Enright Family Collection (43 page)

“So, how am I?” she asked.

“You’re coming around.” Nick smiled and put the book down, lifting a hand to feel her forehead. “You’re not nearly as warm as you were this morning. How’s your throat?”

“It’s still sore,” she admitted.

“The headache?”

“Pretty much gone.” She shifted to sit up a little and made a face. “I hope I look better than I must smell at this point.”

“I’d say it’s pretty much a toss-up.” He grinned.

“Can I take a shower?”

“If you can stand up that long.”

She sat up all the way. It seemed to take all of her strength.

“Hmm. Maybe not,” he decided. “Are you hungry? How about some soup? I made some yesterday.”

“What kind?”

“What kind?” He scoffed. “What do you think my mother told me to make as soon as she found out you were sick?”

“Chicken soup?” she ventured.

“Of course. It’s the universal antidote. We have enough chicken soup to handle an epidemic. You game?”

“Sure.” Her voice was still faint, her throat still weak.

“Here.” He tossed her the remote control. “See if you can find anything to occupy yourself with while I heat up your soup.”

The news disoriented, the talk shows irritated. The music videos were tasteless and the shopping channels were all showing electronics. India turned off the TV and pulled herself all the way up to a sitting position for the first time in days. It was an effort to hold herself there until Nick came back with a tray of golden chicken noodle soup and lightly buttered toast. He placed it gently on her lap, then sat next to her while she tasted small spoonfuls of the warm, fragrant broth.

“This is wonderful stuff, Nick. Are you having some?”

“I had some for lunch,” he told her, “and am looking forward to something a little more substantial for dinner. Do you need help? Want me to hold the bowl?”

“No, I’m fine.” India put the spoon down and sighed. “You are too good to me, Nick, taking care of me like this.”

“Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”

“Of course,” she said without hesitation.

“I think that’s what it’s all about,” he said softly, tucking an errant strand of stringy blond hair behind her ear.

“I guess I really blew your wonderful New Year’s Eve surprise.” She bit her bottom lip. “And I never even told you how handsome you looked in your tuxedo.”

“You’ll have other opportunities. And there’s always next New Year’s Eve.” He traced small circles on the back of her left hand.

“It was such a totally lovely idea, having dinner here.”

“You didn’t last long enough to see the rest of it.”

“What else was there?” She frowned, trying to recall.

“You missed the string quartet.”

“You hired a string quartet?”

“Yup.”

“Oh, Nick, I feel terrible.” Her eyes pooled at the thought of all the trouble he had gone to, to make their first New Year’s Eve together a wonderful, memorable night.

“Don’t be silly, it’s not something you had control over. And besides, I plan to let you make it up to me.”

“How could I possibly do that?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He grinned. “Think along the lines of
love slave.”

India laughed for what seemed to be the first time in weeks.

“I think I want to try that shower now.”

“Let me help you.” He offered her his hand. “And while you’re in the shower, I’ll find something for you to wear. Zoey and Georgia always have clothes here.”

India tried to remember something that might have felt better than washing her hair after three days in bed but could not. The steamy warmth of the shower revived and relaxed her, and she felt better than she had in days. Not well, but better, and she said so when she had dried herself
off and slipped into the flannel boxers and fleecy pullover Nick brought to her.

“I’m delighted to hear that, but let’s not overdo it,” he told her. “You’re getting right back into bed.”

He led her by the hand back to the king-sized bed, where fresh sheets awaited and plump pillows beckoned. Hot tea with lemon steamed from a cup placed on the bedside table, and the phone had been moved to within easy reach.

“I thought you might like to call August and Corri,” he said as he helped her back into bed.

It was the last straw for weak and frazzled emotions. India burst into tears.

“What is it, India?” he asked, all concern and gentleness, which only made her cry all the harder. “What, sweetheart? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“You take care of me when I’m sick, nurse me around the clock. I look like a refugee and smell like a goat, but you feed me. You made me
chicken soup
, for God’s sake.” She cried into his shoulder.

