Chapter 8
Chapter 8
T he Friday following his return from London, Ridge wasn’t at work.
“Let’s get a pinata,” Ellen suggested, so gleeful she could hardly contain herself. Maggie couldn’t deny the party atmosphere was fun, but she was worried. Cameron Ridge was not the kind of man to take a sick day, unless it was dire. She tried to call him, but there was no answer. After arguing with herself a few times, she finally cashed in some personal time and left a couple of hours early. After the long train ride home, she checked on her dog, packed up a few things, swung by the store and, at last, landed on her boss’s doorstep.
After knocking three times, she was tempted to give up when he finally stumbled to the door, shirtless and disheveled.
“I brought soup,” Maggie said when he continued to stare at her without saying a word.
In answer, he groaned and turned back inside, toward what was presumably his bedroom. She followed him and sat by the bed after he crawled in and pulled the covers up. It was a tangled, sweaty mess and it smelled like staleness and fever, though the rest of the house was immaculate.
“Sit up and let me doctor you,” she commanded.
“I can’t, I’m dying. Maybe I’m already dead,” he said. He sounded stuffy and as miserable as he looked.
“Cam, I brought an entire bag of goodies to make you feel better,” she said, in the soothing voice of a mother cooing to a toddler. “But I need your cooperation. Sit up, please.” She tapped him.
He scowled but grudgingly obliged. She cracked open a can of soda, inserted a straw, and handed it over. He opened his mouth to protest, and she used the opportunity to shove the straw between his lips. He took a tentative sip and then guzzled half the can. If her guess was correct, he’d had no food or liquids all day. “I brought soup. Shall I feed you?”
It was a sign of his weakness and misery that he nodded. She sat on her knees in the bed beside him and spoon-fed him some of the broth. When he reached his limit of that, she gave him a cracker, followed by a piece of peppermint candy and a dose of elderberry syrup.
When he was properly hydrated and fed, she filled her hot water bottle and tucked it under his cheek, straightening his sheets and blankets and pulling them up around him. Next she plugged in the essential oil diffuser she’d brought and tapped in a few drops of eucalyptus. When that was finished, she applied an oil blend to his chest.
“Is there a voodoo doll in your bag, too?” he asked before a coughing fit took him.
“Talk to me in an hour when you feel like a new creation,” she said. She retrieved a cool washcloth for his head, gave him a bit more of the soda, and went to prepare a cup of tea.
She force-fed him half of the tea, and then he was ready for sleep. Maggie retreated to the living room and walked around, looking at his bookshelves. The house was shockingly well decorated for a former navy man and current bachelor. It had a woman’s touch, and she wondered who had done it for him. Or maybe his tastes ran more feminine than she gave him credit for. Somehow she doubted it. The house felt too formal and less like Ridge actually lived there.
Maybe he’d had a serious girlfriend and they broke up. Or maybe he had hired a decorator. She had no idea. Instead of continuing to speculate, she made herself a cup of tea, washed up the few dishes in his sink, and sat down on his couch to read the book she’d brought.
A couple of hours later he stumbled out of his bedroom, looking still sick and sleepy but more than halfway human now. He lay down and rested his head in her lap. “Will you please put some more oils on my chest?”
“Are you sorry you made fun of my home remedies?” she asked.
He nodded contritely.
She rubbed more oils on his chest, fed him another spoonful of elderberry syrup, made him another cup of tea, stood by while he drank all of it, and then refilled the hot water bottle.
When all of that was done, he sighed in contentment as he settled his head back into her lap. “Thank you, Maggie. I can halfway breathe again, and the unceasing pounding in my head has finally ceased, and even my sore throat feels a tiny bit better. I don’t ever remember being this sick before.”
“Want me to make you some eggs and toast?” she asked. “That’s what my mom always made for me when I was sick.”
“Yes, please,” he said meekly.
She went into the kitchen and made him scrambled eggs, buttered toast, and juice. “Where did you get these things? I don’t have any food,” he said when she returned with his food on a platter.
“I brought them from home, just in case,” she replied.
“Aw,” he said. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I kind of figured you were on your own here with no one to help out. Having no one to take care of you when you’re sick is the absolute worst. Also, we’re now officially sickness buddies, in case you were keeping track,” she said. He nodded his agreement as he shoveled more eggs into his mouth. “Who decorated your apartment?”
“How do you know someone decorated it for me?” he asked.
