by Gina Wilkins
Lydia kept quiet.
“Okay, well, I’d better go. You’ll call if he needs me? Steve and I can be here very quickly if he gets worse.”
“I’ll call.”
With another last look toward Scott’s bedroom, Heather moved reluctantly to the door.
Lydia waited until Heather was gone, then walked back into Scott’s bedroom. He was lying on his back, one arm draped over his eyes.
“Are you really feeling much better,” she asked, “or were you putting on a show for your sister?”
He spoke without moving. “A show. Definitely a show.”
“You’re not feeling any better?”
“Just remember when I’m dead that everything I own goes to Heather. Except for my college bowling trophy. You can have that for taking such good care of me.”
She chuckled. “What? I don’t get the sports car?”
“Sorry. The bank gets that. I still owe forty-six payments.”
She laughed softly, pleased that he was at least feeling well enough to make a few bad jokes. “I’m going to start dinner. Could you eat some grilled chicken? A little rice, maybe?”
He lifted his arm to peer blearily at her. “Instead of rice, could you make mashed potatoes? My mom always made mashed potatoes for me when I was sick as a kid.”
“You’ve got it.”
He gave her a weak smile. “You can have my bowling trophy and my bowling shoes.”
“Oh, stop. You’ll spoil me.” She moved toward the door. “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“If I live that long.”
“Don’t be such a wuss,” she said over her shoulder.
He sighed contentedly. “I’m really glad you’re here, Lydia. Heather would be driving me crazy babying me.”
She couldn’t come up with an answer, so she merely nodded and headed for the kitchen.
Because he was expecting Heather to check on him frequently, Scott answered the phone when it rang a half hour later. “H’lo?”
“Hey. Were you asleep? You sound hoarse.”
Recognizing Cameron’s voice, Scott explained, “I’ve got the flu.”
“You feel like you’ve been run over by a truck? Like you really want to die, but it just seems like too much trouble?”
Scott chuckled gruffly. “Something along that line.”
“Sounds like the flu all right. Remember when I had it last year? I never felt so lousy in my life.”
Scott could identify with that. Last night had been hell. He hated to think how much worse it would have been if Lydia hadn’t been there.
“So, you need anything?” Cameron asked a bit awkwardly. “I could come by and…I don’t know…sit with you or something.”
“Would you rub my toes and read me bedtime stories?” Scott quipped because the offer had rather touched him.
“No. But I might dump a pitcher of cool water over your poor, feverish head,” Cameron retorted.
“As much as I appreciate the offer, it isn’t necessary. I have help.”
“Heather and her fiancé are taking care of you, I suppose. Pretty convenient having a doctor in the family, hmm?”
“Heather stopped by earlier,” Scott said. Then added with a touch of smugness, “But Lydia has been watching out for me all weekend.”
It was probably less than noble of him to make sure Cameron knew where Lydia had spent the weekend. Scott wasn’t usually the type who boasted of a woman’s attentions. But he could still picture Cameron walking out of the restaurant with Lydia, his arm around her, looking so cozy and comfortable together.
He’d been startled by the surge of raw possessiveness he felt when he’d seen Lydia with Cameron. He hadn’t been prepared for the emotion, hadn’t quite known how to deal with it. He’d been trying to figure it out ever since, trying to convince himself that what he felt for Lydia was only friendship. They had a good thing going between them. It would be a shame to ruin it with a lot of messy emotions that couldn’t really lead anywhere between two equally driven workaholics.
But it still felt pretty good to let Cameron know that Lydia had been with him during his illness.
“Sounds as if you’re in good hands,” Cameron murmured.
Lydia appeared in the doorway at that moment, mouthing the words, “Dinner’s ready.”
“Yes,” he said to Cameron. “Very good hands.”
“I’ll let you go, then. Take care of yourself, pal. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Cam.” Scott replaced the phone in its cradle, his gaze locked with Lydia’s. He believed he was feeling a little better—as long as Lydia was there with him.
Chapter Ten
Scott’s appetite was still well below normal, but Lydia was satisfied that he made an effort to eat some of the light meal she’d prepared for them. Afterward, they sat for a while in his living room, talking comfortably about anything that occurred to them.
Lydia was fascinated when Scott showed her his rather extensive collection of old Parker fountain pens. She hadn’t known about this particular collection and she found it very interesting. He proved to be quite an expert, describing the history of each type of pen, including the year it debuted. The most valuable pen in his collection, he confided, was a 1945 Parker 51 black double-jewel in near mint condition. She didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded impressive, and she held the instrument very carefully when he handed it to her to examine.
She was particularly intrigued that so many of the pens were engraved. She could have spent hours studying the tiny messages and thinking about these gifts between people who were probably long dead.
Scott had been sitting upright on the couch, but he began to slide sideways after they put the pens away. Lydia handed him a pillow for his head.
“I can’t believe I’m so weak that getting out of bed for a little while totally wipes me out,” he complained.
“You can’t expect miracles. You’ve been very sick. It’s going to be a few more days before you have all your strength back.”
