16. Charlotte
16
CHARLOTTE
KILLEEN, TEXAS — OCTOBER
“Y ou sure you feel okay?” Wilder asks me. Again. He stands nearby as I do a final check of my saddle, pulling the colored twists of Rooney’s mane free to better show off the turquoise gingham ribbons I added at the last minute. They perfectly balance the simple black and white gingham button-down I wear and Wilder’s turquoise western shirt. He’s added the black and white pattern to the band of his hat in the form of a small bow today. He caught a lot of shit for it as we walked through the staging area together, but seeing it makes my heart flutter. Of course, that could be the fever I’ve been trying to hide from him all day.
The damn man knows something is going on, and he won’t stop hovering.
“I’m fine, ” I say, in what I hope is a light and convincing manner, as I pull my hat off the saddle horn and over my forehead to hide the sweat I know is starting to bead there. Racing today is not my smartest decision, but I’m not going to let a pesky one-hundred-and-two fever or a little earache that feels like a railroad spike being driven into my head keep me from the last rodeo before the end of the season. I sway slightly when Rooney’s hip checks my side.
“The fuck you are.” Wilder’s hands are on my shoulders as he dips his head to look into my eyes. His own widen for a moment before his hands are on my cheeks. His fingers feel blessedly cool, and I can’t help but press into them, seeking relief. “Baby, you’re burning up.”
“I won’t be as soon as the acetaminophen kicks in. I took it almost thirty minutes ago. Had to time it right to be the most effective by race time,” I tell him, closing my eyes for just a moment as he cradles me gently. “Any second now, the throbbing in my head will stop, and you won’t be able to fry an egg on my skin. Then Rooney and I will go win.”
“You don’t need this win, Charlie.” Wilder reaches to undo the top few buttons on my shirt, and I admit the extra breathing space for my fevered skin is nice. “You’ve already secured your finals spot. I’m worried about you. Why do you have to be so stubborn?”
I can’t help the unimpressed look I give him. He nods in agreement. There’s no point asking me something like that. I grit my teeth, pressing my lips together as tightly as I can when another sharp pain travels the length of my ear canal and rattles around my head.
“You said your head hurts, too?” Wilder pulls my hat off my head, baby hairs sticking to the film of sweat now firmly on my forehead. His hands search gently, looking for injury. I decide it’s no use lying anymore.
“My left ear,” I admit. “Like, inside, where I can’t reach. Feels like someone is trying to build a house in there. Makes my whole head fuzzy when it’s sharp and sudden.”
Now that I’ve decided honesty is the best policy, the full weight of how truly awful I feel comes crashing onto me. My body is weak, my head heavy, and the Texas heat, coupled with my fever, makes me feel like I’m burning from the inside out. A little of my discomfort is lifted by my admission.
“Let’s go.” He reaches past me for Rooney’s lead. My horse comes willingly, the velvet of his nose stopping long enough to investigate my cheek. The derisive chuff he gives lets me know he does not approve of my plan to ignore my symptoms. I offer my apology by rubbing his snout and jaw.
“Go where?” I ask, my feet following him and Rooney before I fully think about it.
“I’m going to get Rooney settled while you change your clothes, then I’m taking you to the clinic.” I like the way he includes taking care of my horse while also looking out for me. It’s nice to be taken care of, I decide as we make our way back to the trailer.
Inside my trailer, it takes more than a little effort to focus on getting a pair of soft shorts and a tee on when my fluffy bed is calling to me. But just as I think about crawling into it and letting the pain and discomfort consume me, Wilder’s back, slipping my feet into a worn pair of sneakers. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge as we pass on our way out of the truck.
I’m beginning to feel a little like a rag doll when Wilder helps me get into the cab, lifting me by my hips and settling me on the seat before he leans across and buckles me in. He presses the water bottle into my hands, popping the top of the spout and pointing at me. “Drink.” He backs out of the cab, then points again when I don’t lift the bottle. “Slowly, Charlie. You need to stay hydrated.”
Lifting the bottle, I bob my head in agreement, letting the cold liquid coast down my throat. I continue to sip, semi-coherently paying attention as Wilder gets us to the nearby urgent care clinic. The lot has two cars parked out front, so I’m hopeful it won’t take long to get checked out. I just want to get back to the trailer and sleep the fever off. Even with the pain in my ear, I’m convinced sleep will make that go away, too.
There’s more shuffling, and then I’m sitting in a God-awful lobby chair that has definitely seen better days, with Wilder bringing a clipboard and pen over to sit next to me. I rest my head on his shoulder, trying to stay alert enough to answer the questions he’ll have as he fills out the form.
I don’t know how long it’s been, but there’s the tiniest of nudges and I blink my eyes open. I must have dozed off.
“I’m sorry, Charlie. I don’t know how long ago your symptoms started or who you want listed as your emergency contact, but I think I have everything else filled out.” Wilder tips the clipboard so I can see his scrawling words. My name, birthdate, and all other manner of contact information is filled in. He’s even managed to list my birth control under the “active prescriptions” section and included my allergy to penicillin. He waits patiently as my chest squeezes with how much I love this man.
“Uh.” I sit up, trying to focus my thoughts. “The ear was bothering me a little bit yesterday, but the fever didn’t start until this morning.”
Wilder takes down the information. “But the ear pain became worse today, right? I saw you pressing it all afternoon.” Remorse flashes over his face. “I just thought it was pressure or something. Maybe that weird ringing thing that happens sometimes. I didn’t know you were so uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you,” I admit, feeling shameful. I look down at the tiled floor, one brighter white than another as if it was recently replaced. “But, yeah, the pain’s become really bad. And even with the medicine, I don’t think the fever has come down. I feel really awful.”
