As You Wish (17 page)

“Hello, Mrs. Dudley, it’s Ryan at Well Spring.”

“Oh, hello, Ryan. Nothing wrong, I hope.”

“Patricia’s sick.”

“Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. She hates to be sick. How is she taking it?” Mrs. Dudley clucked.

“A friend of hers came and sedated her to keep her in bed.”

“Good. Best thing for her. I’ll call my nephew and have him fix up some soup, and I’ll be there in about an hour. Thank you for calling, Ryan.” She hung up.

Ryan looked at the phone. Women kept hanging up on him today. He wondered if he should call David and tell him about Patricia’s illness to see if both sexes were hanging up on him or just the one. Not a fair test, he decided, setting the phone back in the cradle. David would hang up on him anyway.

Chapter Eleven

Ryan jerked awake when the phone rang. He’d fallen asleep in the chair in Patricia’s room after Mrs. Dudley left. After a night of very little sleep and a day spent doing the housekeeper’s bidding, he could hardly stand up. He lunged for the phone, but Patricia had only to reach out to pick it up.

“Oh, David,” she groaned. “My head hurts. Rita gave me a sedative.” She swung her legs off the side of the bed. “They wouldn’t let me go to the hospital. They kept saying I was sick, but I don’t get sick.”

“Patricia, get back in bed,” Ryan ordered, pushing her back onto the pillows.

“But I don’t get sick. My mouth tastes like cotton balls.”

“Give me the phone and get back in bed.” Ryan held out his hand, not trusting she would obey. She put the phone into his hand and pulled her legs back under the covers.

“It’s cold in here,” she complained. “And I’m thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water.” Ryan put the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“I should have known,” David hissed. “What are you doing there?”

“I found her collapsed in the driveway this morning, and Dr. De Soto asked me to stay with her.” Ryan carried a glass to the bathroom for Patricia’s water.

“So she’s really sick.”

“Yes, she is.”

David made a disgusted sound. “And she’s seen a doctor.”

“I didn’t think a lawyer or a plumber would help as much,” Ryan snapped back, returning with the water. Patricia had rolled over onto her side and fallen back to sleep. He set the glass beside her bed and stretched. The chair left something to be desired for sleeping in.

“I don’t like the idea of you being there alone with her.”

Ryan wanted to agree, but not to David. “Then why don’t you come on over and watch her with me?”

“No. I’ll send flowers. Have her call me when she gets better.” David hung up.

Ryan set the phone on the bedroom charger before heading for the stairs. Well, it was both sexes after all. Smiling, he relished the intuition that had made him challenge David. Somehow he’d known David wouldn’t come near her when she was sick. He was probably making an appointment with his own doctor right now. At least that much had worked out. Ryan might only have a few more days with her, but he wouldn’t have David underfoot. A knock at the door interrupted his pleasure. He hurried downstairs to open it.

Rita shook off her raincoat in the foyer, sending a spray around the room. “So the sedative wore off about three hours ago, and she’s been screaming to go to work since then, right?”

“No. She woke up a few minutes ago when the phone rang and fell asleep again before I could get her the water she asked for.”

Rita frowned. “Really? She must be really sick. Who called?”

“David.”

“Goddamn germaphobe. He’s got no business even dating a general care doctor. I suppose he’s on his way to sit at her bedside, holding her hand and keeping her hydrated?” Rita started up the stairs.

“He’s sending flowers.”

Rita stopped at the bedroom door. “I think I can probably manage to examine her without help. The patient isn’t violent.”

Ryan backed up a step before turning around. He hadn’t realized he was following her, even though he’d done the same thing to Mrs. Dudley this afternoon. “Sorry. I’ll be downstairs.”

He’d spread all the papers from Patricia’s case out on the formal dining table to dry them. The case itself looked like it might be ruined from the thorough soaking. Her cell phone was dead. It hadn’t been constructed to sit in two inches of water for more than half an hour. He started gathering the papers up, careful to keep them in the exact order they’d been in when he’d peeled them apart. They might be useless, but at least they were dry. Then he wandered into the kitchen, wondering if Patricia would wake up enough to eat some of the soup Mrs. Dudley’s nephew had brought over. He happened to be beside the phone when it rang, so he grabbed it.

“Hello?”

A groan on the line told him Patricia had the phone too.

