The Fortune Most Likely To...

by Marie Ferrarella

  “I already explained why,” Everett told her patiently.

  She couldn’t make any sense out of what he’d told her. “But we were in the restaurant,” she protested, desperately trying to piece things together. It felt as if there was a huge gaping hole in her brain and facts were just falling through it, disappearing without a trace.

  Maybe if he gave her a summary of the events, Everett thought, it might calm her down.

  “You passed out in the restaurant,” he told her. “I brought you to your house and carried you to your room. Your clothes were all wet, so I got you out of them and into that jersey.”

  She looked down again, doing her best to focus on what she was looking at. The jersey seemed to swim in front of her eyes. “You went through my things,” she accused.

  “Just in order to find something to put on you,” he answered simply. Maybe he should have let it go at that, but he couldn’t help saying, “You kept my jersey.”

  She wasn’t about to get into that—and she wouldn’t have had to if he hadn’t gone rummaging through her drawers, she thought angrily.

  “You had no right to go through my things,” she said defensively.

  This was going nowhere. He wasn’t about to get sucked into a circular debate about what he’d done and why he’d done it.

  “Lila, you have the flu. The best thing for you right now is to rest and drink plenty of fluids. Arguing is not part of that formula. Now I’ll get you some water—or tea if you’d prefer. Your job in this is to take care of the ‘rest’ part.”

  Lila made a disgruntled face. “I don’t like tea,” she told him.

  “Water it is,” he responded, heading out to the kitchen.

  A couple of minutes later Everett came back with a large glass of water. He propped her up with one hand beneath her pillows while he held out the glass to her with the other.

  Lila took the glass with both hands and began to drink with gusto.

  “Sip, don’t gulp,” he cautioned.

  “I know how to drink water,” she informed him, her voice still raspy. However, she grudgingly complied with his instructions. Getting her fill, she surrendered the glass.

  Taking it from her, Everett slowly lowered her back down on the bed.

  Lila’s head felt as if it was floating and there were half thoughts darting in and out of her brain. Her eyes shifted in his direction.

  “Did you enjoy it?” she asked.

  His back was to her as he put the glass down on the bureau. Turning around, Everett looked at her quizzically. He had no idea what she was referring to. “Did I enjoy what?”

  “Undressing me.”

  Her voice was even lower than it had been before and he could hardly make out what she was saying. He filled in the blanks.

  “I did it in my capacity as a doctor,” Everett answered.

  Confusion furrowed her brow. Nothing was making sense. “Meaning you didn’t look?”

  Everett had deliberately divorced himself from his feelings while he’d gotten her out of the wet clothes and into the jersey. But not enough to be completely unaffected by what he was doing. However, he wasn’t about to tell her that. That would have been deliberately buying trouble in his opinion.

  Instead, he said, “Only to make sure I didn’t rip anything.”

  Her eyes narrowed further as she tried to look into his. “I don’t think I believe you,” she whispered.

  The next moment, her eyes had closed and within a few seconds, she was asleep again.

  “That’s okay,” he whispered back, gently pushing her hair away from her face and tucking her back under the covers. “I wouldn’t believe me either if I were you.”

  He’d gotten her out of her clothes and into the jersey as quickly as he could, but that didn’t mean that doing so hadn’t stirred something within him even though he had tried his damnedest to block out those thoughts and feelings.

  He had been functioning as a doctor, but he was remembering as her lover and that image was really difficult to shake.

  * * *

  The next time Lila opened her eyes and looked around, she saw that she was alone.

  It had all been a dream, she thought with a twinge of disappointment.

  She struggled into an upright position, her body aching and protesting every movement she made.

  She stifled a groan. She felt as if she’d been run over by a truck. A truck that had deliberately backed up over her then taken off after running her over again.

  She struggled to focus, her head throbbing, impeding her thoughts.

  How did she get here? The last thing she actually remembered was being in the restaurant—sitting opposite Everett.

  Everett had been part of her dream, she realized.

  All these years and she was still having dreams about Everett. Strange dreams.

  She needed to get up, she thought.

  Just as she was about to throw back her covers, Everett walked into the room carrying a tray.

  He smiled, pleased to see her up. “You’re awake.”

  Lila’s mouth dropped open as she stared at him. “I didn’t dream you.”

  He set the tray down on the bureau for the moment.

  “You dreamt about me?” he asked. He was practically beaming.

  She became instantly defensive. “What are you doing here?”

  “We went through this last night,” he reminded her patiently. “Don’t you remember?”

  “I thought that was a dream.” She was repeating herself, Lila thought. She held her head. It was really throbbing. “I feel awful.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, you don’t look awful,” he told her. “But you are sick.”

  “No, I’m not,” she protested. She tried to throw the covers off again and found that the single movement was exceedingly taxing to her strength. What the hell had happened to her? “I have to get ready for work,” she told Everett defiantly, wanting him to leave.

  Everett carefully drew her covers back up. “No work for you until you get well,” he told her, leaving no room for argument.

