Meagan's Marine (Halos & Horns) (15 page)

“Meagan?” Mitchell croaked from the bed.

“Hang on Mitch!
Nik
,
I think it started with a bad headache, and now he’s developed a high fever.”

“Any hurling yet?”
Niki
asked.

“Nope, no sign of that.” She jumped, as
a low roar came from the area of the bed—turned to see Mitch puking into a
small trash can he’d pulled onto the bed with him. “
Oooh
boy…scratch that. We are suddenly having a major hurl fest here.” Carrying her
phone with her, she ran to Mitchell’s kitchen in search of something larger
than the tiny trash can. She found a never been used plastic mop bucket and
brought it to him. “Here, use this,” she said, then ran to get a wet washcloth
for his face and head.

“Yep, we had a guy do that right in the
office today. Said his head hurt worse than his tequila and
Jagermeister
hangover. Thankfully, I couldn’t relate to that, but it brought that big ole
red-neck to his knees, I tell
ya
. The hospital is
overflowing with people dehydrating from this thing. Mostly old people and
little kids, though. Strong as Mitch is, I’m sure he’ll be fine. The good news
is that the symptoms—nausea, headache, fever—are usually over pretty quick,
like in a couple of hours. He’ll spend the next 24 hours feeling listless, but
it’s over after that.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“It’s highly contagious,
Meggie
. How close did you get to GI Joe tonight?”

“Close enough. Shit!”

“Shit!”

Meagan released a sigh. “Okay, what do I
do for him? Fluids and fever reducer?”

“Yep, that’s about it, and
Pepto
as soon as he can hold it down. You realize, of
course, that right around the time he starts to feel better, you’ll probably be
laid flat with this thing.”

Meagan cursed under her breath as Mitch
took another turn at what sounded like a dinosaur roaring into the mop bucket.
“I know there’s a possibility of that happening, but I can’t leave him like
this,
Nik
.”

“Listen, the last thing you should do is
bring that crap home to Buck. You stay there, I’ve got the next two days off
and if you’re not back by Monday I can get him to that
Mother’s
Helper
sitter you use occasionally. Don’t worry about Buck and me. We’ll be
fine.”

“Thanks
Nik
,
you’re a lifesaver.” She disconnected and went to Mitch, wiping down his
forehead with the cool, wet cloth.

He fell back on his pillow, holding his
hand over hers as it held the cloth in place.  “You need to get out of
here so you don’t get sick.”

She gave him a grim smile. “
Niki
says it’s highly doubtful I’ll escape getting it at
this point. My main objective is not to infect Buck with this, because it’s
hell on children and old people.” She flushed the contents of the bucket and
basket down the toilet before rinsing them out.  She turned at a muffled
curse to see Mitch struggling to walk from his bed to the bathroom. 

“What the hell do you think you’re
doing?”

“I need the bathroom,” he groaned. “You
don’t have to stay here, you know. I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. Here,” she
said, handing him the bucket. “You may need this while you’re in there. Call me
if you need me.”

He answered with a grunt and shut the
door.

Meagan used the time to survey the rest
of Mitchell’s house. True to his word, there wasn’t much to see: A few pieces
of furniture here and there, a shelf holding a set of speakers and docking
station for his phone, and a few framed snapshots of Mitch in fatigues with
what she assumed were some Marine brothers.

Her search brought her to the kitchen
where more photos littered the fridge, mingled with business cards and held up
by an assortment of magnets, probably left by previous renters. One photo, in
particular, stood out from the rest. It was a shot of a much younger Mitch, and
Tex Broussard, flanking a third man, a tall, lanky guy wearing a huge grin and
a Santa hat. Indulging her curious nature, she lifted it off the fridge to
check the back for some kind of label or description.
Afghanistan,
Christmas
Day, 2001—The Marines have landed and have the situation well in hand...Me, Tex
& Bobby

Bobby…the one whose funeral he hadn’t
been able to attend? A shiver ran through her as she placed the picture back in
its spot.  A loud thump from the bedroom had her rushing back to find
Mitch on his knees and trying to crawl to his bed, dragging the bucket
awkwardly in one hand.

“I told you to call me if you needed
help,” she scolded.

He pinned her with a feverish gaze. “I
thought you left.”

