High-Risk Fever

by Lea Bronsen

  “Oui? Please be quick, madame. I’m on my way out.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed. “I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the night, but one of my tenants is very sick. I’m afraid he’s caught pneumonia.”

  “That’s for qualified personnel to decide.” His voice was sharp as a metal blade.

  “Well, that’s why I’m calling you.”

  “I don’t have time for this. I’m off to an emergency situation.”

  “Then may I speak to someone else?”

  “There’s no one else, madame. We’re all dispatched. It’s a crazy night. Now, if you’ll excuse—”

  Non! Not that. Her knees buckled. “But he needs help! He can’t stop coughing.”

  A grunt. “Then he’ll have to meet me in Montargis. I’ll bring an antibiotic.”

  What? That small mountain village was fifteen kilometers away. She pictured driving on the dark, winding road in the storm with a sick passenger in her car. How much worse could it get?

  She fought the tightness in her throat. “W-what’s the address?”

  “At the village entrance, you go right, drive past the château, right again, and drive to the end of the road.”

  “That’s it? To the end of the road?”

  “Yes. Now, please. I have a delivery to assist.”

  “A delivery? Oh mon Dieu. Yes. We’ll see you—”

  The line went dead.

  Wanting to calm her racing heart, she took a deep breath. Footsteps sounded on the creaking stairs, and she turned.

  A flashlight beam danced on the dark steps before sweeping the living room floor. Todd appeared, then Mica behind him, both wearing raincoats.

  Mica’s face was pallid and shiny with sweat. She gazed from one to the other with a steady look, pretending to be in control, while inside she trembled like the thinnest of trees in the garden.

  Mica held her gaze, tension in his black, glowing eyes betraying worry. His quick, raspy breaths sounded deep, as though the air he exhaled came from the farthest recesses of his lungs. Each intake of breath caused his features to tighten.

  She swallowed again and tried to hide her concern. “Are you ready?”

  Both men nodded, eyes fixed on hers.

  Todd rubbed his face. “He’s just taken medicine, so he shouldn’t have a coughing fit in your car.” His large chest heaved quickly under the pullover. “Let’s go.”

  “Okay.”

  “Wait.” Mica put a hand on Todd’s shoulder. “You stay here. You don’t need to—”

  Todd widened his eyes. “Don’t you want me to come with you?”

  “Is not necessary.”

  “But I can talk to the doctor for you. If you get worse—”

  “No. I’ll be fine. Get some sleep. You look exhausted.”

  Todd hesitated. “I am…but I want to be there for you, too. What if you get worse? Anne doesn’t know—”

  “Really, I’ll be fine. If there’s a problem, she can call you, no?”

  Looking from Mica to her, Todd shrugged. “I guess. But I don’t like it. Are you okay with it, Anne? Can you handle this on your own?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I don’t know how long it will take.”

  Or if we’ll even make it there.

  “Okay, then. As you want.” Todd looked so tired, his deep-emerald eyes had lost their gleam, but the meaning of his stare was evident. He trusted her.

  The guys exchanged a serious, intense look before Mica turned and followed her to the door.

  She paused. If Brian knew she was leaving the house with a man he was suspicious of, he would no doubt object. But did they have a choice? Mica’s life was at stake, and she didn’t want to wake Brian just to have him drive Mica himself.

  Heart hammering, she grabbed her raincoat from a hanger on the wall and put it on. As soon as she pressed the handle, the heavy door flew open, and cold air rushed inside, blowing her hair up. She ducked and stepped out.

  The forceful wind swooshed through the dark street, sweeping the asphalt, shaking closed doors and shutters on their hinges. Lamp posts swayed. An empty garbage bin lay on its side, mouth agape. Like every other loose object, its contents must have been spread throughout the village.

  Thankfully, her small Peugeot stood parked alongside the house, on what would be sidewalk if the street were wider. Head down, she clutched her purse and walked the few steps along the wall, fighting the strong gush of air, her coat dancing around her. She reached the front of the car, placed her palms on the cold metal for balance, and circled to the driver’s side. The door opened so fast, she thought it would fly into the air. Dizzy and deafened, she sank into her seat as Mica opened the passenger side, and they both slammed their doors shut.

