Summer Days (Fool's Gold #7)

“I feel awful,” she admitted. “The room started swimming for a      second.” She looked at the bowls. “Did I drop those?”


“You’re sick,” he told her.

She stared at him. “No, I’m fine.” She pressed a hand to her      stomach. “Okay, maybe I need to throw up.”

“Come on, goat girl. We’re going to get you into bed.”

“But I have to move the goats to another field this afternoon      and get the rest of the cheese to the cave.”

“I’ll take care of the goats and the cheese.” He put his arm      around her, helping her to the door.

She stumbled along beside him, but when they reached the      stairs, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Lightweight,” he murmured, as he picked her up in his arms and      started up the stairs.

She shrieked and wrapped her arms around his neck. “What are      you doing?” Then she moaned. “I really feel sick, Rafe.”

“Hang on. We’re nearly there.”

He got her to the bathroom just in time. She rushed to the      toilet and dropped to her knees.

“Get out,” she yelled, waving frantically at the door, then      turned back to the toilet.

He backed out just in time.

Fifteen minutes later, she emerged, looking pale and shaky. He      guided her to her bedroom, quickly stripped off her clothes and pulled her      nightgown over her head. He was aware of her soft skin, the shape of her      breasts, and his expected reaction to the sight, but ignored it all. He might      have flaws, but slobbering over a woman with the flu wasn’t one of them.

He helped her into bed.

He’d already pulled the shades and collected extra pillows. Now      he sat next to her and stroked a damp washcloth across her face.

“You’re going to have a rough couple of days,” he told her. “I      talked to my mom. She’s going into town for supplies. Ginger ale and whatever      she needs to make her famous chicken soup.” He smiled at her. “She uses rice      instead of noodles, so it’s easier to keep down.”

“I’ll be fine,” Heidi insisted, her eyes drifting closed. “Once      I don’t feel like I’m dying.”

“You’re not going to die. Try to sleep.”

“I might need to throw up again.”

“I promise not to tie up the bathroom.”

Her lips curved into a slight smile. “Thank you.”

He pressed a kiss on her cheek. “That’s what friends do for      each other.”

“Are we friends?” Her voice was low, a little sleepy and barely      audible.

“I hope so, goat girl.”

* * *

HEIDI WAS VAGUELY AWARE of the passage      of time, mostly because sometimes it was dark outside her window and sometimes      it was light. She spent the first twenty-four hours puking her guts out and      wishing she were dead, and the next twenty-four fighting a fever and wishing she      were dead. Sometime after that, she slept for what felt like three weeks.

She knew people were coming and going, that a person she didn’t      know examined her and proclaimed that, yes, she had the flu and to keep her      hydrated. Then she slept some more.

Through it all, she was aware of Rafe. May and Glen took turns      at her bedside, but mostly there was Rafe’s strong presence. She felt him wiping      her down with a cool cloth and sometimes holding her hand. He’d brought in a TV      and tuned it to the Home and Garden channel. One night she woke up to find him      next to her in her bed. He was fully dressed, on top of the covers, his arm      around her. She’d been surprised but comforted, and had snuggled close before      going back to sleep.

Now she opened her eyes and saw light spilling into the room.      The brightness suggested it was long past morning. She blinked, not sure what      day it was, but feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.

“You’re back.”

She turned and saw Rafe standing in the doorway of her room. He      looked good—tanned and strong, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. She      frowned. Two bruises that looked suspiciously hoof-shaped marred both      forearms.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

He crossed toward her and moved the pillows against the      headboard so she could sit up. She sagged against them and touched his left arm.      The bruise was still swollen, almost a welt.

He sighed. “Athena didn’t want to move to another part of the      ranch. We had words. Or rather, I had words, and she kicked me.”

“Ouch.”

“Don’t worry. I kicked her back.”

Heidi grinned. “You didn’t.”

“No, but I wanted to.”

“Did you get her moved?”

“Do you have to ask?”

“Silly me.”

He leaned over and touched her forehead. “Good. The fever’s      gone. Are you hungry? Could you keep soup down?”

She touched her stomach. “I think so. How long have I been out      of it?”

“Nearly four days.”