“Hello?” she answered on the third ring, and Sam swallowed as he tried to find his voice.
“Daff. It’s Sam. We have to get Lia to a doctor. Something’s wrong. She seemed fine when she got here, just said she had a headache. But she’s been here about an hour. She napped on the sofa while I was cooking. She’s fucking burning up. She threw up.” He heard his voice rising in increments and wondered if he sounded as completely terrified to Daff as he did to himself. “Please. I-I’m not sure what to do.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d admitted to not knowing how to resolve a situation. Sam always knew how to fix things. How to make it better. How to save lives. And maybe—if it had been anyone other than Lia—he would have known what to do this time as well. But all he had to do was look at her curled up on the sofa, so small and vulnerable, and all rational thought fled.
“You’re at the cabin?” Daff asked in her no-nonsense voice.
“Yeah.”
“We’ll be right there.”
“Hurry.”
They took her to the emergency room, and as Sam sat waiting with her family, he vaguely registered that he was wearing track pants without a top and socks but no shoes. He didn’t care—all he could think about was the paramedics putting a respiratory mask on Lia’s face as they transported her into the back of the ambulance. Daff had climbed into the back with her, Sam had gone with Spencer and Charlie, and they had all met Dr. and Mrs. McGregor at the hospital.
Daff had joined them about an hour after their arrival, saying that the doctor was with Lia. Sam had wanted to drill her about Lia’s condition, but everybody else was already asking all the questions he wanted to, so he sat quietly and listened. She was fine, no worse, doctor seemed relaxed, with no sense of urgency about him, which Daff seemed to think was a good thing. But the information only made Sam want to hunt the doctor down and shake some urgency into him.
“Brand?” Sam stared dazedly up at Spencer, not sure how long the man had been standing in front of him or what he had asked.
“Do you want some coffee?”
Sam nervously rubbed his hands together and shook his head. “No.” He paused before belatedly tacking on, “Thank you.” He averted his eyes as he comprehended just how much Lia’s sweet, polite manners were starting to affect his own behavior. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that and right now he didn’t care. All he wanted was to see Lia and to know that she was safe.
As if in answer to his desperate thought, the waiting room doors opened and an older man in a white coat looked around the room.
“McGregor?” Everybody surged to their feet and surrounded him, and the man held up his palms in surrender. He was grinning, which made Sam breathe a bit easier.
“Your girl has a touch of the flu. A particularly nasty strain of H1N1. It’s been going around and she tells me she works at a preschool, so that’s probably where she caught it. I’ve had a few little ones in here over the last week. She had some difficulty breathing, but nothing to be alarmed about. We’ll keep her for a couple of hours before discharging her, just to monitor her. But with proper care, medication, and a lot of rest, I have no doubt she’ll make a full recovery. I take it you’ve all been exposed to it? She would probably have become contagious yesterday.”
“We haven’t seen her in a couple of days,” Mrs. McGregor said.
“Same here,” Daff said. “Well, I suppose the ride in the ambulance with her counts, but I’ve had my flu shot.”
“It’s transmitted through sneezing or coughing. But if you’ve had the shot, you’re probably okay. If you don’t show any symptoms over the next two or three days you should be fine.”
All heads turned to Sam, and he stared back at them awkwardly, trying very hard to avoid Lia’s parents’ eyes.
“Suffice it to say I’ve been pretty thoroughly exposed,” he said, his voice ironic as he comprehended the unintentional double meaning to his words.
“Well, that answers a couple of questions,” Dr. McGregor muttered beneath his breath, leveling a steely-eyed look at Sam.
“Bus-ted,” Daff singsonged softly, then yelped and glared at Spencer when he tugged a lock of her hair.
“Well, there are ways to avoid getting it if you’ve already been exposed,” the doctor said. “I suggest you pick up a pamphlet at the nurses’ station before you leave. I wouldn’t recommend visitation, unless you’ve already been exposed or have had the shot. She’s going to be pretty miserable for the next few days, and it will be best for her to have someone around to keep an eye on her, at least for the first day or two. It will run its course between three and seven days. Scary morning, I know, but she’ll be fine.”
