Trouble in Paradise (15 page)

They answered in the affirmative.

“Good. I’ll be back in a jiff.”

Ian wished somebody would stop the world so he could get off. The room was spinning like a top.

“Ian?”

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. He hadn’t dreamed Shayla’s voice. She stood beside his bed. Prettiest thing he’d seen in a month of Sundays.

She offered a tentative smile. “How are you feeling? Any better?”

She placed her hand on his forehead; her fingers felt cool against his feverish skin. Her touch was comforting.

“Any better?” she asked again.

“You don’t want to know.”

Her smile grew a fraction.

“The girls?”

“They’re fine. We’re seeing to the animals now. I fed the dogs and let them out for a run. And I put water in Pumpkin’s stall.” A tiny frown furrowed her forehead. “But I don’t know how much hay to feed her.”

“A couple of flakes.” He had to close his eyes again. The spinning was getting worse, and the last thing he wanted was to empty his stomach in front of Shayla.

“Flakes?” She touched his shoulder. “How much is that, Ian? What’s a flake of hay?”

Somehow he managed to lift his arms, placing his hands an appropriate distance apart. At least, he hoped it was an accurate measurement. With his eyes closed and everything tilting and whirling, it was hard to tell.

“About this much off the bale,” he whispered.

She must have understood him for she slipped away without another word.

He would have to thank her later. Much later.

I
an would live after all.

When he awakened early the next morning, he discovered his bedroom had ceased to behave like a carousel and was once again stationary. A good sign. But his mouth tasted as if a herd of cattle had been driven through it. He needed a toothbrush and toothpaste. Bad!

He shoved aside the sheet, slid his legs over the edge of the mattress and sat up. So far, so good. He let his feet touch the floor, then took a deep breath before standing. The room lurched a bit, then righted itself. He took another deep breath.

He was rarely sick—maybe a cold every year or two, if that—and he resented the weakness he felt after this bout with the flu. He hated knowing Shayla had seen him like this. Not the best way to impress a woman. But he would be eternally grateful for the help she’d rendered.

At least, he thought she’d rendered it. Things were a bit fuzzy in his head yet. Maybe he’d imagined her cool hand on his hot forehead. Maybe he’d dreamed her gentle smile as she leaned over him.

On shaky legs, he made his way to the bathroom. One glance in the mirror, and he was sorry he looked. “Death warmed over” was an apt description.

He leaned his thighs against the bathroom counter for support, then proceeded to brush his teeth, mentally thanking the guy who invented mint-flavored toothpaste. Next, he shaved the stubble off his face. Afterward he combed his hair.

The results weren’t great, but he was at least presentable.

He remembered the doctor helping him out of the clothes he’d put on yesterday morning and into the pajama bottoms he wore now. He considered getting dressed, then rejected the idea. Ty and Mick would arrive in another hour or two. They could handle whatever chores needed doing.

With his strength draining, he finished up in the bathroom and returned to his bed, dropping onto it with a sigh of relief. He felt as if he’d put in a full day on the range.

A soft rap sounded at his door. He turned his head on the pillow and looked in that direction as Shayla entered, carrying a tray.

“I heard you get up. I thought you might want some toast and juice.”

“You stayed the night?” It didn’t surprise him. As
sick as he’d been, she wouldn’t have left the twins alone.

“Anne and I stayed in the guest room.” She set the tray on his nightstand, then leaned over to feel his forehead. “A bit clammy. No fever. That’s a good sign.” She smiled.

That smile. It was worth being sick to see it. Man, how he loved her.

“Do you think you can eat something?”

He’d do anything she asked. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Let me help you sit up.”

He’d made it to the bathroom and back by himself. He was pretty certain he could sit up by himself. But he didn’t try. Not when Shayla was such a good nurse, fluffing the pillow behind his back, making sure the tray was just so on his lap, asking him if there was anything else he needed.

“No,” he answered. “But stay and tell me what all happened yesterday. Did the girls think to call you? Is that why you showed up here?”