She helped him to the bed and heaped the
covers over his shivering body. “I’m not leaving just yet.” She’d consider her
options later, once she’d helped him through the worst of this. She ran back to
the kitchen and scrounged around until she found a bowl. She filled it with
cold water and carried it carefully back to his room to place it on the small
nightstand beside his bed. Seating herself beside him, she dipped the washcloth
in the water and rung it out before she placed it on his head.

“God that feels good,” he groaned.

“How’s the headache?”

“Hurt’s like a
Mofo
…”

“Still nauseated?”

He held up the bucket with one hand and
let it drop weakly to the bed. “Uh huh…”

“Think you could hold down some water?”

“No, but I’ll drink it anyway. I already
puked everything in my stomach. Anything’s better than the dry heaves.”

As soon as she returned with a glass of
water, he downed it. She sat and watched in silence as his face revealed
several steps of severe nausea, culminating, finally, in him emptying his
stomach into the bucket, yet again.

Within the next two hours, they repeated
the process four times. When Mitch finally dozed off, Meagan took the
opportunity to catch some sleep on the one new piece of furniture he owned—a
high quality, extremely comfortable, leather recliner.

She awoke at the sound of a muffled
shout from the bedroom. Using the light from the bathroom to guide her, she
spotted Mitch easily, swinging his arms as though he was lashing out at some
invisible enemy.

Meagan dipped the cloth in cold water
and placed it carefully on his forehead. Only after he seemed to calm a little,
did she seat herself beside him on the bed. She reached up to feel his forehead
and face, knowing it would be clammy and fevered.

As soon as she made skin contact, she
was flat on her back with Mitch looming above her, his hands wrapped
dangerously tight around her throat. She tried to scream, with no more success
than a guttural whimper.

CHAPTER
19

Feverish Not-so-Friendly Fire

Meagan flailed, slapped, and pushed at
him, but she was no match for his strength, nor whatever it was he was
experiencing in his feverish nightmare. She banged her hand on the nightstand,
sending a sharp pain through her wrist, but also jogging her memory. She
reached for the bowl of cold water and missed, panicking at the darkness
licking at the edge of her vision. She kicked and hit with renewed vigor,
managed to knock one of his steely hands loose for a second—just long enough to
catch a breath and reach the bowl.

Cold water doused the both of them and
he let go, his eyes wide, though still blind to what had happened. He fell back
on the mattress, instantly subdued, as Meagan gasped for air, sputtered and
choked on water that had gone up her nose.

Still coughing, she sat up, managed to
pull herself out of the bed. She ran to the kitchen just to get some distance
between them and finally caught her breath. His moans reached her from the
bedroom, and she stood there, alone, and wondering what to do. Obviously, she’d
need assistance if she was going to help him, but who? Instinctively, she knew
he’d feel strange about having just anyone around him in this state.
Remembering a particular card she’d seen on the refrigerator, she walked over
and pulled one from the center of the menagerie.

Matthew
‘Tex” Broussard

Retired
USMC

Putting
Smiles on the Faces

Of Women
Everywhere

Come Ride a Real Cowboy…Yee Haw!

She flipped it over to see a phone
number on the back and thumbed it into her cell phone.

****

Thirty minutes later, Meagan stepped
aside to let Tex inside, exchanging a grim smile with the man.

“I’ve
gotta
admit,
Meg, you were the last person I expected to get a call from tonight.” Tex
stepped through the doorway and gave Meagan a friendly hug.

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Tex. I’d
have done it myself but I don’t think I can handle him alone.”

“You shouldn’t have to. Where is he?”

She pointed down the hall. “His
bedroom’s that way.” After following him to the room, she stood two steps back,
still wary of getting too close to him. The feeling of his hands around her
neck, and her, desperate for air and fighting not to black out…
that
was
a memory likely to stick with her for years to come.

As soon as Tex placed a hand on his
forehead, Mitchell’s eyes flew open. He gripped Tex’s arm with one hand and his
neck with the other. Tex, however, blocked the moves with astounding ease.

“Whoa there, Master Sergeant, it’s only
me—Tex. No need to be so
fu
—
freaking—
inhospitable,
asshole…even if you are fighting off a raging fever.
Sonofabitch
,
he’s
burnin
’ up, Meg.”

Meagan ran around him to grab the bowl
that had fallen to the floor, filled it with fresh water, and grabbed a handful
of washcloths.  She dipped one in the cold water, wrung it out slightly,
and placed it on Mitchell’s forehead.