“Whatever was I thinking?”

“You read to me when I was too sick to move.
Gone with the Wind.
My all-time favorite book.” She grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. “You put fresh sheets on the bed and worry about Corri worrying about me.”

“Clearly, I’ve been out of line.” He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced toward the ceiling. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“You hired a string quartet to serenade me on New Year’s Eve,” she sobbed.

“I should be punished.” He hung his head, pretending to appear contrite. “Would you like to beat me?”

She laughed in spite of herself and pulled him closer.

“You are so
right,”
she told him, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “How can I not fall in love with you, Nick, when you are so
right.”

“What have you got against falling in love with me?” He stroked the back of her head.

“If I fall in love with you I’ll close the door on ever going back to Paloma.”

“Explain to me why this might be a bad thing, when all
the people you love—the people who love you—the places you love, are all in Devlin’s Light.”

“It used to make sense to me,” she said. “It really used to make sense to me. Now I don’t even remember why. My work there was—
is
—important to me.”

“The work will always be important to you, Indy, and it should be. You do a great job, you do what needs to be done. But you can do it anywhere you choose. You can have your cake and eat it too, as the saying goes. You don’t have to go back to Paloma to fight bad guys. We have bad guys of our own down here. Come home and fight them, Indy.”

“I think I have to give serious consideration to doing just that.” She sighed. “It all seemed so easy before. There was so much going on in Paloma, so little going on here. Now I’m not so sure just how much that matters.”

He gently eased her back onto the pillows, a twinkle in his eye. “It must have been the love potion I slipped into the chicken soup.”

“Enright, you’re the last man in the world who would need to resort to potions when it comes to getting women.” She traced his jawline with the back of her hand.

“I don’t want ‘women,’” he told her. “I never wanted ‘women.’ I never wanted more than one woman in my life, and I knew if I waited long enough, I’d find her. And I have. The only woman I ever really wanted, the only one I can’t do without, is you. I love you to distraction, India Devlin, and once you’re all better, we’ll discuss what I propose we do about that.”

He kissed her forehead, then frowned. “But in the meantime, you’re still warmer than you should be, and your eyes are getting a little bit of a sleepy glaze on them again. Why don’t you call Corri and August now so you can talk to them while you’re still lucid, then we’ll watch a movie till you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” She reached for the phone and dialed the number. She
was
tired all of a sudden. “Aunt August? Hi, it’s me. A little better, yes.”

Nick opened the curtains behind the bed and let in the light from a stark gray morning.

“What time is it?” India stretched.

“Time for breakfast, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I am. I’m almost hungry today.”

“That’s a good sign. How ‘bout scrambled eggs and some toast made with homemade bread?”

“That’s what I smelled.” She smiled.

“I think there’s some obscure law that says that on cold, snowy days in early January, it is mandatory to have a fire burning and homemade bread in the oven.”

“It’s snowing?”

“Like a blizzard. Are you strong enough to come into the other room to eat?”

“Yes. Let me just wash my face, then I’ll be in.”

She felt stronger, her legs less wobbly, and her head was not so foggy. She splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth with toothpaste on her finger. Feeling almost human, she followed the fresh-bread scent through the house.

Breakfast was set up in front of the fireplace, in which blazed a healthy log or two to warm and cheer the big room. Music floated from several speakers to seep through the silence and wrap around the room like a turban. It was cozy and intimate, and she knew in her bones that she would never want to be anywhere else, with anyone else.

“Come look out the window.” Nick stood with his back to the room. “The snow is incredible. The bay has simply disappeared into a white blur.”

India came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. He felt good and solid, wonderful and strong. He felt like no one else ever had, or ever would.

“Nick?” she said, her voice still raspy.

“Yes, Indy?”

“I love you, Nick.” She rested her head against his back and rocked slightly.

“Are you sure it isn’t the fever come back?”

“No fever. I’m feeling much better. I’m feeling well enough to
know,”
she said. “And what I know is that I’ve never loved anyone else. I never will. I never want to be without you, Nick.”

