by Gina Wilkins
“Thank you for all you’ve done for me today.”
“You’re welcome. Go to sleep now. Perhaps you’ll feel better when you wake up.”
“I’d have to feel better to die,” he muttered.
“Men are always such babies when they’re sick,” she teased, lightly patting his overly warm cheek as she rose. “Good night, Scott.”
He murmured something she didn’t understand, then slid quietly into sleep. Lydia stood over him for a few minutes longer, fighting a foolish urge to lean over and kiss his forehead. Telling herself to stop being an idiot, she turned and left the bedroom.
She couldn’t decide what to do then. She’d eaten a sandwich for dinner and finished most of the work she’d brought down with her. She supposed she really should leave for the night. She could always come back early in the morning to check on him.
But what if his fever shot up during the night? She’d seen how weak and dizzy he was; what if he fell on the way to the bathroom and hit his head? She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him sick and alone all night even though she knew he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself.
Maybe she would just hang around a little while longer, she decided. Just to make sure Scott was all right.
Chapter Nine
It was a good thing, Lydia concluded near dawn, that she had decided to stay. Scott had had a dreadful night. She would have hated to think of him going through that alone.
His fever spiked twice, hitting 104 degrees. The high temperature made him achy and miserable, nearly unresponsive when she tried to talk to him. She worried about convulsions and delirium, and fretted about dehydration, but she was able to control the fever through medication and cold compresses. He didn’t want water, but she forced several ounces into him during the night. She replaced his hot, wrinkled pillowcases with fresh, cool ones, steadied him with a supportive shoulder when he made his way to the bathroom, then hovered outside the door to help him back to bed when he finished.
When she slept, it was in snatches on his couch, but even then she only dozed, ready to act upon any sound from the bedroom.
It was a long, difficult night, but Lydia didn’t regret her decision to stay. She believed Scott would have done as much for her if she’d needed him—though the idea of being so vulnerable in front of him was oddly disconcerting.
Exhaustion claimed her near dawn, and she fell more heavily into sleep than before. She didn’t stir until she felt someone touch her. She woke then with a start.
Scott was leaning over her, his expression apologetic. “I’m sorry. I was trying to cover you with this afghan. I thought you might be cold.”
She pushed a hand through her tangled hair, aware of how wrinkled and disheveled she must look after a near sleepless night in her clothes. Not that Scott looked any better, she observed, studying his bloodshot eyes and two-day growth of beard.
Still holding the knitted afghan, he stepped back as she sat up. “How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like I’ve been run over by a stampede of elephants,” he admitted, sinking to sit beside her on the couch as if he wasn’t sure his legs would support him any longer.
She lifted a hand to his forehead. “Your fever is up again. But not as high as it was during the night, thank goodness.”
He grimaced, looking self-conscious. “Bad night, wasn’t it?”
“You were very ill. I was really worried at times. I came very close to taking you to the hospital at one point, but you refused to even consider it. Do you remember?”
“Vaguely. But as you can see, I was right. I didn’t need to go to the hospital.”
“If your fever had climbed one more degree, you’d have gone if I had to carry you out over my shoulder.”
“It might have been amusing to watch you try that stunt,” he said with a shadow of his usual cocky grin.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t have if I’d thought it necessary.”
“I’m learning never to underestimate you, Lydia.”
Something in his gruff voice made her flush and glance away. “It’s been four hours since you took anything for fever,” she said with a quick glance at her watch. “Do you think you could eat a muffin or some fruit? Or oatmeal would go down easily—do you like oatmeal?”
She was babbling—suddenly oddly conscious of being alone with him, both of them sleep tousled, Scott still bare-chested and heavy-lidded. During the night, she had been too busy and too worried to give any thought to their complex relationship—the attraction that simmered between them, the kisses that kept haunting her, the casual friendship that had turned into something more precarious. Now she wondered just what she was doing here.
“I like oatmeal.” Scott watched her as if he was wondering what she was thinking. “But I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
Still avoiding his eyes, she shrugged. “Actually, I’m hungry, too. I’ll make oatmeal for both of us. But first, I’d like to freshen up.”
He ran a hand over his jaw. “I could stand a shower and a shave myself.”
“Will you be all right while I run upstairs for a few minutes?” She eyed him doubtfully. “You’re still weak and feverish. Not very steady. Maybe you should wait until I come back down to take your shower, just in case there’s a problem.”
His smile suddenly strengthened, making him look more like his usual slick, confident self. “Are you offering to give me a bath, Lydia?”
She rose to her feet and gave him a warning glare. “I’m tired, grubby and grouchy, Pearson. Don’t push your luck.”
He laughed. “Have I ever told you how much I genuinely like you, Lydia McKinley?”
Completely disarmed, she cleared her throat. “I’ll be back soon,” she said, turning abruptly toward the door. “Don’t try to do too much until I return.”
Twenty minutes later, she had showered and dressed in clean clothes, her wet hair held away from her face with clips, only a minimum of makeup hiding the traces of her difficult night. She had needed that time away from Scott if only to recover from the effects of having him look at her so warmly and tell her that he liked her.