Tex turned Mitchell’s head to the side.
“A cloth on the back of his neck is effective, also.”

She plastered one there at the base of
his skull, and another on the front of his neck and chest. She used a fourth to
wipe his face and soothe his eyes.

Mitch awoke at that point and stared at
her, his gaze heated with fever, his voice dry and raspy.

“Thirsty.”

Tex held him up as Meagan gave him a
drink of cool water.

Mitch gulped down the water and sighed
afterwards, licking his lips. Once his head was back on his pillow, he looked
up at Tex. “Why are you here?”

“Meagan called me. She needed some help
with you. How you
feelin
’, man?”

“Like shit on a shingle.” His gaze
travelled to Meagan. “Did I hurt you?”

A gut reaction had her hand flying to
her throat, even though her mind longed to protect him. “Of course not, Mitch.
I’m fine.”

He gave her a listless nod. “Good.
You’re the last person…in the world…I’d want to…”

She released the breath she’d been
holding as he faded off to sleep. After dipping all the cloths in the cool
water again and replacing them on his heated face, she sat back, exhaustion
oozing from her pours. She jumped at the question from Tex.

“
Did
he hurt you? Is that why you
called me?”

She tugged self-consciously at her
collar, and turned away. It didn’t stop Tex from stepping around to face her
and pushing her hands aside to examine her neck.

“Aw damn, Meagan! He attacked you?”

“I—I was able to dump the bowl of water
on him before I blacked out.” She despised the quaver in her own voice.

“Shit! You’ve
gotta
know that was from the fever.”

She gazed up at Tex. “I know that. Unless
he—he did—that sort of thing on a regular basis.”

He shook his head, leading her into the
living room to talk. “Not to my knowledge. Some guys reacted violently if they
got wakened suddenly. Mitch was usually the one waking everyone else up.” Tex
turned to stare at his Marine brother. “He took care of all his guys—took it
personal as hell if somebody got hurt, or worse.”

“What was it like for y’all over there,
Tex?”

“Afghanistan? It’s a shit hole, hon.
Ain’t no other way to describe it. And Mitch and I were good enough at our jobs
to spend a hellacious chunk of our last ten years in the Corps there. Sometimes
being the best at what you do comes at a high price. Experience counts in a war
zone. Experience that could save lives on the side you’re fighting for.”

“I’m sure the men under your command
appreciated having leaders around with wisdom and experience.”

“Even though sometimes it didn’t make
enough of a difference to bring ‘
em
all home, like in
the case of your boy’s dad. It sucked losing a good man.”

She sighed, slumping forward on the
couch. Using her hands, she rubbed at her sore neck. “It surely did.” 

Tex walked into the kitchen and returned
with a clean, wet dish-drying towel. This one he draped carefully around her
neck. “I’m sure as hell sorry about that, Meg. It must have been difficult for
you. What was his name?”

“Christopher Martin. His middle name was
Buckley. It was his maternal grandfather’s name, and I believe it had been
his
mother’s maiden name. Chris was crazy about that old man.”

“It’s good you gave his son the name,
then. I’m sure it would have meant the world to him.” He adjusted the towel
around Meagan’s neck.

“Can you tell me a little of what
happened over there, Tex? I never found out what it was like for Chris, but I’d
like to know what it was like for Mitch.”

“Like I said, he took care of his men.
It’s commonly known that Jarheads don’t have much use for officers, but they’ll
go to hell and back for a good Sergeant. Mitch was one of the best I’ve ever
known, and the men respected him.” He regaled her with tales of the years
they’d worked together…in Afghanistan, everything from daily life and pranks
they’d pulled on each other to drunken leave in Hawaii. He left out details
about the fighting, telling her when she asked, that some things didn’t need to
be relived or repeated.

After an hour, he took the cloth from
her neck, ran it under more cold water and replaced it. “You’ll develop some
ugly bruising, hon. Mitchell’s
gonna
wish he could
kick his own ass ten ways from Sunday for that. He might even ask me to do it
for him.”

“Which, of course you won’t do.” She
gave him a look of warning before closing her eyes to breathe in the scent of
his freshly laundered shirt and spicy masculine cologne.

His chest vibrated with a deep rumble of
laughter. “Not if he asked me, but I might consider it if you did.”

