fully expected to get an answering machine, but on the third ring, a deep masculine voice answered. “Hey, Case. I’m about to go into surgery. What’s up?”
Mellie flushed. Luckily, the highly educated doctor couldn’t see her face. “Dr. Reese, this is Mellie Winslow. I showed up at Case Baxter’s house this morning to clean and found him passed out on the bed. I think it’s the flu, but I have no idea how long he’s been like this.”
“Several of us played poker last night. Case left early. Must have been feeling bad. I have a full schedule today, but I’ll pop by this evening.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Push fluids. Alternate acetaminophen and ibuprofen every two hours. Chicken soup and anything else bland.”
“I don’t think he’s going to be eating anytime soon, but I’ll try.”
Parker’s voice changed. “Do you want me to send out a nurse?”
Mellie hesitated. Two seconds. Three at the most. “Thank you, but no. I can do my work and look in on him from time to time. I don’t think he would be happy if we brought a stranger in to look after him.”
“Good point.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“No worries. I’m glad you did. I’ll be by later to check on you both.”
Mellie ended the call and stared at the man in the bed. Somehow she had gone from being a paid housekeeper to a volunteer nurse.
What would Case Baxter think of this new development?
Mellie located both medicines and fetched orange juice from the kitchen, as well as a notepad to record the time. She didn’t want to be responsible for overmedicating her patient. With a little prayer for patience, she returned to the bedroom.
It was a relief to know that Case hadn’t been lying sick and alone in this big house for three days. But that also meant he still had tough hours ahead of him. The flu had hit early this year and with a vengeance. Many people had been caught off guard, thinking they still had time to get a flu shot. Fortunately, Mellie had already gotten hers.
Now she knew why Case hadn’t answered her text this morning. He’d been out cold, maybe since he’d stumbled home last night. Poor man. She sat on the edge of the bed again, choosing to ignore the fact that the poor man was worth seven or eight figures. Even so, he was human. And at the moment he needed her.
She put a straw in the juice since she wasn’t sure she could coax him into sitting up. “Case...” She spoke in a loud voice, hoping to rouse him. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes.
“Case.” She touched his arm. While she’d been in the kitchen, he had tossed back the covers. His body was still hidden from the waist down, but a broad masculine chest was on display.
His skin was hot. Too hot. She said his name a third time. Finally, he lifted one eyelid. “Leave me alone.”
Grumpy and sick was better than semiconscious. “Dr. Reese—Parker—said you need to drink some juice and take something for your fever.”
Case rolled to his side, taking the covers with him. He started shivering again. Big, visible tremors that shook the bed. “Parker c-c-can kiss my a-a-ass.”
Exasperated, she glared at the lump of truculent male. “You told me to call him.”
“Did not.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She moved around to the other side of the bed and crouched so she could reach his mouth with the straw. “Drink this. Now.” She was only slightly astonished when he opened his lips and sucked down a good portion of the OJ.
The muscles in his throat worked. “Tastes good.”
“Of course it does. Now open up one more time. You have to swallow these pills.”
She tapped his chin. He cooperated, downing the medicine without protest, but afterward he blinked and focused his fever-glazed eyes on Mellie. “Did you just poison me?” he asked.
“Don’t tempt me.” She glanced at the clock. Hopefully, his temperature would improve in half an hour or so. She grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over Case. “Better?”
His nod was barely perceptible. “Thank you.”
Those two words went a long way. He might be sick and ornery, but at least he had enough sense not to alienate the only person helping him. “I’ll check on you again in a bit. Sleep, Case. That’s all you need to do.”
Unexpectedly, he reared up in the bed. “Gotta go to the bathroom.” He lurched to his feet before she could stop him. And promptly fell over like a giant redwood. His head caught the edge of the bedside table as he went down. A trickle of blood oozed from the small wound.
Dear God in heaven. Save me from stubborn men. She got down on her knees beside him. “Are you okay?”
He rolled to his back, his face ashen. “I never get sick,” he said, a look of puzzlement creasing his brow.
His bafflement would have been funny in another situation. But their predicament erased any humor she felt. How in the heck was she going to put him back in bed?
“Can you get on your hands and knees?” she asked. “I’ll help you up.”
“Of course I can.” Five seconds passed. Then ten. Case didn’t move. His eyes were half-open, his attention focused upward. “Please tell me there aren’t really snakes on my ceiling.”
“Your fever is very high. Those are swirly lines in the paint.”
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes, and his breathing became heavy.
Mellie rubbed his arm. “You said you needed to visit the bathroom. Let’s go.” Her heart contracted in sympathy, but she kept the drill-sergeant tone in her voice.
She pushed on his hip, hoping to give him a nudge in the right direction. Finally, muttering and coughing, he rolled over and struggled onto his knees.
“Good,” she said. All men responded to praise, right?
Putting her arm around his shoulders, she urged him upward, her back screaming in protest. Fortunately, his brain got the message, and he finally stood all the way upright, albeit with a little stagger.
Slowly, carefully, she maneuvered him toward the open bathroom door. She had cleaned every inch of this luxurious space. It was now as familiar to her as her own. But somehow, with the master of the house sharing it with her, the area shrank.
Case noticed himself in the mirror. His mouth gaped. “I look like hell.”
“No argument there.” She steered him toward the commode.
Her patient locked his knees suddenly, nearly toppling both of them. “I don’t need your help.”
She counted to ten. “If you fall in here, you could kill yourself on the ceramic tile.”
“I’ll hold on to the counter.”
“Fine.” It wasn’t as if she wanted to be privy to a personal moment, no pun intended.
Case leaned on the vanity. Mellie retreated and closed the door. She hovered in the middle of the bedroom, half expecting any minute to hear a crash. Instead, nothing but silence.
At last the commode flushed and water ran in the sink. Finally, she heard something she hadn’t expected at all. “Mellie? I could use a hand.”
She opened the door cautiously and found him sitting on a bench underneath the window. His face was pasty white. He looked miserable. The fact that he had actually asked