Jake's Bride (14 page)

Her smiled flagged slightly.  "About an hour ago.  If I'd  known you were coming home, I would have kept him up.  Was your trip successful?"

He hadn't called because they'd barely had time to catch the flight out tonight instead of waiting until morning.  He'd felt this drawing back to L.A., to Christopher and Sara that he'd never felt before.  "Thanks to Gillian, it was.  She's incredible.  The woman we found flew back to Phoenix to see her father, and we flew home."

Sara stepped closer to him, and he could smell the bubble bath she used.  The scent often lingered in her bathroom after she'd gone to bed.  Once in a while when he passed it to gaze at his sleeping son, he'd stop and take in the flowery smell.  It was stupid, really.  Thank goodness he had his own bathroom off of his bedroom.  That's all he'd need--finding Sara naked some morning...or night...or anytime in between.

"Jake?"

Her soft voice sounded far away.  But she was very close…too close.  He needed some air.  "I've been cooped up in planes and hotel rooms too long.  I'm going out for a run."

"Now?"

"Yes, now.  You don't have to wait up."  He lifted his suitcase again and took it up to his room.

Sara didn't know what she expected this time with Jake's homecoming, but she'd hoped for more than she'd gotten.  On top of Jake's remoteness, she sensed something was different...even wrong.  A huskiness in his voice, a fatigue in his tone and demeanor she'd never heard or seen before.  What he needed was a good meal and a massage to loosen the knots from traveling.  Ooh, would she like to give him a massage!

Sara Donovan, behave yourself
.

She sighed.  Unfortunately, she would.  She had no choice.

She'd put the finishing touches on a tray of cheese and crackers when she heard Jake return.  She hurried to the living room before he could go upstairs.  What she saw made her run to him.  "Jake, what's wrong?"

Chapter Six

Bent over, with his hands on his knees, Jake's face was flushed, his breathing ragged.  When Sara took hold of his shoulder, it burned her hand.  Had he gotten overheated while running?

She slipped her arm around his waist.  "Let me help you."

He started for the sofa.  "I don't need help."  He'd almost made it there when he stumbled.

Ignoring his protest, she curled her arm around his waist.  "You're scaring me, Jake.  Let me help you."

His gaze burned into her, but he nodded.  "All right."

At the sofa, he sank down and laid his head against the back.  She sat next to him and felt his forehead.  He was sweated but there was a burning heat underneath that hadn't developed from his run.  Taking his wrist between her fingers, she took his pulse.

"What are you doing?"

"I've had emergency training.  Just keep quiet for a  minute."  His pulse was strong but much too fast.  "What's going on, Jake?"

He shook his head, then looked as if he regretted the motion.  "I've felt so damn tired the last few days."

"Has your throat been scratchy?"

He glanced at her sideways.  "How'd you know?"

"The tone of your voice has been different.  Don't move," she commanded.  "I'm going to get the thermometer."

He straightened then held his head.  "I don't need--"

"I'm trying to find out what you need.  I need to find out exactly what condition you're in.  Now stay put or I won't pick you up when you fall on the floor."  Her threat was empty, and they both knew it.  But Jake didn't argue.  It was probably the picture of him falling on the floor that kept him still.  He hated to appear weak in front of anyone.

She raced upstairs and found the thermometer she kept in her bureau drawer.  She had a sixth sense where Christopher was concerned.  She could tell how high his fever was just by touching him.  With Jake...  She suspected it was higher than even he imagined.  It had to be to put him in this condition.

Downstairs, she slipped the thermometer into his mouth.  Her fingers touched his lips and the heat in his gaze came from more than the fever.  Shaken, but knowing she'd have to get past this strain between them to care for him, she said, "I'm going to boil water for tea and get you a glass of orange juice.  If that fever is as high as I think it is, you need to get liquids into you."

"I hate tea."

"Coffee's out because of the caffeine.  The tea is herbal.  It will help settle your stomach."

"How do you know my stomach needs settling?"  He'd taken the thermometer out of his mouth to ask.

"You're looking at the cheese and crackers as if they're going to hop up and bite you.  The man I know can eat anytime, anyplace, anywhere."  She took the thermometer from him and stuck it back in his mouth.  "Don't talk till I come back."

He gave her a defiant glare.

Rolling her eyes, she went to the kitchen, suspecting he was going to be one recalcitrant patient, worse than her son when he was sick.  Unfortunately, she couldn't give Jake a coloring book and crayons to entertain himself.  He'd always been a man on the move, but he was probably going to feel worse before he felt better.

When she returned to the living room, his eyes were glassy.  The thermometer apparently had beeped and e held it loosely in his hand.  Slipping the thermometer from his fingers, she read it—103 degrees.

He took it from her and blinked so he could focus.  "That can't be right."

She laid it on the coffee table.  "You're sick, Jake.  You probably have a virus that has to run its course.  But if we don't get this fever down by tomorrow evening, we should call the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor," he growled.

"Then cooperate with me."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

She stood and planted her hands on her hips.  "Don't fight with me and do what I tell you."

He gave her a disgruntled grimace.  "All I need is a good night's sleep."  Edging to the rim of the couch, he tried to stand and slumped back down.

"You need a good night's sleep, but you need fluids and aspirin and maybe a sponge bath, too."

That suggestion brought his eyes to hers.  "Forget it."

"At least let me help you get upstairs."

After a silence, he said with resignation, "All right.  The room spins every time I move."

Progress.  Maybe.

Jake pushed up, levering himself on the arm of the sofa.  Sara's arm circled his waist, and she took his weight.  He was hot, and damp, and so extremely male.  She loved being this close to him.  She loved helping him.  He hated it.