“That is one thing you will never have to worry about.” He turned to her and took her in his arms. “I’ll never be farther away than you want me to be.”

They rocked slightly together in front of the big window.

“So, what was it that put you over the edge?” he asked, a trace of merriment in his voice. “It was the chicken soup, right?”

“It’s everything,” she said simply, “everything you did to show me that you cared. It’s everything you do and everything you are.”

He started to sway with the music, the sweet, poignant cry of Clapton’s guitar. “Wonderful Tonight.” The world outside was wrapped in a swirling blanket of white, the snow blocking out everything but the two of them and the music.

“How much better are you feeling?” he asked when the music had stopped.

“Much,” she assured him. “Come over in front of the fire and you can see for yourself just how good I feel.”

Chapter 26

“India, I really think this is unwise of you. August was trying her best not to lecture. After all, India was a grown woman. Still, her aunt felt compelled to state the obvious. “As sick as you have been, going to the Twelfth Night Ball is sheer folly. You’ll have a relapse. You’ll expose yourself to other people’s germs, you’ll—”

“Have a wonderful time in spite of all of those things.” India sponged small dots of liquid foundation onto her nose, hoping to make the red go away. “It’s no use, I look like Rudolph. Maybe I should wear a mask and keep it on all night and no one will notice.”

“Well, perhaps Nick will have enough sense to bring you home early,” August rationalized.

“Aunt August, I have not been to the Twelfth Night Ball in years. I have been looking forward to going with Nick and dancing my little feet off. And I’m going to do exactly that.” India smiled to herself, thinking she sounded a little like Scarlet O’Hara. Any other time she would have bristled at the very thought that she, India Devlin, that straight-shooting, tough prosecutor, could have anything whatsoever in common with the little flirt from Tara, but on Twelfth Night it tickled her. She was determined to dance until she dropped and have a wonderful time.

She had hoped that they could attend the dance classes
the first week of January so that Nick could learn and she could brush up on the period dances that would be featured that night, but, given her recent illness, India knew that she was lucky to be going at all.

“I will be keeping an eye on you, miss,” August reminded her.

“I know that you will, Aunt August.” India laughed.

“Indy?” Darla called from the bottom of the steps.

“Up here, Dar, come on up,” India called back.

“Wow! Look at you!” India exclaimed as Darla swept into the room in a blue satin gown that once belonged to one of India’s twin great-great aunts.

“Is this too funny?” Darla laughed. “Just like prom night. Except this time we’re going with the same man.”

“Nick will have the time of his life,” India assured her. “Here, help me get this dress over my head and then I’ll put your hair up.”

“And I’ll do yours.” Darla slid the gossamer satin over India’s head and fastened the back with the little hooks that closed women’s dresses a hundred years earlier.

“We could still pull it off,” India said as she swept Darla’s hair atop her head and secured it with bobby pins.

“You want to see if we can fool Nick?” Darla grinned.

“Of course we can fool Nick.”

When India’s hair had been identically swept up, they stood side by side in front of the mirror.

“Nah, we’ll never get away with it.” Darla shook her head wistfully. “Not after I’ve had two children. Your waist is much smaller, India.”

“Not ‘much,’ maybe a little. And speaking of children, the baby-sitter should be here any minute. It was a great idea to share a sitter tonight, Dar.”

“Well, you know, since Kenny’s been taking the kids more often, they’ve settled down a bit. Jack was with him over the weekend and they spent all day Sunday out at the nature sanctuary.”

“I’m glad that’s working out a little better. I felt badly for Kenny, to tell you the truth, Darla. It must have been very difficult for him when you left.”

“It was.” Darla sat down on the edge of the bed, careful
not to wrinkle the borrowed ball gown, and crossed her legs. “I think I didn’t give Kenny enough credit back then. All I knew was that I was unhappy and wanted out. No wonder he went a little crazy. I mean, I worked so hard for so long to be such a good little wife and mother, he never knew how unhappy I was. Then I just walked. I was so unfair to him.”