  Didn’t he understand? “I’ve got people counting on me,” she told him.

  “And if you turn up, you’ll be infecting those people.” She tried to get up again and this time, he held down her hands just enough to keep her where she was. “Are you familiar with the story of Typhoid Mary?”

  Was that what Everett thought she was? A woman who wantonly infected people? “That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not trying to be funny, Lila,” he told her. “But I am trying to get through to you. You’re sick.” Everett told her, enunciating every word slowly. “You have the flu.”

  She felt like hell warmed over, but she still protested, “No, I don’t.”

  His eyes met hers. “Which one of us went to medical school?” he asked her in a quiet, tolerant voice that only served to infuriate her.

  She blew out an angry breath. “You did,” she said grudgingly.

  Everett smiled. She had made his point for him. “You have the flu,” he repeated.

  “I can’t have the flu,” she insisted. She looked up at Everett, her eyes pleading with him.

  This had to be good, he thought. “Why?”

  Exasperation throbbed in every syllable. “Because I just can’t.”

  Everett decided to play along as if she had a valid argument that needed exploration. “Did you get vaccinated?”

  “No,” Lila admitted, mumbling the word under her breath.

  A triumphant look slipped over his face. “Okay, all together now: You have the flu.”

  Defeated, Lila sank back onto her pillow as if all the air had been suddenly pumped out of her.

  “I really have the flu?” Lila asked him, silently begging him to come up with another explanation.

>   Rather than answer her immediately, Everett decided to back himself up with evidence. “What’s your throat feel like?”

  She didn’t have to think before answering. “Sandpaper.”

  “And your head?” he asked, giving her a chance to contradict his diagnosis.

  It was getting harder and harder for her to focus because of the pain. “Like there’re twelve angry elves with steel hammers in it trying to beat their way out.”

  “Add that to the chills I observed last night and the high fever—which by the way is going down—and you have more than your fair share of flu symptoms.”

  “The flu,” Lila repeated in despair, saying it as if it was the mark of Cain on her forehead. “Isn’t there anything you can do for me?” she asked, almost pleading with him.

  “I’m doing it,” he told her. “I’m nursing you back to health with bed rest, liquids and I have here a bowl of chicken soup that’s guaranteed to cure what ails you,” he quipped.

  He’d found a folding TV tray tucked away in one of the closets and he set it up now next to her bed. When he was satisfied that it was stable, he put the bowl of soup on it along with a large soupspoon.

  “See if you can hold that down,” he told her.

  Lila looked down into the bowl of soup as if she was trying to make up her mind about it. “Chicken soup?” she repeated.

  “Highly underrated, by the way,” he told her. “Apparently, our grandmothers knew something about its healing powers that we didn’t. Seriously,” he told Lila. “Try taking a few spoonfuls,” he urged, helping her sit up and placing two pillows at her back to keep her upright.

  The spoon was in her hand, but it remained motionless for now. “Where did you get the soup?” she asked. She knew she didn’t have any canned soups in her kitchen cabinets.

  “I had Schuyler bring it,” he answered. He’d called his sister this morning and added that to his first request. “Along with your car,” Everett said.

  “My car?” Lila repeated. And then it suddenly came back to her. “My car’s at the Foundation.” Panic had entered her voice.

  “Not anymore. Schuyler and her fiancé swung by this morning to pick up the keys to your car. They already drove it over. It’s right outside in your driveway,” he told her.

  Lila looked at him in wonder. “You took care of everything,” she marveled.

  Everett grinned. “What can I say? I’m an overachiever.”

  Lila smiled at his choice of words. “I remember that about you,” she said with almost a fond note in her voice.

  When she sounded like that, he could feel himself melting. Now wasn’t the time. “Eat your soup before it gets cold,” he urged.

  “And loses its magic healing powers?” she asked in an amused voice that was finally beginning to sound more like her.

  “Something like that.”

  Lila nodded. “All right, I’ll eat—if you tell me exactly what happened last night,” she bargained.

  “I already told you,” he said. Seeing that she wasn’t about to budge until he’d told her the whole story without skipping anything, Everett sighed. “But I’ll tell you again,” he said, resigned. “We were at the restaurant and you suddenly passed out.”

  She visualized that now and became horrified. “In front of everybody?”

  “Just the people looking our way,” he quipped. “I didn’t take a head count,” he said, doing his best not to get her agitated.

  “Nobody called the paramedics, did they?” Lila asked. The last thing she wanted was for this to get around. She wanted to be able to do her job when she got back, not have to constantly be answering a lot of questions because there were rumors circulating about her. Rumors always had a way of escalating and becoming exaggerated.

  The thought of having to deal with that made her feel more ill.

  “Well, you frightened the server, but I told her I was a doctor and that seemed to satisfy her. So I picked you up and carried you to my car. Our waitress followed us with your purse and the dinners she packed up to go—which, by the way, are in the refrigerator waiting for you once you get your appetite back.”

  “How did you know where I lived?” Lila asked suddenly. She hadn’t told him her address.

