Chapter Eight
“How do you feel?” Meggie questioned, her hand sweeping the damp hair from his brow.
“Rotten,” Quinn said and winced.
The memory of speaking with an infected throat was all too recent in Meggie’s mind. “Go away,” he growled, waving a limp hand
dismissively. “I just want to be left alone.”
Unable to suppress a smile, Meggie gave an exaggerated curtsey, dipping her head in a subservient manner. “Yes, Your Most
Gracious Highness. As you command.”
“Meggie.” The low growl contained a thin edge of exasperation.
“Okay, I’m going. Want me to close the door on my way out?”
He nodded curtly and Meggie gently eased the door shut. Jill was waiting for her and glanced up expectantly when Meggie entered
the room.
“He’s better today,” Meggie told the girl.
“I did the right thing, didn’t I?” Jill’s eyes were blue and unsure, and contained a silent plea.
Placing an arm around Jill’s shoulder, Meggie reassured her. “I don’t know that your father will agree for a while, but I’m
glad you came to me, Jill. I’m sure Quinn might have delayed going to the doctor if we hadn’t prodded him.”
“Will he be all right?”
“Not for a couple of days.” Her gaze took note of the strange, brooding quality in Jill’s eyes. “But there’s nothing to worry
about, not when he’s on antibiotics.”
“Dad’s got the same thing you had, doesn’t he?” Jill questioned as she sat down on the davenport.
An uneasy sensation came over Meggie. Carefully she watched Jill’s expression, realizing the girl could very well be jealous
of Meggie’s relationship with Quinn.
Jill’s mouth tightened. “I bet Dad got sick because he was kissing you.” The inflection in her voice made it a question.
Meggie sat beside Jill on the blue velvet couch. “I won’t deny that your father has kissed me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Shrugging her shoulder indifferently as if to show she wasn’t really interested, Jill looked away. “Dad likes you, doesn’t
he?” She vaulted from the sitting position and sauntered into the kitchen before Meggie could respond. Swiveling sharply,
she turned back. “Doesn’t he?”
All too conscious of the dangerous territory she was entering, Meggie hesitated for an instant. “I hope so, because I like
him very much.”
“Do you love him?”
The girl had never hesitated to pull any punches, Meggie mused. “Yes,” she replied in a steady, unflinching voice, then answered
the next question before Jill had the chance to ask it. “I don’t know exactly how your father feels about me, but I believe
he may love me too.”
Jill seemed to appreciate the honesty. “I hope he does,” she said in a nearly inaudible voice, slowly shaking her head. Turning
around she entered the kitchen. As if the thought had suddenly occurred to her, she jerked herself around, her eyes glinting.
“If Dad and you get married, would I come and live with you? We could be a real family.”
Meggie exhaled a shuddering breath, gesturing weakly with the open palms of her hands. How had she allowed herself to be trapped
into discussing something of such a deep, personal nature, especially when so little was clear between herself and Quinn?
“The relationship between your father and me hasn’t gone that far. We’ve never discussed anything resembling a permanent relationship.”
Meggie stood, hoping to give greater emphasis to her words. “Jill, it would be extremely embarrassing to me if you were to
ever repeat what we’ve just discussed with your father . . . or anyone else, for that matter.”
Jill acknowledged her words with a casual dip of her head. “I’m hungry,” she announced, her stomach obviously taking priority
over the subject matter.
Meggie sighed gratefully and stepped into the kitchen that was a replica of her own, except that everything was situated exactly
on the opposite side of the wall from the way it was in her apartment.
Opening the refrigerator, Jill looked inside and wrinkled her nose at an offensive odor. “Yuck, what’s that?”
Standing behind Jill, Meggie peered inside and shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’s certainly colorful, isn’t it?” Two
timid fingers extracted the container from the barren shelf. Green mold was growing up its edges. “It’s taken on a life of
its own, whatever it is,” she joked, and plugged her nose.
Jill giggled. “Sometimes you can be real funny, Meggie,” she said as Meggie gingerly emptied the contents into the sink, turned
on the faucet and flipped the wall switch for the garbage disposal.
Opening the freezer section, Meggie’s eyes grew round with surprise. The entire compartment was stacked with TV dinners of
every imaginable size and choice.
“Dad hardly ever cooks,” Jill stated in a tired voice. “I’m hungry, but I’m not going to eat that junk again. I’m sick of
eating out of cardboard boxes.”
“Then it looks like it’s up to you to fix something,” Meggie said.
“Me?” Jill gasped. “The best I can do is scrambled eggs.”