He shook his head against the pillow, a stubborn frown on his face. “I’m feeling much better. I’ll be able to work tomorrow.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Sure I will. I just need another night to sleep it off.”
“Surely you can take a sick day or two.”
“Doesn’t look good. Potential partners don’t give in to illness.”
“And how does it look when potential partners collapse in the middle of a meeting?”
“I won’t collapse.”
He couldn’t even sit upright for more than an hour, she realized, looking at him sprawled on the couch. There was no way he’d be able to work the next day, but she decided not to waste any more time arguing about it. He would figure it out for himself when he woke up tomorrow morning. “Just try not to overdo it,” she said.
Scott pushed himself up again, swinging his feet to the floor. “As much as I appreciate everything you’ve done for me this weekend, you should probably go home, Lydia. There’s no need for you to stay tonight—I’m feeling better and you need to rest so you can work tomorrow.”
She studied him for a moment, seeing the lingering signs of his illness but knowing he was right. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I want you to take some more medicine before I go. I’ll leave a glass of water beside your bed in case you get thirsty during the night. And I’m putting my number on your speed dial so you can call me quickly if you need me.”
He was watching her with a faint smile and a warm glow in his eyes that seemed to have nothing to do with fever. “Thank you, Lydia. I hope I haven’t interfered too badly with your work.”
“Actually, I’ve finished everything I wanted to accomplish this weekend,” she said with a self-conscious little shrug. “I worked while you slept—and generally without interruption. The only chore I skipped was a trip to the grocery store, and I can do that on the
way home from work tomorrow.”
“I hope you don’t get sick. That really would interfere with your schedule.”
“I’ve been careful to wash my hands frequently,” she assured him.
“With antibacterial soap, I hope,” he said, his expression serious.
She almost sighed. “Your illness was caused by a virus, not bacteria. Antibacterial agents are useless against viruses. Plain soap and water are the most effective means of—”
Scott laughed hoarsely in genuine amusement. “Sorry, Lydia. I was teasing. I have learned a lot from the things you’ve told me…such as the difference between viruses and bacteria.”
She did sigh then. Loudly. “You certainly knew which button to push to set me off, didn’t you? I suppose you think you’re very clever.”
“As a matter of fact…”
She stood, giving him a stern look, but secretly pleased that he felt well enough to tease her again. It made her feel a little better about leaving. “Let’s get you ready for bed,” she said without stopping to think. She should have known better since he was already in a teasing mood.
Scott rose, planted his feet firmly to counteract his lingering weakness and gave her a creditable leer. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to make that offer. You are going to join me, aren’t you?”
Determined to hold her own with him, she raised her eyebrows. “You’re in no shape to do anything even if I took you up on that challenge.”
His teeth flashed. “Why don’t you come with me and find out?”
She searched for a sufficiently witty and sophisticated answer, but then she laughed when Scott swayed and reached out to clutch the couch for support. “Definitely all talk,” she said, and moved to help him.
“Okay, maybe you’re right, for tonight at least. How about giving me a rain check?”
“You’re delirious. Maybe I should call your sister and let her know.”
He winced. “Ouch. Low blow, Lydia.”
“Mmm. At least I know how to keep you in line.”
Some fifteen minutes later, Scott was sitting on the edge of his bed, his pills, a glass of water and his cordless telephone all close at hand.
“Is there anything else you need?” Lydia fretted, still a bit hesitant about leaving him alone.
He smiled crookedly. “There couldn’t possibly be anything you’ve forgotten.”
“But if you do need me—”
“I’ll call.” He reached out to take her hand. “Stop worrying, Lydia. You’ve done so much for me already. I don’t know how to thank you.”
She smiled rather tremulously, all too conscious of the contact between them. “You’ve thanked me several times,” she reminded him lightly, self-consciously. “I really haven’t done that much.”
“I won’t even dignify that foolish remark with an argument.” He tugged at her hand until she leaned toward him, then cupped the back of her head with his free hand. “You’re a very special person, Lydia McKinley,” he said against her cheek. “I’m very fortunate to have you for a friend.”
Her face flushed with a fever of her own. He kissed the soft spot just below her ear, avoiding contact with her mouth—probably to spare her from infection, she thought.
“Good night,” he said, his voice an intimate murmur.
She was almost overcome with the urge to wrap her arms around him and lay her head on his broad shoulder. To kiss his sexy mouth and the heck with infection and viruses and potential heartbreak. It took every ounce of willpower she had to make herself straighten and step away from him. “Good night, Scott.”
She didn’t look back as she turned and left the room. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to leave at all if she did.
Scott was still awake when Heather called a short time after Lydia left. He had been lying on his back, staring at the bedroom ceiling and thinking of Lydia getting ready for bed above him and cursing his body for making him crave something he was in no condition to pursue.
“Are you feeling any better?” Heather asked as soon as he answered.
“Much better,” he lied, ignoring his many discomforts.
“You’re sure? Because Steve said it can take several days—a week or more, sometimes—to rebound from the flu.”