The simple words shouldn’t have meant so much to her, she thought in despair. They were hardly a declaration of undying devotion. But the rich sincerity in his voice had warmed her all the way to her heart.
Careful, McKinley, she warned herself as she set breakfast supplies in a basket to carry downstairs. Be very careful.
Scott was asleep again, lying on his side on the bed. He’d showered and shaved, she noticed. His hair was still damp. He wore a white V-neck T-shirt and a pair of navy drawstring shorts. He’d apparently used all his strength to clean up and dress.
She considered letting him sleep, but she thought he needed to eat. And she had forgotten to give him his fever medication before she left, probably because he’d rattled her with his comments.
“Scott?” When he didn’t immediately respond to her voice, she laid a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Scott?”
He opened his eyes, blinked, then rolled onto his back and captured her hand with his. “You weren’t gone long.”
“More than half an hour. You’ve been sleeping.”
“You look nice.”
Since her own hair was still damp and she wore nothing more fancy than a plain yellow sweater and dark jeans, she attributed his compliment to fever. “Thank you,” she said briskly. “I have your breakfast ready. Will you try to eat something?”
He didn’t look very enthusiastic about the prospect, but he nodded. “I’ll try.”
She pulled her hand from his, then rested it on his forehead. Still too warm, she noted. “Have you taken anything since I left?”
“No.”
“The medicine’s in the kitchen. You can have that for an appetizer.”
“Yum.”
She smiled. “Try to control your enthusiasm.”
He sighed and pushed himself upright. With her help, he rose, then swayed. She wrapped an arm around
his waist, steadying him.
“I really don’t like this,” Scott muttered, lifting his free hand to his forehead. “I hate feeling so out of control.”
“I know. Overachievers like us hate to be sick. Hate having to admit that no amount of hard work or determination will hurry the process along until the illness has run its course. It’s against everything we believe in to delegate so much responsibility to our immune systems.”
His arm tightened around her shoulders as they made their way slowly toward the kitchen. “I suppose you’re right. My immune system isn’t responding well to my orders. That always ticks me off.”
He needed her assistance, she reminded herself, staying close to him. There was nothing really personal about walking arm in arm with him through his apartment. And there was absolutely no reason she shouldn’t enjoy the interlude while it lasted, she added, allowing herself to notice how strong and solid he felt against her.
Seated at his kitchen table, Scott gulped down his pills, then toyed with his oatmeal.
“Eat,” Lydia ordered after spooning up some of her own.
He obligingly took a small bite, swallowed, then just twisted his spoon in the bowl again.
Watching him, Lydia sighed. “I know you don’t feel hungry, Scott, but you really should try to eat a little more.”
He took a few more spoonfuls and finished his juice, then pushed the bowl away. “I can’t eat any more.”
She nodded, satisfied that he’d had enough to suffice for now. She would try to get some soup into him at lunchtime, she decided, already accepting that she would be spending another day taking care of him. As long as he was running a fever, she wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone.
He wouldn’t go back to bed after breakfast, saying that he was thoroughly tired of the sight of his bedroom ceiling. He settled instead on the couch, starting out upright, but gradually shifting until he was stretched out with his head on a throw pillow, his bare feet crossed on the opposite arm of the couch. Lydia turned on the television and handed him the remote, then curled up in a big armchair with a stack of essay exams she had to grade by the next day. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her, a diet soda on the end table beside her.
“Are you comfortable?” Scott asked, glancing away from the ball game on TV.
“Quite, thank you. Is there anything I can get for you?”
“No, I’m fine. I should probably try to talk you into going back to your apartment, but I’m afraid I’m too selfish. I like having you here with me.”
She smiled. “I’m doing here exactly what I would be doing in my own apartment. You aren’t keeping me from anything.”
“Good. But if there is anything you need to do, feel free. I’ll be okay on my own.”
Brave words, she thought, from a guy who couldn’t even stand up without assistance. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He turned his attention back to the ball game and she looked back down at her work. A few minutes later, she glanced up again and smiled. She doubted that Scott was following the game very closely with his eyes closed. He had fallen asleep again, his lips parted, his breathing a bit labored, but not enough to cause her concern. The cold-and-flu medication he’d taken earlier was probably making him drowsy but seemed to be alleviating some of his symptoms.
She shifted into a more comfortable position, took a sip of her soda and went back to work.
Scott had a little soup for lunch, but not as much as Lydia would have liked. He was feeling worse again, she could tell. Remembering her doctor’s prediction that the illness would progress this way, Lydia tried her best to keep him hydrated and as comfortable as possible. By late afternoon, he was resting a bit more easily again, in his bed this time. She went back to grading, the television tuned to an old movie. She was almost finished with her work when the doorbell rang.
After hesitating a moment, she stood and crossed the room, wondering if Scott had been expecting anyone. She doubted it would be a delivery this late on a Sunday afternoon. When she checked the security viewer and recognized the woman on the other side of Scott’s door, she knew she was going to be interrogated.
She opened the door. “Hello, Heather.”
Scott’s sister frowned in surprise, studying Lydia in silence for a moment. Lydia was well aware that she looked as if she’d been making herself at home. She had forgotten to put her shoes on before answering the door. “Hello, Lydia. This is a surprise.”