“Um, hello? This is Judith Haddix. May I speak to Patricia Whitmer, please?”

“Give me that,” Ryan heard. “Trish!”

“Patricia is unavailable right now. Can I take a message?” Ryan asked, hoping he sounded efficient and secretarial.

“Hello, Mrs. Haddix,” Patricia said in that strange loopy tone she’d been using all day. “They won’t let me go to the hospital.”

“Patricia isn’t feeling well,” Ryan explained.

“God, for a sick person, you’ve got a hell of a grip,” Rita howled. “Give me the phone.”

“I have responsibilities,” Patricia told them.

“I can see this is a bad time,” Mrs. Haddix said.

Ryan heard the line click and sighed with relief. “Patricia isn’t feeling well. She’s resting in bed,” he explained again.

“If she’s sick, why can’t she go to the hospital?”

“Because she wants to go to work. She’s a little delirious. There’s a doctor with her now.”

“I see,” Mrs. Haddix mumbled. “I was just calling to talk to Patricia about the masquerade ball on Halloween.”

“Masquerade ball?” Ryan repeated. Hadn’t Rita said when Patricia went off the deep end she’d throw a ball? Was she maybe less sick than crazy?

“Yes, we talked about it Saturday night at Firenzi’s—”

“Hello? This is Dr. De Soto. What can I help you with?”

Ryan thought back to Saturday. The night in the garden after Patricia had called him to start her car. She must have been at the restaurant with David and talked to this lady about a ball of some kind. So maybe he’d saved her from cracking up on Saturday. Or postponed it for last night when he went a little off the deep end himself.

“As I was saying. I spoke to Dr. Whitmer about having a fundraising masquerade ball at Well Spring on Halloween. The board thinks it’s a wonderful idea. They were overjoyed to hear the news. But I understand the ballroom has been closed up for over a decade and will need cleaning.”

“Yes. I guess,” Rita said. Ryan heard the stairs creaking through the phone line. He should have thought to take the phone out of her room. “Trish said she wanted to have a ball? Really?”

“A masquerade ball. Yes, she did,” Mrs. Haddix said. “Has she changed her mind?”

“Trish never changes her mind.”

“Mrs. Haddix,” Ryan broke in before Rita could annoy the other woman more. “Since Dr. Whitmer is sick, it might be better if you talk to the housekeeper, Mrs. Dudley. She’ll be here tomorrow between eight and four.”

“Wonderful. I’ll call her to arrange the cleaning schedule. Thank you so much, and I hope Dr. Whitmer is feeling better soon. Good evening,” Mrs. Haddix said.

“So do we,” Rita said, walking into the kitchen. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Ryan disconnected the line.

“So she decided to have a masquerade ball. I think I better call in a psych evaluation.” Rita handed him the cordless phone. “Keep this thing away from her. That girl’s got quite an imagination. She thinks you’re a werewolf.”

“I’m a what?”

“A werewolf.” Rita peered in the plastic soup container. “Ooh yummy. She said,
‘Ryan is a werewolf. He told me to lock him up.’
How’s that for interesting?”

He’d actually told her to lock him out, though locking him up wasn’t a bad option. “Are you sure she’s all right?”

“Her fever isn’t high enough to cook her brain, and it hasn’t been going on too long. We need to get some liquids into her. I tried to get her to drink that glass of water you left, but she doesn’t listen to me like she listens to you.” Rita hopped on the counter.

“Is she awake?”

“Sort of. She’ll probably come and go. She’s been under a lot of stress lately. It’s making all this worse than it needs to be. Which leads me to my next question. Do you want me to stay here tonight, or can you keep an eye on her?”

“In the house?” Ryan tensed at the idea of being alone with Patricia inside her house all night.

“Unless you have X-ray vision, big boy. What’s wrong with staying inside the house? Is there some kind of caretaker’s code or something?”

Her cold eyes assessed him. As light and jovial as she sounded, she was judging his every move. Sweat filmed his forehead. He wanted to take care of Patricia; he owed that much to her. More than that, he wanted to be close as long as possible. The thought of being separated from her hurt, but if he stayed, could he control himself? She was sick, and he’d never been a rapist. He’d just have to remain in control, and if he could do this, maybe he wouldn’t have to leave after all. He could prove himself again.

“Or is this your night to turn into a werewolf?” Rita bounced her heels against the cupboards, grinning.