  The familiar smell of leather and hard plastic calmed her, and she caught her breath.

  Mica put his seat belt on. “Woo!”

  She turned to him. How unusual to see him in the passenger seat, with long black hair spread on the shoulders of his raincoat, tanned hands folded in his lap, and feverish eyes meeting her gaze.

  Deep concern rushed through her, but also excitement at being alone with him, and relief that he would soon see a doctor.

  A smile curved his lips. “Crazy wind.”

  “Oui.” She smiled back, warmth filling her stomach. So he wasn’t angry with her anymore?

  She broke eye contact. Better concentrate on the task ahead than dwell too much on her connection with this man. She found her keys and started the car. The headlights pierced the thick darkness.

  After letting the engine warm, she pulled away and drove through the ghost-like neighborhood. The street split at the village exit, and she followed the sign to Montargis. A narrow road wound between dark hills and forest-clad valleys. Though a few fallen logs blocked one lane here and there, she met no real hindrance.

  Slumped in the passenger seat, Mica stared ahead, occasionally glancing at her without a word. His breathing sounded labored. At one point, he coughed so hard and long she thought he would choke, but she didn’t dare drive faster. The car lights were her only source of illumination. What if she missed a curve?

  After a dreadful time zigzagging through the windy countryside—on a road that under normal weather conditions was considered a Mecca for motorcycle enthusiasts, a sign indicated they were closing in on the village entrance.

  A minute later, the road separated. She chose right, and like the doctor said, passed an old castle looming in the dark before turning right again. Gravel replaced the asphalt, slowing her down.

  At the end of a narrow road, an old one-story farmhouse appeared in a clearing. Light flowed from the windows. Like most remote farms, this family owned a generator.

  She stopped the car in front of its wooden porch, next to a shiny, expensive Audi. Probably the doctor’s car. They were saved.

  Chapter Twelve

  Relief washed through her as she stepped out, her door instantly caught by the wind. She pressed it closed again while Mica scrambled out of his seat. They walked the few steps to a wooden door and rang the bell.

  No answer.

  Giving each other a glance, they opened the door, went in, and hung their raincoats on top of other clothes in the entrance.

  Dr. Lavogeaux’s voice sounded from inside.

  They entered a lit hall. How nice to be bathed in light, after so many days spent in darkness!

  While Mica kept a distance behind her, she peeked into a bedroom. A dark-haired man in a white shirt sat on the side of a double bed, his torso hiding the person lying under the sheets.

  Not wanting to disturb, Anne knocked lightly on the open door. As the doctor turned, brows furrowing, a woman’s head appeared behind him. Propped against pillows, a thirtyish blonde with light-brown eyes gave a beautiful, serene smile. In her arms, a miniature dark-haired head stuck out of a bundled white towel.

  The doctor lifted a finger. “Just a minute.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry to interrupt. My friend is, uh—” She s
pun around. Mica had disappeared.

  “I said, give me a minute.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  He paused, eyeing her. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

  What? She blinked.

  He nodded to the bundle in the woman’s arms. “The baby needs to be cleaned. But wash your hands first.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You don’t need to dress it, just wrap it in a clean towel.”

  She nodded, excitement building in her chest. This was a chance to hold a newborn for the first time in her life.

  “When I’m done, I’ll take care of your tenant. Or friend, as you just said.” He lifted a brow.

  Uh, yes. Cheeks heating, Anne pivoted and spotted the bathroom next door. A mirror above the sink sent back the reflection of a perfect idiot. A liar, a betrayer.

  You silly. How can you be so transparent?

  No one could know how she felt about Mica.

  She had never looked this tired, though. Her drawn features were begging for makeup. She washed her hands, praising the generator that enabled the water pump to work, and enjoyed warm, running water and the scent of lavender soap. What luxury.

  When she returned to the bedroom, she came to the woman’s side, avoiding the severe doctor.