He went on his merry way, actually whistling as he left the waiting room. Sam sat down heavily and once again listened to Lia’s family talk around him. Discussing what the best course of action would be.
“We’ll have to postpone the weekend, of course,” Daff was saying. “I’ll see if we can get a refund on the airfare. I’ll stay with her, since I’ve had the shot. The rest of you should get yours, too, by the way. Seriously, people, am I the only sensible person in this family?”
“Why postpone the weekend?” Sam was shocked to hear himself say. “I’ve already been exposed, I’ll stay with her over the weekend and you can still go on your trip.”
Daff planted her hands on her hips, tilted her head, and gave him a long, assessing look.
“I’ll be looking for a wedding dress, Brand. I’d like my maid of honor to be present.”
“We could set up a Skype connection or something so that she can see everything and give her opinion on the dresses.”
“It won’t be the same,” she dismissed curtly, and he shrugged, letting it go, but at the same time wondering why he felt so fucking disappointed by her refusal to consider his suggestion.
All he knew was that he probably wouldn’t be seeing Lia for a week—and he found the prospect completely abhorrent.
“Daff,” Mrs. McGregor said softly, “don’t dismiss his idea out of hand. Planning another weekend like this with everybody’s busy schedules will be quite difficult, especially if you definitely want that October wedding. You want to get the dresses organized sooner rather than later.”
Daff looked torn and hesitated before shaking her head.
“Let’s discuss this later. I want to talk to Lia about it first. Since I’m the only one who can, I’ll go and check on her now.”
Sam pushed himself up and moved to stand beside her, and she looked at him in surprise, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline.
“What are you doing, Brand?”
“I’m going with you.”
“I don’t fu—fricking think so! I don’t want—”
“Daff.” Spencer’s deep voice interrupted whatever she’d been about to say, and she stopped abruptly, glaring first at her fiancé and then at Sam before she turned and flounced toward the door. Sam nodded gratefully at Spencer, met Lia’s father’s eyes for an uncomfortable moment, and followed Daff out of the room.
“Hi, sissy.” Lia smiled when she saw Daff enter the room; she felt shockingly weak and extremely hot one moment, then ice-cold the next. “I feel so stupid. All this drama for nothing.”
“Don’t be silly, Lia,” Daff admonished in that no-nonsense way of hers and came farther into the room. She was followed by Sam, and Lia’s eyes widened at the sight of him.
“Sam, where are your shoes?” she asked, finding it hard to talk when her throat was on fire. “And your shirt? You should have put on a shirt.”
“And deprive you of the sight of all this manly magnificence?” he teased. It was a half-hearted attempt at humor, but Lia smiled for him. Because he looked like he needed it.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so looking forward to your breakfast.”
“Nah, it would have disappointed you, and I, for one, am happy you upchucked before you ate, because my ego would never have recovered if it was after breakfast.”<
br />
She laughed and then coughed.
“Ugh. I feel so gross,” she complained. “When can I go home?”
“This afternoon, they’re just making sure you have no respiratory issues before discharging you,” Daff said.
“I can leave now. I want to sleep. I can’t sleep here. The nurses are always buzzing around me.”
“Soon,” Daff promised, stroking Lia’s damp hair back from her forehead.
“You guys are going to get sick.”
“I had the flu shot, and Brand will probably get it anyway on account of all the spit you guys have been exchanging.”
“Jesus,” Sam muttered, sending Daff a glare before going around the other side of the bed to take one of Lia’s limp hands in his. “I’m glad you’re okay, Lia.”
“I’m so not okay,” she complained. “Everything hurts, I’m tired, I hate coughing, and I hate being here.”