“No, it’s not my night to turn into a werewolf. I can stay with her.”

“Good because I’m on call in ER tomorrow night, and sitting up all night with loopy June up there and then sitting up all night with every klutz and crazy in Whitmer isn’t my idea of shits and giggles. You can call me if there’s any problem. I can go from bed to bedside in fifteen minutes.” She jumped off the counter. “But I do have one more question.”

“What’s that?”

Rita folded her arms. “How did she get from wet clothes to dry nightgown?”

Ryan swallowed before some preposterous lie popped out. He ground his teeth, trying to think of something she would believe.

Rita grinned before anything came to him. “Good, just making sure you were a red-blooded American male.”

“They were wet,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Rita walked down the hall.

“She put her nightgown on herself.”

“Sure.” Rita yanked on her coat. “Trust me, I’d rather see her marry you than David Hoess.” She pulled open the door. “I’d rather see her marry a stray dog than David Hoess. Call me if you need anything, and get some food into her. Remember fluids. I’ll stop on my way to the hospital tomorrow evening.”

Ryan stood, staring at the closed door. He had to agree. He’d rather see her marry a stray dog than marry David Hoess too.

The phone he’d forgotten he was holding rang. “Hello?” He hoped it wasn’t Mrs. Haddix again. Or the police because Mrs. Haddix had called them.

“Who is this?” the dry, querulous voice on the other end demanded.

“Ryan Wilcox.”

“The caretaker? What are you doing answering the phone in the house?”

He recognized the voice then. Miss Beatrice, Patricia’s great aunt. She’d only been to the house twice since he’d taken over as caretaker, but he’d received at least twenty calls from her in that first year because she was
“just checking.”
“Hello, Miss Beatrice. Patricia is ill and can’t answer the phone.”

“Ill? Oh dear. How’s she taking it?”

Ryan smiled. Odd family. Not how’s she feeling, but how’s she taking it? “She’s asleep. Dr. De Soto gave her a sedative.”

“Best thing for it. I’m surprised you even got her into bed without her fainting. I just received a phone call from that busybody, Judith Haddix. She tells me Patricia offered to have some sort of soiree for the museum. I understand they’ve gotten rid of that charlatan they had curating it. Is this true?”

Ryan wondered what she wanted confirmed. That there was going to be a ball, that the museum had a new curator, or that the last one was a charlatan. “She did agree to have a masquerade ball for the museum on Halloween.”

“Oh dear. Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now. She’s honor bound. I shall just have to come up there and see her through it. Tell Mrs. Dudley to air out my room for me. I’ll fly into the regional airport two weeks from Thursday. The 10:15 flight like always. I’ll expect you to pick me up. Good-bye, Ryan.”

* * * *

Patricia craned her neck to look around the room. There in the corner chair, in what had to be a very uncomfortable position, sat Ryan. “If you’re going to sleep in here, you might as well get into bed,” she said.

Ryan twitched and lifted his head from the awkward crook he’d been sleeping in. One of his legs dangled over the arm of the chair, while the other was braced on the floor to keep him from sliding out altogether. His back bent in a curve that would have made her wince if she’d had the energy. His clothes looked like he’d been wearing them for at least a week, but she doubted Rita had kept her unconscious that long.

“You’re awake,” he said. He sat up, obviously hoping all his joints would pop back into place. “Are you hungry?”

She remembered him spooning soup into her not too long ago, but based on the light level of the room, it must have been last night. Sliding away from the edge of the bed, she patted the space beside her so he could stroke her cheek and tell her she would feel better soon. “No. Why am I so weak?”

“You’re very sick.” Instead of sitting on the side of the bed, he knelt on the floor, looking up with soulful eyes. “Do you remember passing out in the driveway?”

“I remember a lot of stuff. I just don’t know how much of it happened.” A smile crept across her face. She remembered him being there most of the time, though at one point he’d had fangs like a vampire, so she wasn’t sure of the accuracy of her memory. She also remembered telling Rita he was a werewolf too, which really didn’t make sense.

Folding his big hands over hers, he rested his forehead against his knuckles. “I’m sorry, Patricia.”

“Why?”

“I lost control. I came into your house without permission. I attacked you.”

Patricia concentrated. Everything from the time she’d left the hospital Monday until now had smeared in her memory like a watercolor painting in the rain. “When?”