"Are you ready?" she asked gently.  She felt his nod and they moved toward the stairs.

Jake was a tall man, lean, but pure muscle.  In the upstairs hall, she stopped and propped against the wall with him for a moment.

"Are you okay?" he murmured.

Catching her breath, she said, "I'm fine.  Just a little farther."

When Jake collapsed on his bed, Sara breathed a sigh of relief...until she realized he was shivering.  "Do you have a pair of pajamas?"

He dropped his head into his hands.  "Never wear them."

Searching in his dresser drawer, she found a pair of flannel jogging shorts and a T-shirt.

"Sara, I'm fine."

"You can't crawl into bed in clothes that are sweated from running.  Do you want to get better or catch pneumonia?"

"You're worse than a nurse," he grumbled as he tugged his shirt over his head.  "Throw me the clothes."

"I'll go get the tea and orange juice."  She laid the clothes beside him on the bed.

A short time later, the glassware on the tray jiggled as Sara carried it into Jake's room.  He was lying in bed, the covers pulled over him, his eyes closed.  She knew he needed to rest, but he needed to get the aspirin and fluids down first.  She placed the tray on the nightstand and sat down on the bed next to him.

Opening his eyes, he saw her and the tray.  "Sara..."

"If you don't listen, you'll be setting a bad example for Christopher."

"That's blackmail."

"That's the truth."

"He's not even awake."

"If you'd expend less energy arguing with me and more doing what you're told, you'd be sleeping by now."

"I never realized how stubborn you can be," he muttered.

She raised her brows.  "Which do you want first?  Juice, water, or tea?"

When he reached for the glass of water, his hand shook.

She handed it to him with the aspirin.  "Are you cold?"

He nodded.  "Even the covers aren't helping."

"Will you let me sponge you down?"

"No way, lady," he snapped as he gulped down the aspirin and grimaced. 

"Does that hurt your throat?"

"I'll survive."

"Life is about more than surviving, Jake.  Work on that cup of tea.  I'll be right back."

"Stubborn and bossy, too," he mumbled but did as he was told.

She'd always loved the idea of a fireplace in the bedroom.  Tonight, a fire would help break Jake's fever.  She'd spotted kindling and logs in the shed outside.  Loading the carrier she found by the fireplace downstairs, she wondered just how bossy and stubborn Jake would let her be.  She'd rather crawl in beside him and warm him with her body, but if he wouldn't agree to a sponge bath, she doubted he'd agree to that.

He was huddled under the covers again when she brought the wood into his bedroom.  His eyes were closed.  She'd laid the fire and touched it with a match when he opened them.

"This should help you get warm.  If it doesn't, I'll get you another blanket."

"Sara, you don't have to do this."

Standing at the foot of the bed, she rested her hand on one of the posts.  "We're married, Jake.  Caring for each other is part of that, at least for me.  That's one of my rules to go with all the others you made up."  She nodded toward the tea.  "Try to get the rest of that down."

As she got ready for bed, she stayed dressed in her caftan, but added socks.  It seemed wise.  After picking up a novel she'd started one night when she couldn't get to sleep, she checked on Christopher, then returned to Jake.  His room had warmed up and she didn't expect she'd need a cover.  He looked as if he'd fallen asleep.

The arm chair in the sitting area of the room was heavy, but she managed to nudge it with her knee away from the fireplace and closer to the bed.  Then she turned off the lights and settled in it, ready to keep her vigil.  She dozed, waking when she heard Jake tossing and turning.  Hurrying to his side, she felt his forehead.  It still burned her hand.  Stoking the fire, she resettled in her chair.

A few hours had passed when she awakened again.  In the shadows, she sat beside Jake and felt his forehead.  Beads of perspiration told her the high fever had broken.  Crossing to the dresser, she took out another T-shirt and pair of shorts, then went to the kitchen and poured apple juice.  It wouldn't burn like the orange juice when it went down his throat.

Beside Jake once again, she held the glass out to him with two more aspirin.

He didn't argue and managed to drink half the glass.  That was a good sign.  But they had another hurdle to cross.

"You can't sleep in those clothes.  You'll get more chilled."

Even in the dark with only the embers of the fire casting shadows around the room, she could feel Jake's gaze on her.  He tried to sit up straighter, but dropped his head back on the pillow.  "Forget it."

"C'mon.  I'll help you."

He tried to sit up again.  Sara was quick and tugged his shirt up his arms and over his head.  Her fingers grazed his ribs.  With him bare chested, she wished she could lay her cheek against his chest rather than hand him his shirt.  Unfolding the shirt to make it easier for him to put on, she gave it to him.  Their hands touched and she saw him wince.  "I know, you're skin hurts when you have this kind of fever."

He let the comment stand.  "I can take care of my shorts."

She let him try, but his strength seemed to give out when he'd pushed them to his knees.  He swore.

"Jake, it's dark.  I'm certainly not going to see anything if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not worried about anything.  Go ahead.  Drag them off."  She tried to slip the shorts off without flipping back the sheet.  That wasn't too hard.  But she couldn't help him put the fresh ones on that way.  Ignoring his grunt of disapproval, she turned back the sheet and started his shorts up his legs, pretending not to look at anything else.  Pretending, because she knew what Jake looked like.  His long legs, powerful thighs, and...

She took a deep breath.

He sat up, and his hands closed over hers.  She went still, her gaze finding his face in the dimmest of light.  "This is too dangerous," he said, his voice husky.  "Go back to your room."

Dangerous for him, or dangerous for her?

He went on in a raspy voice, "Every time you breathe I can see that damn drape outline your breast.  No wonder I'm sweating.  Go back to your room, Sara.  We'll both sleep better."