“Jeez, she’s so rarely sick, I forgot what a pain in the butt she is when she’s not feeling well. I may take you up on your offer after all, Brand. Let you deal with her miserable ass.”
“What offer?” Lia asked curiously, her eyes going from one to the other.
“That’s not important right now. Just rest and don’t worry, you’ll be home before you know it.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be better before Friday,” Lia said morosely. She had been thinking about the shopping trip to Cape Town. They were supposed to fly out on Friday evening, which was just two days away. And Lia was definitely not going to make it.
Daff winced and met Sam’s gaze.
“What? Why are you guys sharing secret looks? I’m sick, not dead,” she said irritably. Being sick was bad enough, but having people keep secrets from you just because you happened to have a touch of flu was insufferable.
“I was thinking of postponing,” Daff said. Lia sat up and the wonderful, uninterrupted flow of oxygen cut off as she unintentionally pulled out her nasal cannula.
Sam growled and she met his glare with her glower but allowed him to tug the cannula back into place. She was irritated, not stupid. She was enjoying the oxygen too much to willingly sacrifice it at the altar of righteous indignation.
“What do you mean, you’re thinking of postponing?” Lia gasped and then coughed, thanks to the scrape of air over her vocal cords.
Crumbs! This was the absolute worst.
Daff grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her, and she took a thankful sip.
“Daff, you can’t postpone,” she said, her voice raspy after the bout of coughing. “There’s no time. Send me selfies and stuff, keep me involved . . . there are ways I can be there without really being there.”
“There’s always Skype,” Sam suggested with a hint of smugness—why smugness?—in his voice. Lia nodded and pointed at Sam, too tired and her throat too sore to actually verbalize her approval.
“You’re knackered, aren’t you?” Sam asked, while tugging free some hair that was trapped between the cannula and her cheek. She nodded again, feeling like a limp noodle. And her head felt huge and like it was floating somewhere above the bed, staring down at everybody.
“Tell nurses . . . ,” she managed, her voice sounding wheezy. “Sleep.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, Brand,” Daff said, her voice low and urgent as they both watched Lia drift into unconsciousness.
“That makes two of us, Daff,” he admitted tiredly. “Look, just think about going ahead with this dress-shopping business. Lia took care of me, I’d like to return the favor.”
“Is that all this is? Repaying a debt?” Sam considered her question thoughtfully, then glanced down at the way he was dressed—or undressed, as it were—and grinned wryly.
“You know it’s not,” he said quietly.
“Do you know what it is?”
“No. It just is, okay? Can we leave it at that for now?”
“I worry about her. After Clayton, she shut down emotionally. It took her months to actually start behaving normally again. It made all of us a little overprotective. We don’t want to see that happen to her again. I’m not sure she could recover a second time. She’s . . . she feels things deeply.”
“Was she in love with that prick?” Sam asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer. He looked down at Lia, at her pale, exhausted face, and knew with absolute certainty that she would not agree to marry someone unless she had strong feelings for him. The thought of her in love and having her heart broken was absolutely maddening. How could anyone crush something so precious?
“You know I can’t answer that. It’s something you should ask her.” Sam sighed. Daff turned to leave the room and paused at the door when she noticed that Sam hadn’t moved to follow her.
“Are you coming?”
“I’ll stay awhile longer,” he said. “Can you call the retirement home? They’ll be expecting her for their Wednesday social mixer.”
Daff looked somewhat startled by the request, and her eyes narrowed as she gave him another penetrating look before she nodded.
“Yeah, I’ll call them. Since you’re so familiar with her weekly routine, are there any other cancellations I have to make?” Sam thought about it for a moment.
“Maybe give the animal shelter a heads-up. And I think she was going to do that Books Are Fun thing at the library today. Not sure, but it won’t hurt to call them anyway.”
“Right,” Daff said, her eyes still calculating. “Anyway, after I do that, I have some stuff to discuss with the family. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave.”