There’s a distinct tremble in my voice. Most days I feel like a strong, independent woman, and in this life that’s exactly what I need to be. Even Wilder’s presence hasn’t fully shaken me from the belief that I need to be twice as tough and twice as resilient as everyone on the circuit. But as another wave of pain radiates from my ear, I feel every ounce of the loneliness and self-pity I usually keep at bay. I don’t want to tackle this by myself.
“I know you do, baby.” Wilder’s lips are cool against my temple. “We’re going to get you looked at, and then I’m going to get you back in bed so you can sleep, okay?”
Wilder competed last night, so if he does exactly what he says, I won’t have to add guilt to my complicated emotions. I don’t want to be the cause of another scratch on his record. He’s going to take care of me.
“Who should I put as your emergency contact?” he asks, focusing on the intake form again. “I don’t have your parents’ number, but I guess I could look up the ranch’s number online.”
He begins reaching for his phone, but I put my hand over his, stopping his quest.
“I know my parents would answer if I needed them. But they’re not who I would want to call.” I rest my head against his shoulder again, ignoring the seat of the chair sticking to the back of my legs. “Put your number down and turn in the form, please.”
Wilder is still for a moment, and even though I close my eyes in discomfort, I can tell he’s giving me a warm, wondrous smile. Then the pen scratches out the information, and he rises slowly, giving me time to adjust, before he walks the form back to the nurses’ station. He hasn’t even taken his seat when they call my name, and he pulls me to my feet. He sees me to the door dividing the lobby from the patient rooms and kisses me once, wordlessly letting me know he’ll wait for me.
* * *
“I haven’t had an ear infection since I was six. This feels so unbelievably embarrassing.” I lean my head against the truck window as Wilder climbs back in from retrieving my prescription at the nearby pharmacy. He sets the white bag full of my antibiotics in the console between us. He has another bag full of electrolyte drinks and other rations I can’t see that were likely on the paperwork the doctor provided. It detailed directions for my ten-day course of antibiotics and other tips for treating my discomfort and bringing my fever down.
“It explains why you didn’t realize that’s what you had. That’s a long time between having them.” Wilder starts the truck, then puts his hand on my headrest before looking over his shoulder to back out of the parking space, steering with the other. Why is it so sexy when men do that? I mentally slap myself for the thought. Definitely not the time. When he puts the gear in drive, he flashes me a quick, sweet smile and pulls the truck back onto the road. “Are you feeling any better?”
“They gave me the maximum dosage of ibuprofen at the office, and I think it’s started to take the edge off,” I admit. “I don’t want to try and stick my hand into my ear and rip out my insides anymore, but I’m so fucking tired. ”
“I know you are.” He reaches over to hold my hand and kisses the back of it in reassurance. “Ten minutes or so and we’ll be back at the rig. You can take your first dose of antibiotics, crawl under the covers, and fall asleep.”
I look at him dreamily, every word sounding like heaven.
“Thank you,” I admit. He flicks his eyes over to me in question. “I’m not used to having someone take care of me, but you’ve done it twice now without question. I think part of me feels embarrassed by it, but I’m honestly just so damn glad not to be alone.”
“Doing this doesn’t mean I think you’re incapable of taking care of yourself, Charlie.” Wilder strokes the back of my knuckles, where he still holds my hand, with his thumb. “I know full well you can handle yourself—and I also know you’re too damn stubborn to ever admit that you need help when you do. But loving you, being in this with you, it means you never have to ask for those things. It makes me happy to do it. It’s a new feeling for me to be needed, but I think I like it.”
I close my eyes, giving him a hum in acknowledgment and contentment. It’s easy to need Wilder. He’s balanced a part of my life I didn’t know was off-kilter. It makes me excited to consider doing this side-by-side: rodeos, traveling, Idaho…I like how all of it fits in my head, and I let the steady thrum of the truck and my imagination lull me into sleep.
“Sorry, baby.” Wilder’s carrying me bridal style, cradling me carefully as he awkwardly gets the trailer door open. The jostling has pulled me out of the brief snooze I took, and I’m alert enough to try and help. I loop my arms around his neck and signal to put me down. He pulls the door open and I toddle through the living space, heading directly for the bedroom in the back.
“Shoes and medicine!” Wilder chases after me. He catches me, spinning me to take my shoes off in the exact same place he put them on my feet earlier. I smile and start to giggle. Clearly, the fever has intoxicated my brain if I find this moment funny. Or maybe I find it charming. Whichever it is, it tickles my insides with how sweet it is.
Now finished with my shoes, Wilder stands before he extracts the orange bottle full of pills and shakes out a dose into the palm of his hand. He grabs a sports drink from the bag he dropped on the counter and offers both to me. I plant my lips over his hand, scooping up the medicine with my tongue, then open my mouth so he can give me a drink to wash it down with. I don’t think I’ve forgotten how to use my arms, but I’m past the point of caring and want to revel in the attention. With great care, he tips the edge of the bottle of red liquid to my lips and I swallow.
“All right,” he tells me, running a thumb along my cheek with affection briefly before he turns me. “To bed with you.”
“Want you to come with me,” I mumble as I pull him flush against my back. “Please, Wild? Come snuggle me until I fall asleep?”
“Whatever you need.” He steps away to shuck off his jeans and shirt, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. He adjusts the temperature on the thermostat to help keep the rig comfortable for both of us. I’ve been fighting the shivers, but it’s still near ninety outside.
Wilder gives me a tender smile as he pulls back the covers, crawling in beside me and tucking the duvet under my chin and around my shoulders. He settles in behind me, spooning me close while he snakes an arm around my middle. The barest of kisses passes over my hair before he exhales.
I fall asleep wrapped in the scent of rich leather and sweet hay, cared for and loved.