She was sure it was. She noted that Heather didn’t call it a “nice” surprise. “Come in,” she said, moving out of the doorway to allow Scott’s sister to enter.
“Thank you.” Her tone a bit stiff, she walked in, a large envelope clutched in her arms. “Where’s Scott? I’ve been trying to call him all weekend, but he hasn’t returned my calls. I, um, guess he’s been busy.”
“He’s been ill, actually,” Lydia answered. “Scott has the flu.”
“Scott’s ill?” Heather’s eyes widened. “Where is he? Is he okay? Why wasn’t I called?”
“He’s in bed, sleeping. He feels pretty rotten, but he seems to be a little better.” Lydia didn’t answer Heather’s final question. No way was she going to divulge that Scott had ordered her not to call his twin.
Heather was already moving toward Scott’s bedroom. Lydia hesitated, then followed, uncertain whether she should but feeling compelled to do so. She paused in the doorway.
Heather bustled straight across Scott’s bedroom and put her hand on his forehead. “Oh, my goodness, he’s burning up with fever! Scott? Can you hear me?”
Abruptly awakened from his deep, medicated sleep, Scott opened his eyes and blinked up at her. “Heather?” Her name was a groggy croak.
“Yes, I’m here. Why didn’t you call me? I could have been taking care of you. You’re so pale and hot. I’ll call Steve and ask him to come straight over.”
“No.” He put a hand to his head, looking as if he was trying to clear his thoughts. “Don’t call Steve. Where’s Lydia?”
“I’m here,” Lydia said from the doorway. “Is there something I can get for you?”
He shook his head. “Just checking. Did you call Heather?”
“No, she did not.” Heather sounded indignant. “I still wouldn’t know you were sick if I hadn’t just happened to stop by with those Christmas photos I promised to bring you.”
“I asked Lydia not to call you. I knew you were busy with wedding plans this weekend. There was no need for you to be concerned.”
“Scott, of course I’m concerned. Wouldn’t you want to know if I was sick? And I’m engaged to a doctor, for heaven’s sake. He could have been treating you.”
Lydia had actually forgotten that Heather’s fiancé was a doctor. She wondered guiltily if she should have ignored Scott’s instructions and called Heather when she first realized Scott was ill.
“Lydia called her own doctor,” Scott said. “She found out what to watch out for. I’ve been in good hands, Heather.”
Heather flicked a look at Lydia. “That’s good to hear,” she murmured, her expression closed. “Lydia, if you need a break, I can stay with my brother for a while. I’m sure you have plans of your own.”
Lydia couldn’t quite interpret the look Scott gave her, but she thought he was asking her not to go. “Actually, I don’t have other plans,” she said. “I was just going to make something for Scott’s dinner.”
“I can do that.”
“Don’t you have a dinner party to attend with Steve tonight?” Scott asked.
“Yes, I do,” Heather answered reluctantly. “But if you need me, I can—”
“No.” Scott pushed himself upright. Lydia could only guess at the effort he must have made to sit up straight and smile reassuringly at his sister. “I’m feeling a lot better. There’s really no need for you to stay. Lydia’s right upstairs if I need anything, and I promise I’ll have her call you and Steve if anything changes.”
“Well…” Heather vacilla
ted, wringing her hands. “You’re sure? You still feel awfully warm.”
“That’s only because I’ve been sleeping,” he assured her. “I’m almost back to normal, actually. Another couple of pills and another night’s sleep and I’ll be as good as new. Don’t miss your dinner party.”
“Well, all right. But call me later and let me know how you’re doing, okay? Or at least answer your phone so I can talk to you.”
“I’ll keep in touch,” he promised.
“I guess I’d better go, then. Walk me out, Lydia?”
Hiding her surprise, Lydia nodded. “Of course.”
She and Scott exchanged glances—Scott’s rather apologetic—and then Lydia turned to escort Heather to the front door.
“I want to tell Steve about Scott’s symptoms,” Heather said, turning to Lydia in the living room. “How long has he been ill?”
“He started feeling badly on Friday. He finally admitted he was sick sometime yesterday.”
“Fever? Sore throat? Headache?”
“All of the above, as well as muscle aches. Classic flu symptoms, according to my doctor.”
“So…” Heather’s tone suddenly turned suspiciously casual. “You’ve been here all weekend?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to leave Scott alone while he was running a fever. I was able to get some work done while he slept,” she added, motioning toward the paperwork still stacked by her chair.
“It was very kind of you to take care of him this way.” Heather eyed Lydia assessingly.
Keeping her expression unrevealing, Lydia replied, “It seemed like the neighborly thing to do.”
“I do wish you’d called me, though.”
Heather was obviously feeling threatened again. Lydia spoke reassuringly. “Scott didn’t want to worry you. And I think he just hated to admit he was ill. He wouldn’t have even told me if I hadn’t happened to notice when I ran into him in the parking lot. I sort of insisted that he let me take care of him since he wouldn’t ask anyone else for help.”
Thoughtful now, Heather nodded. “He’s never liked admitting when he was sick—not that he is very often. And he hates being hovered over—which I suppose I would have done.”