She sat on the side of the mattress, not too close to him. “No.” She glanced toward the window. “I happened to come over.” She paused again, then met his gaze. “They were two frightened little girls. They thought you were dying.”

“So did I for a while.”

“Dr. Dobbins said you had a temp of a hundred and three.”

“You were in here most of the night. Weren’t you? Bathing my forehead, giving me sips of water.”

Her smile was shy, and a blush tinted her cheeks.

“I thought I was dreaming.”

She looked away a second time. “You needed help.” She shrugged. “And the girls couldn’t be left alone. Anne’s with them now. Working on a jigsaw puzzle in the great room.”

He reached over and took hold of her hand. “You’re always helping somebody, aren’t you, Shayla?”

Her blush brightened; she avoided his eyes.

“Me. Cathy and Angie. Anne. Always somebody else.” He lowered his voice. “No wonder you feel like it’s time to take care of yourself for a change.” He tightened his fingers. “I’d like to help take care of you, too. If you’d give me a chance.”

She stood. “I think I heard the girls. They’ll need their breakfast. I’ll be back for the tray.”

He’d struck a nerve, he realized as he watched her leave the room.

And maybe he’d knocked a small hole in the wall of her resistance.

At the top of the stairs, Shayla stopped and leaned her back against the wall. Her heart raced, and her stomach was all aflutter.

Maybe she had the flu now. She pressed the palms of her hands against her abdomen.

But she wasn’t sick. She was in love. Horribly, wonderfully, completely and helplessly in love.

The question was, what was she going to do about it?

That question repeated itself in her head throughout the morning as she fed the children, did several
loads of laundry, cleaned the kitchen and dusted and vacuumed the entire downstairs. What
was
she going to do about loving Ian?

He said he wanted to take care of her. He loved her.

So if she was sure he loved her, and she knew she loved him, what was the problem?

Sitting beside his bed last night, watching him sleep, listening to his feverish murmurings, she’d wondered what it would be like to be his wife, to be something more than a neighbor doing her Christian duty for a friend.

And if he loved her and she loved him, why couldn’t she be something more?

For the next two days she wrestled with her thoughts and emotions. For the next two days she tried to understand what loving Ian might mean for her writing, for her future.

Please, God,
she prayed.
Show me Your will and Your way.

Early on Friday evening, after spending several hours at the cabin, trying to work on her manuscript—a futile attempt, as it turned out—Shayla returned to Paradise Ranch.

“What are you doing back so soon?” Anne asked when Shayla entered through the back door. “I thought you’d be writing until after dark.”

Shayla shook her head. “I couldn’t concentrate. I might has well be here.”

“She wants to be with Uncle Ian,” Cathy said with a note of authority.

Anne grinned. “I think you’re right, half-pint.”

“I have
work
to do,” Shayla pointed out. “I
am
the housekeeper.”

Her sister rolled her eyes.

“Oh, brother,” Shayla muttered as she headed for the closet in the front hall.

She retrieved the vacuum and carried it up the stairs into the studio. The bookcase that Cathy had knocked over the night Angie was hurt had been righted the next day and all the books long since put back in place. Since the room was never used, there was little cleaning to be done.

Leaving the vacuum near the door, she walked to the paintings of Ian. He’d been much younger when Joanne painted him, but his wife had foreseen the man he would become.

There was strength and determination in his unlined, youthful face. There was integrity in his eyes. This was a man who knew how to take life as it came. This was a man as strong and unshakable as the mountains that cradled this valley. This was a man who took pleasure in the green of the grass, the blue of the sky, the song of a meadowlark, the nobility of an elk. A man who could hold a child in his arms and wipe away tears with gentle fingertips. A man who could kiss a woman until he’d stolen the very breath from her. This was a man with a heart as big as all outdoors, a man capable of so much love.

She reached out, touching his image on the canvas.

This was a man who loved God, a man who would
never keep the woman he loved from serving the Lord.

In that moment, hope blossomed in her heart.

Something was different about Shayla.

Ian sensed it the instant he saw her standing in the studio, staring at the portraits. It wasn’t anything he could define. It wasn’t the way she looked or moved or anything she did. But something was different.

