didn’t have the heart to push her further. Setting the juice on the nightstand in case she might need it later, he started to push to his feet, but he’d barely moved when she reached out and grabbed his hand. “The kids...”
“Are just fine,” he assured her. “They’re both eating Jell-O and watching cartoons, so don’t lie here and worry about them. If you want to worry about something, worry about kicking this thing and getting back on your feet. I’ll take care of the kids.”
“But they’re not your responsibility,” she protested weakly. “I should be taking care of them.”