“Good ones, too,” Meggie returned softly, remembering the night Jill had seen to her dinner while Meggie was ill. “Eggs aren’t
bad, but you need a larger menu, my dear. I think I’ve got some bacon in my fridge. Maybe we can griddle a few cakes.”
Jill’s eyes lit up eagerly. “All right, or as my friend, Clare, would say,” she paused to laugh, flinging a long strand of
hair over her shoulder, “totally tubular.”
Even Meggie had to admit that Jill was becoming an accomplished cook. Cleaning up afterwards was a chore both girls enjoyed,
laughing and teasing one another as they washed and dried the breakfast dishes.
Glancing questioningly at her wristwatch, Meggie was amazed at the time. “I’ve got to hurry or be late for church.” Whirling
around, she stopped, pausing to think. “It is Sunday, isn’t it?” The whole weekend had been jumbled in her mind. When Jill
had come to tell her about Quinn on Friday afternoon, Meggie had rushed to their apartment. When she’d come in the front door,
she had heard Quinn shouting for Jill from one of the bedrooms.
“Jill, where on earth did you go? And it better not be Meggie’s,” the gruff voice threatened.
Pausing just inside the door, Meggie caught a glimpse of Jill’s worried expression.
“Jill,” the voice demanded irritably. “Where is that girl?” The words were followed by the sound of impatient movements as
if Quinn was shifting about the bedroom.
“Don’t worry,” Meggie assured Jill quietly. “Let beauty handle the beast.”
Jill giggled and then, realizing her father had heard her laughter, clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Jill?” The name was issued in a threatening tone.
“I’m here, too,” Meggie called with a slight quiver to her voice.
The list of angry words that followed caused her to wince. More than a little uneasy, Meggie moved into the living room. “Quinn,
what’s wrong?”
He appeared from the hallway leading off the bedroom. His hair was a mass of tawny confusion; the hastily donned robe was
belted at the waist, the deep brown color in sharp contrast to the pale, haggard face.
A frown of concern wrinkled her brow. “Quinn.” Involuntarily, his name had slipped from her lips. His mouth tightened into
a ruthlessly drawn line. “Who invited you here?” he asked her coldly. Running his fingers through the tangled hair, he glared
at her from across the room. “Never mind, I know how you got here. I’ll deal with you, Jill, later.”
The young girl’s chin quivered and Meggie placed a protective arm across her shoulder. Although it had specifically been against
Quinn’s wishes, Jill had done the right thing by coming to get her.
“Is it your throat?” Meggie questioned, noting the thin layer of perspiration that beaded his brow.
With a short shake of his head, he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. “I feel awful.”
“You can’t feel any worse than you look,” she said without censure. “Won’t you let me help?”
The tired eyes opened just enough for her to see the pride glinting through. A muscle flexed in the determined jaw. He wouldn’t
openly admit that he needed her, not when she doubted that he’d even admitted it to himself.
“It’s my turn to play nursemaid,” she said and released a breath she’d unconsciously been holding. The emotion he was able
to arouse within her nearly blocked her mind from clear thinking. Never had there been a time in her life when she wanted
to be with anyone more than she did this man right now. “I guess I feel responsible,” she added. “I mean, it’s probably my
fault.”
Wearily, Quinn watched her, his mouth tight with an impatient anger.
“Dad,” Jill pleaded, confused. “I didn’t know what to do. You’re so sick. Meggie can help you, I know she can.” There was
a desperation in the controlled voice that couldn’t help but affect Quinn.
As if admitting defeat, he hung his head and gave a short nod. His mouth was quirked in a cynical smile. “But don’t imagine
that I’m going to let you fawn over me. Get me an aspirin and go mumble a few prayers for me if it’ll make you feel any better.”
Meggie inhaled a sharp breath; his words seemed to reach out and hit her physically. It was almost as if he purposely wanted
to hurt her. Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes, brimming over the thick lashes, embarrassing her.
“Meggie,” Quinn groaned and rammed his hands into the pockets of the housecoat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”
Not trusting herself to speak, for fear her voice would crack, she nodded. “Jill will show me where you keep the aspirin,”
she said, keeping her voice low.
For a moment it looked as if Quinn wanted to say more, but he hesitated and after a tense minute, turned and retreated down
the hallway.
“Dad keeps all the medicines and stuff in the bathroom,” Jill inserted with an eagerness that showed she would do anything
to help.
Meggie watched the retreating male figure until he had entered the bedroom. Jill hadn’t exaggerated Quinn’s condition and
as the evening wore on Meggie became more and more concerned. After the first time Quinn wouldn’t allow her to take his temperature