  The mother smiled at the bundle cradled in her arms. “She came a little early. Two weeks early. And my husband’s on a business trip, so….”

  “Oh. But everything went well.”

  “Yes. She’s a miracle.”

  “She’s not crying.”

  “No. I think she’s happy to be here.” The woman’s eyes glimmered with tears as she lifted the baby and kissed its forehead. “There, you can take her. I’m Caroline.”

  “Anne.” Heart pounding, she bent to pick up the bundled towel, and with exaggerated care, placed it in the corner of her arm.

  The baby was surprisingly light, warm, and alive, its wrinkled, purplish skin covered by a white, waxy substance and faint traces of blood. She brought the miniature being closer to study it, focusing on her senses and blocking out all sounds and voices in the room. This magical moment might only last a few seconds, but it was hers.

  Tiny pink lips puckered and made sucking movements while dark-blue eyes, blank like those of the blind, roamed her face and blinked. The smell of warm, coppery sweetness drifted to her, and she took a deep breath to memorize the scent. She wanted to kiss the black hairs that covered the small head, but thought of Mica’s sickness. If he was contagious, she might be carrying his illness, too.

  The tiny lips opened, revealing a pink, wet tongue, and a small sound escaped. Anne smiled and brought the baby to the bathroom, light-footed, as if in a happy dream.

  She turned on the water in the sink with her free hand, mixing hot and cold, and dropped a tear of liquid lavender-scented soap into it. The sound of water spraying onto enamel filled the room, and the baby widened its eyes.

  Again, Anne smiled, and cooed, “Oui, mon bébé. Everything’s okay.”

  When the sink was two-thirds full, she stopped the water and opened the towel in her arm layer by layer like the most precious birthday present until the tiny, waxed body appeared, moist heat emanating from its skin.

  The baby’s legs and arms moved around the slightly swelled torso, tiny fingers curling and uncurling. She was already beginning to learn and discover.

  With much care, Anne lifted the baby girl in the air, fingers steadying her fragile neck, and let the used towel drop to the floor. Her body was surprisingly hot, and the skin soft and smooth as velvet. She placed her in the warm water, slowly, to give her time to adjust, and washed her with careful strokes. The baby’s small breaths came out faster, and the dark, but very clear, eyes moved erratically as she observed her surroundings for the first time.

  What a charming little being! Again, Anne had to stop herself from placing kisses.

  She cleaned the black hair gently with the tip of her fingers. With her free hand, she opened a cupboard underneath the sink, grabbed a clean towel, dipped one of its corners into the water, and wiped the baby’s adorable face, avoiding the eyes.

  She could stay like this forever, enjoying one of the most luxurious moments of her life—surely, she was made to be a mother—but voices in the adjacent room reminded her of waiting matters.

  She lifted the baby out of the water, wrapped her in the new towel, and carried her back to the room. Caroline sat alone, covered by clean bed sheets. In about ten minutes, the doctor had finished his work. She smiled and extended her hands.

  Anne hesitated. This was happening too fast.

  But the baby’s not mine. I’m not meant to keep it.

  A lump growing in her throat, she went to the bedside and bent to hand over the warm bundle.

  Caroline took the baby and stared lovingly at the tiny face peeking out of the towel. “Thank you.” She was radiant.

  “It’s my pleasure. She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Have you given her a name?”

  “Yes.” Caroline smiled. “I’ve waited very long to have her, so I’m going to call her Désirée.”

  Choking, tears rushing to her eyes, Anne gave the desired miracle a last glance before spinning around and hurrying out of the room, into the hall. Hot tears streamed down her face.

  Someday, she would have her own baby.

  Yeah, like never. She had been trying to get pregnant for two years.

  Dr. Lavogeaux stepped out of a black room down the hall. His eyes widened when he saw her standing with her arms around her chest, trembling and crying. “What’s wrong?” He hurried toward her. “The baby?”

  Damn. So much for hiding.

  “No.” She sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “I’m just…uh…tired.”