She tapped her temple. “Intuition.”
“My sister-in-law,” he said.
“You only have the one?” she said.
He nodded, reached for his phone, and scrolled until he found the picture he wanted. He tapped the screen. “My sister-in-law, Isabel.”
Maggie pulled the phone closer and immediately wanted to push it away again. The woman was stunning and exactly the type of woman she had imagined Ridge with. “Was she a beauty contestant?”
“Winner,” he said. “Miss America, ten years ago.”
She blinked at him. “Your sister-in-law was Miss America?”
He nodded.
“Let me see your brother.”
He scrolled again and handed her the phone. She didn’t think it was possible, but somehow Ridge was the ugly one in the family. “What does your brother do?” she asked.
“He used to play pro football. Now he runs the family ranch,” Ridge said.
“A regular J.R. Ewing,” she replied.
He laughed and touched his fingers to his throat. “Sore,” he croaked.
She gave him a piece of peppermint candy. He lay back down with his head in her lap and turned on the television, tuning to a game. Maggie stared into space, thinking. Even though there was nothing romantic between her and Cam, the pictures of his siblings still left her feeling more than a little insecure. What kind of family was he from? And, with such an exclusive lineage, could she trust the validity of his friendship with her?
“Do they have kids?” she blurted after a while.
He shook his head. “Isabel doesn’t want,” he said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Career, figure, selfishness. Love her, but probably not mom material.” He winced and pressed his fingers to his throat again.
“How does your brother feel about that?” she asked.
“Not good,” he whispered. He picked up her hand and ran it over his head like Samson using his paw to beg for her attention. “You’re supposed to be nursing me.”
“You’re a big baby,” she accused, but she began smoothing her hand over his head and neck, pausing to massage the swollen glands in his neck occasionally. He was getting sleepy again. He twisted so he could see her.
“Thank you for coming to take care of me when I was dying.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“You’re really good at it. You’ll be a good mom,” he said, slight emphasis on the “you’ll,” as if he were still thinking of his sister-in-law and making comparisons.
“Are you hinting that you want me to have your baby or that you want me to leave? The haze of sickness makes it hard for me to tell,” she asked.
He frowned, rolled toward her, and pressed his face to her stomach.
“I’m going to take that as a no on both counts,” she said. She grabbed the remote and turned to the home and garden channel, seizing the opportunity while he wasn’t paying attention. The remote had become a silent battle between them. Usually he won, but Maggie hadn’t given in completely. Ridge clutched her hand and again urged her to pet his head. She did so, sifting her fingers gently through his hair and down the back of his neck. His arms cinched around her middle.
“Never leave,” he said, his words muffled against the softness of her belly. Only one of them had abs of steel, and it wasn’t her.
“I think you’ll feel differently once the virus moves on,” she told him.
He shook his head and winced at the pain the motion caused him. “We could be roommates,” he surprised them both by saying. He pulled back to look at her. “It would save on money and time. We could commute together.”
She petted his head a few times before answering. “Why, Agent Ridge, I do believe you’re delirious.”
“I think I’m serious,” he said, squinting.
“I have a ninety pound dog that sheds and drools,” she told him. He grimaced. “And I like my space, and you like your space. And then there are the women.”
“You have women?” he asked, confused.
“ You have women, the women you will eventually have over, the ones who look like your sister-in-law. What would they say about your girl roommate and her giant, slobbery pooch?”
“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, nestling his face against her stomach again.
She chuckled. “Poor baby, you’re going to regret this entire conversation when you’re back in your healthy mind again.”
Ridge didn’t argue, but he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew was that this morning he had woken up sicker than he could ever remember and utterly alone. And now Maggie was there, and she had taken care of him. He felt leaps and bounds better after eating and drinking and being petted and coddled. Why would he not want that in his life all the time?
Her words reminded him of Isabel, his sister-in-law. When he was a kid, he had been intensely jealous of his brother’s beautiful bride. But as the years waned, he began to see the cracks in their relationship. Isabel was…cold. There was no other word for it. She was passionless, unless keeping up her appearance counted as a passion. She worked out, she ate healthy, she kept up on the latest fashions and supplements, but that was the entirety of her existence. She was good with people and worked well in her capacity as the wife of a ranching mogul. But that was the extent of her. Ridge wanted more. He wanted the beauty, sure, but the brains and heart to go with it. Some women had it all, and he would hold out until he found it. Meantime there was Maggie with her gentle brand of kindness, good cheer, and so much warmth it was like being near a woodstove all the time. Only, with her, she warmed him from the inside out.