  “I got it from your driver’s license in your purse,” he told her. “Which, before you ask, is where I found the keys to your house. And the car,” he added, “so that Schuyler could drive it here. Okay,” he informed her, “that about catches us up.”

  Turning, he was about to return to the kitchen when she cried, “Wait.”

  Now what? He did his best not to sound impatient. “I told you everything,” he stressed.

  “Weren’t you supposed to go back to your practice in Houston today?” she asked, remembering he’d said something to that effect.

  He looked at her pointedly. Was she trying to get him to make some sort of a declaration about the way he felt about her, or was this just an innocent question? “My plans changed.”

  “You don’t have to stay here on my account,” she protested.

  “Lila, right now a pregnant cat could beat you at arm wrestling with one paw tied behind her back. You have the strength of an overcooked noodle. You need to rest and you need someone to take care of you while you’re resting. I’m volunteering.”

  She shook her head and almost instantly regretted it. Her head started swimming and she waited for it to steady itself again. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “I don’t recall asking for permission,” he told her. “I’ve got more vacation time coming to me than any two people in my office combined and I’m electing to take some of it now. Now don’t argue with me. Eat your soup and lie back, watch some mindless TV and rest. Doctor’s orders,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “Understood?”

  Looking somewhat subdued, which both surprised and worried him, Lila repeated, “Understood.”

  Chapter Twelve

  She remembered.

  Although Lila tried very hard not to, over the course of the next few days she began to remember why she had fallen in love with Everett to begin with. Not because he was so devastatingly handsome—which he still was, perhaps even more so—but because he was so kind.

  Kind and thoughtful and caring.

  She’d witnessed those traits in action while accompanying Everett on the house calls they’d paid together before she’d gotten ill, and now she was witnessing it up close and personal while he was taking care of her and nursing her back to health.

  In essence, Everett was very quietly waiting on her hand and foot. He made sure she drank plenty of fluids. He prepared a soft, bland diet for her, then slowly substituted food with more substance when he felt she could handle it. The progression took close to a week because he told her he didn’t want to rush things and risk her having a setback.

  By the end of the fourth day of her convalescence, Lila had gotten comfortable enough with him to allow herself to share a few old stories about people they had known back in high school.

  Since she had left Houston thirteen years ago, he was in a far better position to tell her what some of the people they had grown up with were doing these days.

  “Remember Jack Logan?” Everett asked, bringing up another name as they were sharing a lunch of soup and sandwiches in her room.

  It took Lila a moment to put a face to the name. “Oh, you mean the guy who expected every woman to faint at his feet just because he looked their way?” She remembered that Jack was always telling everyone he had big plans for himself. “Whatever happened to him?”

  Everett smiled, remembering how brash and abrasive Logan had been. “He still lives in Houston and works at the airport as a baggage checker.”

  As she recalled, that didn’t exactly match up to Logan’s lofty goals. “Is he still a lady-killer?”

  He looke
d at Lila and answered her with a straight face. “Only if he fell on top of one. I saw him recently. He must have gained over a hundred pounds since graduation.”

  Lila tried to stifle a laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. Somehow, that seemed like poetic justice. Logan had always been cruelly critical of anyone he felt wasn’t as good-looking as he was. His remarks were always particularly hurtful about women he viewed to be overweight, even if they were carrying only a few extra pounds.

  “He was always such an egotist,” she said when she stopped laughing.

  “That part hasn’t changed,” Everett told her. Finishing his meal, he wiped his mouth and put down his napkin. “I think he just sees his expanding weight as there being more of him to be impressed with.” He looked at Lila’s plate. “Are you finished?” he asked, nodding at her tray.

  “Yes.” As Everett removed the tray, she told him, “You know, you really don’t have to wait on me hand and foot like this.”

  For the time being, Everett placed the tray aside on the bureau. He could take both trays to the kitchen the next time he left the room.

  “Well, I’m here and there’s not that much else to do,” he reasoned. “So, to my way of thinking, I might as well make myself useful.”

  “That’s another thing,” she said, picking up on the fact that he was still in Austin. “I’m keeping you from your practice.”

  His eyes met hers for a long moment. And then he said, “Maybe I like being kept.”

  Lila felt herself growing warm and she didn’t think that she was having any sort of a relapse. At least not the kind that involved the flu.

  She did her best to steer the conversation in the initial direction she’d intended.

  “What I’m saying is that you don’t need to take care of me anymore. I’m getting better all the time.”

  “That’s because of all the excellent care you’ve been getting.”

  Lila smiled, shaking her head. Everett had always had a way with words. “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Good,” Everett said with finality. He had brought her that day’s TV schedule earlier for her to look through. He picked it up now and thumbed through it. “Now what would you like to watch this afternoon?” he asked. Watching TV after lunch had become a ritual for them the last few days, something he felt that they both looked forward to. “There’re some pretty good old movies on the Classic Channel and I found a station that’s streaming a lot of those old sitcoms you used to like watching.” He named a couple of specific programs.