  “Hmm.” He stopped in front of her with a severe look, studying her. “I have good news for you. Your friend has a bad cough, but it’s not pneumonia.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Relief washed over her.

  “I’ve given him medicine and told him to stay the night here. There’s a spare bedroom.”

  “But—”

  He eyed her. “You should sleep here, too.”

  “But my husband—”

  “I'm sorry, you're in no condition to drive. You look like....” He pressed his lips together.

  A loud bang made them jump. The front door rattled on its hinges with unbelievable force, as if a mad troll had come out of the woods and pulled on the handle. Instinctively, she hunched her back, expecting the door to blow open at any moment. But it held.

  Dr. Lavogeaux looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed. “I shouldn’t be going out either, but other patients are waiting.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. A Dieux vat.”

  The wind whistled angrily in the treetops around the house, causing shivers to creep up her spine. She stared at him. The future was indeed in God’s hands. With a storm like that, it would be too dangerous to drive home. She had no choice but to sleep here, call Brian in the morning, and hope for improved weather tomorrow.

  The doctor stepped past her, giving her arm a push. “Au revoir, madame.”

  “Au revoir, docteur. And be careful.”

  “Always.”

  She turned to see him leave. When he pressed the handle, the door blew open so fast, it looked like he had yanked it open. Air gushed in with a whoosh, blowing into his face. He bent his head before stepping out into the night and forcing the door shut.

  All muscles rigid with tension, she headed to the dark room he’d come out of, and peeked inside. The hall light revealed the contours of Mica’s body curled on a single-person bed. Despite the trembling of the window shutters, his torso heaved peacefully, as if he was unaware of the raging storm.

  She stepped into the small room, took off her shoes, and on feet as light as cat paws, went to the other side of the bed. There wasn’t much space for two, but,
overcome with exhaustion, she didn’t want to think about what their closeness might engender. She lay on top of the sheets with her back to him, though not so near their bodies touched.

  Waiting for sleep to take over, she listened to his breathing and the furious gusts of wind outside.

  She deplored not being able to notify Brian. Hopefully he would understand why she didn’t make it home tonight. She prayed he wouldn’t ask too many questions. At least she could tell him about the baby, and how she’d been allowed to take care of it.

  Oh God. She already missed holding that little bundle. Her chest constricted. Tears rushed again, so fast, so easily. She closed her eyes and barely held back a gasp.

  She wanted to forget about this whole thing—Brian, the bicyclists, the storm, the baby, the…. It was too much. She didn’t know how to handle anything anymore. She was losing it, didn’t know who she was, or what she wanted, or the purpose of her life.

  The mattress moved. Mica’s warm body snuggled against hers, molding to her back.

  She froze, stopped breathing.

  “Why you crying?” His warm breath brushed her neck. A hand sneaked between her arm and chest, wound around her stomach, and pressed them closer together. Long fingers moved to her lower stomach, spreading on the shirt.

  A rush of lust charged through her like a bolt of lightning, merciless, searing, and all-consuming. She stiffened and held back a whimper. At the same time, his hoarse voice sent strange shivers down her spine, making her ache for something else. Warmth, perhaps. Comfort, reassurance.

  He asked why she was crying. Was he to be considered a friend, someone in whom she could confide?

  She wanted to turn around and touch him, smell his scent, taste his skin, dive into him as if he were liquid, and become one with him.

  Sizzling with need, stiff and numbed by excitement, she rolled onto her back, eyes wide but barely noting details in the dimly lit bedroom’s ceiling. His hand slid to the other side of her waist, leaving his forearm to rest heavily on her tummy. She couldn’t help arching up as her pussy muscles contracted with desire. His warm, regular breaths brushed her ear, their calmness urging her on.

  Again, she rolled, as if programmed to, until their knees and chests collided and her hand found his shoulder, nails digging into the woolly fabric of his pullover. Light from the hall behind him caressed the silhouette of his temple and cheeks, but rendered the rest of his face invisible in the shadow. Only his eyes glimmered from the low light that sneaked into the room. Soft breaths from his nostrils mingled with her own erratic, needy breathing.