Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
LINCOLN
Lincoln:
You want to tell me why I had to hear about you being laid up in bed from Laurel and not my wife?
Willa:
Because it’s not that big of a deal.
Lincoln:
Not that big of a deal? Are you serious right now?
Willa:
I didn’t get run over by a tractor, Lincoln. I sneezed too hard while feeding the chickens. That’s not exactly a medical emergency.
Lincoln:
You sneezed and collapsed and somehow that’s supposed to be LESS alarming??
Willa:
I didn’t COLLAPSE! I just…folded over for a second.
Lincoln:
Laurel said you were walking like an injured pirate and now you’re on bed rest.
Willa:
Laurel is a teenager and thus incredibly dramatic. Also, it’s not bed rest. It’s just some mild horizontal recovery.
Lincoln:
You’re literally *in bed*. Not moving.
That’s the definition of bed rest, wife.
Willa:
It’s nothing some ibuprofen and an ice pack won’t fix.
Lincoln:
You say that like I don’t know you haven’t used either of those things.
Have you eaten today?
Willa:
Sure
Lincoln:
A granola bar doesn’t count.
Willa:
Then…no.
Lincoln:
Jesus Christ. You’re lucky you’re hot.
Stay there. I’m coming home.
Willa:
Do NOT come home! This is why I didn’t say anything. You’ve got your shift at the bar tonight, and I’m FINE.
Lincoln:
You’re not fine. I’m calling Dec to cover me.
I’ll be home in 15. And I mean it. DO NOT GET OUT OF THAT BED.
Willa:
I swear to god if you show up with that pitiful look in your eyes…
Lincoln:
Please. You love my pitiful look.
Willa:
I love your dick. Not your pity.
Lincoln:
Cool. I’ll bring both.
Willa:
You’re infuriating.
Lincoln:
Don’t pretend you don’t love it.
See you in 13.
By the time I made it back to the farm with Willa’s favorite takeout and a jar of THC pain relief cream Mabel swore by, I was this close to tossing my wife over my shoulder and physically chaining her to the bed if it meant she’d finally take it easy.
But take it easy and my wife didn’t belong in the same sentence.
Sure enough, the second I stepped inside the silo and heard the creak of the floorboards above me, I knew she’d done exactly what she wasn’t supposed to. She’d gotten out of bed.
“Willa,” I called, voice deceptively calm as I set the bags on the island and toed off my boots.
No answer. Not even the sound of her dragging herself across the floor and into bed like the martyring little menace she was.
I climbed the stairs two at a time and found her in the bathroom in nothing but one of my T-shirts and those husband-tormenting pajama shorts. One hand was braced against the vanity, the other clutching a glass of water like she hadn’t collapsed in the chicken coop half an hour ago.
“I told you I was fine,” she said before I could speak, no doubt anticipating the lecture that was coming.
“You didn’t tell me shit. Laurel did. And it’s a good thing, too, since you can’t be trusted alone.”
“Excuse you. I’m—”
“Shuffling your way to the sink when I told you to keep your ass in bed?”
“I needed water.”
“You have a husband for that.”
She set the glass on the sink and raised a brow at me in the mirror. “He was too busy being dramatic over text.”
I didn’t even blink, just scooped her into my arms, so damn tired of these games.
Willa yelped, hooking her arms around my neck. “Lincoln! You’re being ridiculous. I got to the sink just fine. I could get back just fine too.”
“Uh-huh. I bet you slunk out of bed the second you sent that text, and it took you the full thirteen minutes just to make your way over there.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” she grumbled. Noticeably not denying it.
“And you’re limping.”
“I’m not—” Her breath caught as I shifted her weight, her mouth pinching in a grimace.
My smile dropped as I scanned her expression. “Hurts worse than you let on, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. It was written over every tight line of her face.
I strode to the bed as fast as I dared, setting her on the mattress like she was breakable. Which, for the record, she absolutely fucking was when she was like this. Too proud to ask for help. Too stubborn to admit she needed it.
I arranged her pillows how she liked, grabbed her refilled water glass and set it on the nightstand, then headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Getting your heating pad. And an ice pack. And a gummy. And the takeout I brought home since I know that granola bar you said you had for lunch was actually for breakfast hours ago.”
“You know this is overkill, right?”
“Maybe, but I’m good at it.” I raised a brow in her direction. “Would be a shame to waste all this talent on someone who won’t let me take care of her, don’t you think?”
After grabbing everything from the kitchen, I made my way back upstairs. As much as I hated that she was in pain, I couldn’t deny that taking care of her felt a hell of a lot better than anything else I’d done all day.
I unloaded everything on the bed, grabbing the ice pack first and tucking it gently behind her back.
She exhaled a heavy sigh—weary and exhausted. “You seriously did not have to interrupt your whole day for this, Linc. I’d be fine on my own.”
I snapped my gaze to hers, my jaw ticking. “You really think I’m gonna let you suffer in silence and just go about my day? Jesus Christ, Willa.”
This woman was so goddamn infuriating, I’d hate it if I didn’t love her so much.
Bracing my hands on the mattress on either side of her hips, I leaned over her and met her gaze.
“That’s not how this works, wife. You might think the in sickness and health bit of our fake vows was bullshit, but they fucking mattered to me.
When something’s wrong, you come to me. Don’t hide it. Don’t downplay it. Fucking tell me.”
“I just…hate to be a hassle.”
That was it. My control snapped.
“You’re not a fucking hassle. You’re my wife. You come to me when you’re hurting. You come to me when you need something. You come to me when you’re hungry or cold or pissed off or horny. Got it? Me.”
She darted her gaze between my eyes, studying me as if searching for even a hint of a lie in my words. But she wouldn’t find it.
“You got it?” I repeated, voice low and rough.
She nodded, slow and hesitant, like she still didn’t quite believe it. “Got it.”
“Good.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead and passed her the container of chicken pad Thai. “Now stop acting like you’re a burden just because you’ve got a bad back and the self-preservation tendencies of a deer in mating season.”
She scowled at me, blinking fast as her eyes turned glassy. “Stop saying sweet shit to me while I look like an injured pirate.”
I settled in next to her and brought my arm around her shoulders, tucking her into my side. “A hot injured pirate.”
“Liar.”
“Swear to god,” I said. “You could be wrapped up like a mummy, and I’d still get hard.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. “Your standards are so low.”
“No, baby,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “My standards are you.”
Staring at me, she swallowed hard, her throat working like the words caught there were too big to speak. In the end, she didn’t say anything. Just let her head drop softly onto my shoulder, giving in and letting me support her. And that was answer enough.