He cleared his throat. She turned toward him.

“I thought you went home to write.”

She shrugged.

“You and Anne staying the night again?”

She nodded.

“You don’t need to, you know. I’m almost a hundred percent.”

“You’ll rest better if you don’t have to concern yourself with the children.”

He lifted an eyebrow but didn’t argue with her reasoning.

“You are looking much better.”

“Like I said, I’m nearly one hundred percent.”

She gave him a hesitant smile, then turned away and walked to the window. “There’s a nice breeze this evening. Is it all right if I open this?”

“Sure.” He took a step into the studio. What was going on in that pretty head of hers?

Shayla opened the window as wide as it would go. She remained there, staring at the mountainside as the day began to wane. “It’s beautiful here. The trees.
The mountains. It always smells so good. I wonder how your mother and sister could leave it.”

For a split second, Ian thought his fever had returned. Was he hallucinating or did she mean what he thought she meant?

“I don’t reckon it was easy for either of them, but they had their reasons.” He took another step into the room. “Dad’s health wasn’t good, so he and Mom moved to a warmer climate. As for Leigh, she met and fell in love with Jim. His work was elsewhere, and she chose to be with him.”

“That’s what I would do. Choose to be with the man I love.”

“Shayla? What is it you’re saying?”

“I want to be a writer, Ian. I believe that’s what God wants, too.” She turned to face him. “I’ve got all these characters in my head, and all these stories demanding to be told. Sometimes I think I’ll go crazy from the need to get it all onto paper. I’ve waited so long for the opportunity to try.” She waved her hand in a gesture of frustration. “No one’s believed I could do it except me.”

“And me. I believe in you.”

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Thanks to Aunt Lauretta, it’s here now, my chance to prove myself, and I’ve been working hard to take advantage of it. I think I can do it, too. I think I can write good books. Maybe great books. I love writing. I do. I love it so very much. More than I thought I would.”

He watched her, holding his breath, waiting for her to go on.

Tears began to trace her cheeks. “But I think I love you even more.”

He had her in his arms in a heartbeat. He kissed her before she could take the words back. Even when he stopped kissing her, he didn’t let her go. Instead he kissed the tear tracks on her cheeks and whispered, “Say it again.”

“Say what?” She clung to him.

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.”

Indescribable emotions washed over him. If it were possible, he would have stayed like that, holding her in his arms, forever. That might not be possible, but it seemed the next best thing was.

“Shayla Vincent, will you marry me?”

Her eyes widened.

Had he moved too fast again? “I’ll always support you in the things you want to do. I’ll help you however I can to see that your dream of being a writer comes true.”

“Ian, I—”

“No, let me finish.” He drew a deep breath. “I won’t be a perfect husband. I know I’ll mess up again. But my mistakes won’t be because I don’t love you.”

“I know.”

He covered her lips with his index finger to keep her silent. “I’ll do my level best to make you happy.” He brought his face closer to hers, drowning himself in the deep blue of her eyes. “So will you marry me, Shayla?”

“Yes.”

He blinked, afraid to believe it. Afraid he might be dreaming the whole thing.

“Yes, Ian O’Connell, I’ll marry you.”

Once again, he pulled her close for a long, deep kiss.
Lord, if I’m dreaming, don’t let me ever wake up.

It was the sound of whooping and hollering that broke them apart. They turned toward the window. Ian was certain the commotion must mean trouble of some sort. Instead, what he found was Ty, Anne and the twins standing below the window, watching him and Shayla.

Ty tossed his hat into the air and let loose with an earsplitting “Yee-ha!”

Grinning from ear to ear, Anne applauded as she shouted, “About time, you two.”

Cathy and Angie broke into giggles.

“She said yes!” Ian yelled down at them.

“We heard,” Ty answered.

“Wait there!” Anne called. “I’ve got to give you both a hug of congrats.” She disappeared, followed by the twins and Ty.

Ian turned Shayla toward him. “Looks like it’ll be a while before we have another moment alone to do this.”

He kissed her, savoring the sweetness of her mouth while thanking God for bringing her to Rainbow Valley.