He had no intention of being down that long. “You know me. I’m too stubborn to let a flu bug get the better of me. I’ll be back at work tomorrow.”
“Don’t rush yourself, Scott. Steve said there can be serious complications if you neglect your health now.”
“I’ve had excellent care. I’m not expecting any complications.” Not from the flu anyway, he added silently, glancing toward the ceiling again.
“Is Lydia still there?”
“No. I sent her home to get some rest. She wouldn’t have gone if she thought there was any reason to worry.”
“She’s been very kind to take such good care of you while you were sick,” Heather admitted a bit grudgingly.
“Yes, she has. Do you see now how unfair you were to dislike her without even knowing her?”
“I never said I didn’t like her. I merely said I thought she was wrong for you. I still think so, even if she has been so nice to take care of you.”
Scott’s head was starting to hurt again, and it had more to do with his sister than his illness. “Lydia and I are only good friends, but I still can’t imagine why you aren’t trying to push me into her arms. You said you thought she’d be great for Cameron. What’s the big difference?”
“Cameron’s more like Lydia. He’s more reserved, his emotions more guarded than yours. It wouldn’t bother him that she’s the same way. You would need more reassurance. If you took the risk of trusting a woman with your heart, you’d need to know she feels the same way. That’s why you’ve been so careful since Tammy hurt you in law school. It’s why you weren’t particularly upset when your affair with That Woman ended—you both made it clear that it wasn’t going anywhere. I’m not sure you would ever know Lydia’s true emotions. I don’t think you could ever feel certain that her feelings wouldn’t change with circumstances.”
Scott had listened to Heather’s rambling in reluctant fascination, but he jumped in when she finally paused for breath. “You’ve been watching daytime TV again, haven’t you?”
Heather sighed. “You aren’t taking me seriously.”
“Do you actually expect me to? You’re an account executive, not a shrink. And you don’t know Lydia well enough to analyze her, even if you knew what the hell you were talking about. Nor do you know what I need or want from a relationship. Concentrate on your own love life, Heather. I’ll take care of mine.”
“All I’m saying is—”
“I really don’t feel like getting into this again tonight. I’m going to take a pill and go to sleep so I’ll feel more like myself tomorrow.”
The reminder of his illness made her drop the subject. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be arguing with you while you’re still feeling so bad. For the record, I am grateful to Lydia for all she’s done this weekend since you were too pigheaded to call and let me take care of you.”
“Good night, Heather.”
Resigned, she replied, “Good night, Scott. I’ll check with you tomorrow.”
He was shaking his head when he hung up the phone. Heather could be so full of it sometimes, he thought with affectionate exasperation. He didn’t know why he even bothered to listen to her when she got off on such absurd tangents.
Scott didn’t make it to work Monday. Nor was he up to the effort Tuesday. By Wednesday, though, he was well enough to spend most of the day at his office, where he pretended to be completely recovered and worked until he was close to dropping trying to catch up.
He didn’t know how he’d have gotten through those days without Lydia. She was there every day, checking on him before she left for work, making sure he had medicine, food and drinks on hand. Heather called frequently, as well, but didn’t feel compelled to hover over him because Lydia was close at
hand—another favor he owed Lydia, he thought.
Lydia rang his doorbell Wednesday a half hour after he got home. When he opened the door, she took one look at him and shook her head. “I told you it was too soon for you to go back to work.”
“Do I look that bad?”
She studied him closely. “Just really tired. Is there anything you need before I leave you to rest? Do you have anything for dinner?”
“Actually, no. I was thinking about ordering a pizza. Would you like to join me?”
“Well, I—”
“You have to eat,” he urged. “This way, there’s no need for you to cook or clean up afterward.”
“All right. I’ll just go put these things in my apartment.” She had apparently stopped by on her way in from the parking lot, her arms still loaded with the work she always brought home with her. “And I have a couple of quick calls to make,” she added.
“Let’s say an hour, then. I’ll place the order. By the time you put your things away, make your calls and change into more comfortable clothes, it should be here. Any special requests for toppings?”
“No hot peppers, please.”
“Sissy mouth, huh?”
“Definitely.”
He watched her turn and walk away, then closed the door. As weary as he had been a few minutes earlier, he was reenergized by the thought of spending time with Lydia that evening.
She had taken care of him long enough, he decided. It was time he did something for Lydia. He picked up the phone.
Dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, Lydia rang Scott’s doorbell again an hour later. She hadn’t meant to spend another evening with him; she had only intended to check on him when she stopped by earlier. But he’d looked so tired, and the thought of sharing a pizza with her had seemed to perk him up a bit for some reason. Maybe he just didn’t want to eat alone when he still wasn’t feeling very well. In which case, there had really been no reason to turn him down.
He opened the door. Surprisingly enough, he looked more rested than he had earlier. Dressed in a loose white shirt and khaki cargo pants, his dark auburn hair attractively tousled around his face, he looked much more like the fit, virile man she had known before the flu had temporarily sidelined him. Something about the gleam in his eyes when he drew her inside his apartment made her realize that Scott was back in the game.