“Thanks,” Sam muttered, his eyes glued to Lia’s face. He wasn’t going anywhere until Lia was discharged, and if that meant sitting here shirtless for the rest of the day, being ogled by curious nurses, then so be it.
“Lia, have some of this soup, come on,” Sam coaxed, and Lia peered at him through one swollen eyelid.
“No.” Her voice was embarrassingly croaky and completely unappealing at the moment. “Can’t taste it. Don’t want it.”
“God, I think you’re a fucking worse patient than I ever was,” he complained, exasperation peppering his voice.
“Can’t eat. It’s like swallowing razor blades,” she said, and he winced in sympathy and set the soup bowl aside. It was the third day of her illness. Her mother, Daff, and Charlie had left for Cape Town earlier that day, and the knowledge just made Lia crankier. Spencer had dropped Sam off on her doorstep after four that evening. And Sam had brought a bag, because he claimed to be staying with her for the weekend.
Lia hadn’t agreed to him staying over. He had some nerve to just move in for two days. She was angry about it—nobody had informed her that she would be getting a new minder after Daff left. After two days of Daff’s not-so-tender care, Lia had been looking forward to mooching around her house alone. But Daff had been replaced by Drill Sergeant Brand, who had only been there for four hours but kept ordering Lia to do things.
Eat this! Drink that! Sleep there! Take these!
Ugh.
But there were other perks to having him here. He gave great back rubs and foot massages, and even when she was being unreasonable, he remained infinitely patient and tried to fulfill her every need. She would never have taken him for a nurturer, but Sam Brand just kept on surprising her.
She curled up on her side on the sofa, and he covered her with a blanket. He lifted her feet and sat down, dropping them into his lap and absently rubbing them through her socks. He reached for the remote control and put on the TV, and Lia fell asleep to the comforting drone of some sci-fi movie or other playing in the background.
Sam kept one eye on the movie and the other on Lia. She seemed fine. In discomfort, cranky as hell, but leagues better than she had been on Wednesday. Still, he couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her, reassuring himself that she was fine, that she was breathing easily, that she was just sleeping and not unconscious.
She was such a quiet sleeper—she barely moved and her breathing was so
faint he often paused the movie and leaned closer just to hear that reassuring rasp of her breath.
By the time the movie had ended, he was ready for bed as well. Much earlier than he was used to, but it had been an exhausting day. He carefully, so as not to disturb her, lifted Lia’s feet from his lap and went into the bedroom to change the bed linens. It wasn’t anything he’d ever found himself doing before and it probably took him a lot longer than it should have, but in the end, he was proud of the result. He turned down the covers and went back for Lia.
He was a little annoyed with himself for not being strong enough to lift her yet, because he really didn’t want to disturb her. But in the end, he had no other recourse than to gently shake her shoulder.
“Lia, time for bed,” he coaxed, and she sighed.
“I’m sleeping,” she said, her voice cranky while her eyes remained closed.
“I know, but you’ll be more comfortable in bed. Come on.” It took some doing, especially with her being irritable and reluctant to move, but he managed to get her to the bedroom. She was wearing thick, fleecy pajamas that he couldn’t imagine being very comfortable to sleep in, so he eased her out of them. He couldn’t find anything really appropriate-looking for her to sleep in. Just endless amounts of long, bridal-looking lacy nightgowns.
“Jesus, Lia,” he muttered beneath his breath. While he would love to see her in some of these overly feminine, almost Victorian nighties—just so that he could have the pleasure of peeling them off her—they didn’t look very practical. Surprising, considering what a practical soul Lia was. He shook his head and rummaged through his own bag before finding a well-worn, much-loved vintage X-Men T-shirt. He dragged it over her drooping head and fed her arms through the short sleeves before tucking her beneath the covers.
He did a quick security check around the house before brushing his teeth, stripping to his boxer briefs, and climbing into bed beside her. She was already asleep, which he was grateful for, since it curbed any pointless arguments about him sleeping with her.
The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3) Page 28