His attention grabbing tone had her
eyeing him curiously, as he sent her a sexy as hell grin. “I wouldn’t ask, and
you damn well know it.”

“I know that. I also know my old buddy
has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t dream of making a move on you for that
reason.”

She shrugged. “It wouldn’t matter if you
did. You’re not my type. Now, my roommate,
Niki
…
she
likes her cowboys.”

“
Niki
, huh? So,
when are you going to introduce me to this cowboy
lovin
’
roommate of yours?”

“We…
ellll
,”
she said, drawing out the single syllable as she approached Mitchell’s fridge.
“I’m not sure if I want to, considering how I found your number.” She pulled
the card from the fridge and spun on her heels to show it to him. At least Tex
had the good grace to cringe as he pointed to the tacky card.

“I hope you realize that I would never
have ordered those myself. Haley had ‘
em
made as a
joke and gave them to me for my coming home party. Ask her next time you see
her.”

Meagan jabbed the card in his face.
“Don’t you worry…I’ll do that…
before
I introduce you to my roommate, who
is also my soul-sister, as well as best friend in the world.” She placed the
card back in its spot and tiptoed into Mitchell’s room to check on him. She
re-entered the living room a few minutes later, feeling a tremendous relief.
“He’s sweating out his fever, Tex. Hopefully this will be the end of it.
Nik
says the symptoms don’t last long.”

 “That’s good to know.”

“Looks like I wasted your
ti
—”

“—Don’t even think that! Nobody in their
right mind would have expected you to handle him after what you’d just gone
through,” he said, pointing to her neck. Tex waited until she’d reluctantly
agreed before he leaned back in the recliner and stretched out his long legs.
“Now…we’ve established the fact that Mitch has a thing for you. What I’m most
curious about is whether or not you, Meagan, have got a thing for him.”

Her mouth twisted in a grin. “Do you
honestly think I’d be here—tonight—if I didn’t?”

He aimed his long forefinger at her
face. “Good answer, Pee Wee.”

“Pee Wee! I’m 5’4”.”

“I know; you’re a tiny little thing.”

She snorted. “It’s not like I’m a
midget. I can’t help that you’re freakishly tall.”

“Hey, just ‘cause you’re willing to
settle for ordinary, doesn’t mean other women don’t appreciate—” he paused to
flex his arms and kiss both bulging biceps, “—
real
men like me, who come
in Double XL.”

She shook her head, and burst into
laughter. “My Granny had a name for people like you. She called ‘
em
‘Shine-
ola
’.”

He cocked his head. “There’s an old shoe
polish called
Shinola
. I still have a
container of it in a box of stuff from my great grandpa. That’s not so bad.”

She choked back her laughter long enough
to answer him. “It came from her saying… ‘He’s so full of himself, it’s hard to
tell the difference between the shit caked on the bottom of the boot and the
shine-
ola
on the top’. So of course, to those of us
acquainted with the saying, when she called someone ‘Shine-
ola
’,
it was just a polite way of calling them—”

“—Shit!” he finished for her. “I get it.
Gee, thanks, Granny.”

Meagan snorted with laughter. “On behalf
of my beloved Granny, if the shit-caked, double XL boot fits—wear it!”

A call from Mitchell’s bedroom cut
through Tex’s booming laughter. Meagan jumped up and ran to the room, surprised
to find Mitch seated on the side of the bed, his feet flat on the floor.

“Hey! It looks like someone’s feeling
better,” she said, pleased at his quick recovery.

“Not really, but it’s hard to sleep with
someone
braying like a jack-ass out there.”

Tex leaned up against the door-jamb, his
muscular arms crossed against his massive chest, and casually bent one leg to
cross a booted foot over the other. “Yeah, he’s feeling better. Feeling a touch
of the green-eyed monster, are
ya
, Master Sergeant?”

****

Mitch fairly growled at his old pal.
“Stand down, Marine. And what the
fuc
—
flip
—”
he added with a quick glance toward Meagan, “—are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, once this little lady realized
she couldn’t handle you alone, she called on the only other person in the world
who’d know how to keep your ass under control.”

“Bull shit.” Mitch threw a grunt in for
good measure then turned an irritated glare in Meagan’s direction. “It couldn’t
have been that difficult.”  

Her eyes widened perceptibly as she took
a deep breath, held it, and spun on her heels to leave the room without a word,
or a backward glance.