When Summer Comes (Whiskey Creek #3)(24)
Author: Brenda Novak

Callie’s bed was empty. In the light bending around the bathroom door, which stood slightly ajar, he could see the rumpled covers. She was no longer beneath them.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

A soft moan scared him enough that he crossed the room and shoved the bathroom door wide—and there she was, lying on the tile floor, her face chalk-white, eyes closed.

“Shit, what is it?” As he crouched to see what was wrong, her eyelids fluttered open. She made an attempt to get up but couldn’t quite manage it.

“I’m…fine,” she said. “Go…go back to bed. Please.”

Please? Why? She obviously needed help. She seemed so drained she could hardly move. And he could tell from the pungent odor that she’d been throwing up.

“Go…” She attempted to shoo him away. “I…I’m better off…alone.”

She didn’t like him invading her privacy. He could understand that. Not only was she sick, she was in her underwear. So was he, but the sheer black fabric of her panties revealed quite a bit more than his briefs, especially since she wasn’t even strong enough to pull her T-shirt down to cover them.

“Where’s your cell?” he asked. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No.” After rising slightly, she slumped back to the floor. “I…I know what’s wrong. There’s nothing…nothing they can do for me. I just…I need to rest. You…go back to bed.”

“And leave you like this?”

She didn’t answer. She seemed to be conserving her strength.

“We should get a doctor,” he argued.

“No.” The word came out as a whisper, an emphatic one.

“How do you know? We’ve got to try. You look…you look really sick.”

“I’ll be fine…in a little while. It was just…the shock…earlier. It…it upset my system.”

The shock? Did she mean when she came out to the barn? He’d grabbed her because he didn’t know who it was, but he hadn’t hurt her. How could that have resulted in this?

“Come here.” He bent to help her up, but she fended him off and lunged for the toilet.

“Go out,” she said, her words feeble, broken, as she retched and sputtered and coughed. “Go…out.”

Levi wanted to leave her in peace, but he couldn’t. He was afraid of what might happen to her. After smoothing the hair out of her face, he supported her by the shoulders while she finished throwing up. Maybe she didn’t want him to be part of this, but he’d seen a lot worse in his day. He was just glad her vomit wasn’t filled with blood.

He flushed the toilet. Then he got a cool damp washcloth so he could wipe her mouth and face.

“It’s freezing on this floor. That can’t be good for you,” he said, and gathered her in his arms.

She didn’t fight him. She didn’t seem capable of it. She did try to protest, however. “I can’t…go to bed yet. What if…what if I have to…throw up again?”

“I’ll get a pan, just in case.”

When he returned from the kitchen, he found her curled up in the middle of the bed. She’d made a halfhearted attempt to cover herself, but even that seemed to require too much effort.

“Look.” He lightly rubbed her back to get her to open her eyes. “Your pan is right here.”

She gave a barely perceptible nod as he wedged it between a pillow and the headboard.

“Now let’s get you warm.” He pulled down her shirt to cover her panties and rearranged the covers, but he couldn’t leave her even then. She was too cool and clammy, too weak. He’d never seen someone look this fragile—not someone who’d lived. He was still tempted to call an ambulance. He would have if she hadn’t been so certain he shouldn’t. His own reservations about not involving public authorities made him sensitive to that.

“Can I call your vet friend at least?” he asked.

“No! Please, no one.” She caught his hand and attempted a smile. “Thanks.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he whispered, curling his fingers around hers so she wouldn’t have to use any strength to hang on to him.

“Just…the flu,” she said, but she was shivering so violently he could barely understand her.

What the hell was going on?

Releasing her, Levi started to walk out of the room. He didn’t want to feel the empathy he was feeling, didn’t want to watch Callie suffer, even through the flu. He’d had a front row seat to so much suffering already.

She’d be fine, he told himself. The flu didn’t last long. But he couldn’t force his feet to move past the bedroom door. He was too worried. He paced for a few seconds, arguing with himself. Then he gave up, took off his shirt and slipped beneath the covers, hoping his body heat would quickly warm her.

She didn’t respond when he pulled her against his body, but it seemed to help. She never had to reach for the pan he’d brought, never spoke, hardly even moved. Slowly, she stopped shivering and clasped one of his hands in both of hers, tucking it under her chin before she fell asleep.

* * *

When Callie woke, she felt almost like new. Sometimes the slightest thing could make her ill. Too much stress. Too much or too little of her medication, which was why her doctor kept adjusting the dosage. The kind of shock that resulted from bad news or a sudden scare. Lack of sleep. She was embarrassed that Levi had seen her retching over a toilet bowl. That couldn’t have been a pretty sight. For some reason, she cared more than she wanted to about what he thought of her; she supposed it was basic female vanity. But regardless of all that, she was grateful for his help and couldn’t fault how he’d handled the situation. He’d been kind, gentle, supportive. He was still in bed with her, his muscular body more effective at keeping her warm than an electric blanket.

She didn’t move right away. She was comfortable wedged up against him, didn’t want him to take her awakening as a signal that he should leave her bed.

Something must’ve told him she was no longer asleep, however, because he spoke. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. You scared me.”

She smiled when he snuggled closer. They barely knew each other, but here they were—one with a damaged body and the other, from all indications, with a wounded soul—offering each other the solace of physical comfort. She’d never realized how much being held during such a low moment could mean. Maybe, because of her situation, she was putting too much store in it, but she’d been as content during the past few minutes as ever before in her life—probably more so because now she knew how to appreciate simple things.