And now he realized something else about her. She smelled good, really good. So good he opened his mouth and bit her, without really questioning why. She yelped and pushed his face away from her stomach.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m a sleep biter. Sorry,” he said.
“Is that actually a thing?” she said.
“Apparently so,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He smoothed his palm over the spot he’d bitten. Why had he done that? He had no idea. All of a sudden, he had wanted. Not her, of course because it wasn’t like that between them. But something. He pressed his face to her again, vowing to be good, and to seal the vow he placed a gentle kiss on the spot he had bitten, so soft she didn’t feel it. But the kiss was a mistake because he wanted more, more of her body, more of everything. He imagined himself…no, he would not imagine himself because this was Maggie and it wasn’t like that between them. They were friends, pals, amigos. He was, as she had said, delusional with illness. That was why he had bitten her, and that was why he was now having sultry, tempting thoughts about her. It would probably help if he moved away from her body and the enticing scent of her. Instead he cinched her slightly closer and pressed his face closer to her belly with a groan of frustration at himself and his weakness. Why did he have to be a man? Why couldn’t he enjoy the purity of their friendship with no intrusive hormonal urges?
“Are you feeling bad, bud?” Maggie asked, her tone oozing sympathy.
He nodded, not daring himself to speak.
“What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Absolutely nothing,” he said. “Just don’t move.”
Misconstruing his words for continued misery, she resumed sifting her fingers through his hair. Meanwhile Ridge was white knuckling his way through a wave of desire.
This is Maggie, she’s only a friend, I will not mess this up, this moment will pass, I don’t really mean it, do not hit on your coworker, do not bite her again, why does she smell so good?
At last when he could take it no more, he rolled off the couch away from her and stood. “I’m going to go to bed, goodnight.”
“Want me to rub some more oils on your chest?” she asked, smiling innocently as she held the bottle aloft.
He took a step back and nearly fell backwards over the coffee table. “Geez, no. I mean I think maybe I’m having a bit of a reaction or something.” For emphasis, he itched his chest.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m good. And you have been so great, you are so great…” he broke off, staring at her, his fists clenched at his sides. Maggie stood.
“You don’t look so good. Do you want me to help you to bed?”
“Maggie, you have to go,” he blurted desperately.
She reeled back and her face closed up.
“That came out wrong, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I love having you here, truly. But I kind of feel like I might get sick.” That part wasn’t an exaggeration. The unwelcome swirl of desire was making him feel dizzy and nauseated. “And it would be really embarrassing to me if you were here for that.”
She smiled. “All right. I’m going to leave you the elderberry syrup, the soup, some soda and crackers, and my hot water bottle, but you have to promise to use them and take good care of yourself. Stay hydrated, it will make a world of difference.”
“I promise,” he said. He was willing to promise anything to get her out of arm’s reach.
“Call if you need anything,” she said.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. This will all blow over by tomorrow.”
She chuckled. “That would be a miraculously short run for a virus but, sure, let’s think positively.”
He wasn’t talking about the virus; he was talking about the temporary insanity that had taken over his brain, caused by weakness that was doubtless caused by the illness. Of course he wanted her; his normal defenses were down. He would want any female right now. She opened the door and stepped through.
“Wait,” he called.
She turned toward him and paused, her pretty, pleasant face alight with a smile. What was he doing? He was supposed to be getting rid of her, not hailing her back. All he knew was that it felt like all the light and life in his house would be leaving with her. Tentatively, he took a step forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks.”
She touched her palm to his cheek. “You’re welcome, sickness buddy. Get some rest.”
Not likely tonight, he thought, but he didn’t say as much. He nodded and leaned on the door for support while she walked to her car and started it up. He remained standing in the open door, long after she had driven away. It occurred to him it was becoming a repetitive theme for them, him watching her drive away with something like yearning in his heart.
At last he closed the door and wandered inside. He lay down on the couch, but couldn’t get comfortable without Maggie’s soft body as a buffer. Now that she was outside the realm of temptation, he wondered why he had sent her away. Now what was he to do with no one to take care of him, no one to feed him or bring him drinks and water bottles and pet his head?
The home and garden channel was on. He hated the channel, but he left it on because it brought him an echo of comfort, a reminder of Maggie.