Sarah's Child by Linda Howard
The third night Rome called. Marcie snatched up the telephone on the first ring, because the noise hurt Sarah’s head so much.
“It’s about time you called, Rome Matthews!” she fumed, breathing fire. “Your wife is almost dead, and it’s three days before you check in!”
Rome was silent for three full seconds, then barked, “What? What’s wrong with Sarah?”
“She says it’s just the flu, but I’m afraid it’s turning into pneumonia. Her fever is high, it’s been three days since she’s had anything to eat, and she sounds like a hollow drum when she coughs. I can’t talk her into going to the doctor; she just lies there and says to give it time. Damn you, Rome, you get back here!”
“I’ll be there on the earliest flight I can catch.”
“I heard all that,” Sarah said weakly when Marcie entered her bedroom. “I do not have pneumonia. I have a dry cough.”
“Protest all you want; when Rome gets home, then you’ll do what you should, instead of lying here getting worse.”
“He’s coming back?” she asked, and even as badly as she felt, her eyes got brighter.
“Of course he’s coming back. He said he’d take the next flight out.”
Sarah felt conscience-stricken. “Oh, no! He can’t be half through all he had scheduled.”
“It’ll wait,” Marcie said grimly.
Rome wasn’t going to like being called back from a business trip, Sarah thought glumly. She was sick, but she wasn’t that sick. Still, it was more Rome’s place to tend to her than it was Marcie’s, and she knew that Marcie had other duties, as well as her freelance work to be done.
“Marcie, if you have work you need to be doing, I’ll be all right by myself,” she offered.
Marcie gave her an incredulous look. “Sure you will; you’re so weak, you can’t even get to the bathroom by yourself. Look, will you stop worrying about imposing on someone and just let yourself be taken care of? You’re not being a nuisance, and you’re really sick. No one’s going to think any less of you because you caught the flu.”
Sarah didn’t feel like listening to any logic. Her fever was rising again, making her bones and muscles ache, and she twisted restlessly on the sheets. Recognizing the signs, Marcie began to sponge her down again.
The fever made Sarah feel disoriented. Time became elastic, making a few minutes drag by like molasses in January; then all of a sudden several hours would telescope into nothing. She woke once to find Derek sitting by her bed reading, and she said, “Why aren’t you in school?”
He looked up. “Because it’s three o’clock on Saturday morning. I’ve made some tea; would you like to try drinking some?”
She groaned aloud, because for three days she’d been trying to drink tea, and for three days it had been coming back up. But she was so thirsty, she felt parched, and she said “Please.”
He brought what looked like an ounce of tea in a cup, and Sarah drank it. “Is that all I’m allowed?”
“For right now. If that stays down for half an hour, I’ll give you another swallow. I’ve been reading up on influenza,” he said.
Well, that explained it. Because Derek tried it, it worked, even though Marcie had been unsuccessfully pouring tea down her for three days. Sarah’s stomach rolled several times but remained under control, and she drifted off to sleep again before Derek could dole out her second ounce of tea.
She woke again several hours later to find Rome sitting on the side of her bed, his hand on her forehead and his dark face taut with worry. “You’re going to catch it too,” she said, feeling obliged to give her standard warning, though everyone else had ignored it and she didn’t see why Rome should pay any attention to it either.
“I don’t get sick,” he murmured absently, and she made a disgusted sound.
“Not you too! All you healthy people make me sick. Derek doesn’t get sick either. Marcie had her flu shot. I suppose I’m the only person in Dallas who gets sick!”
“Actually there’s a flu epidemic,” he said, noting how fretful she was. Her skin was dry and hot, her hair dull and lifeless, and dark bruised-looking shadows lay under her dulled eyes. He lifted a cup to her lips. “Drink this.”
She drank it, and the cool, fresh taste was delicious. “What is it?”
“Peppermint tea. Derek made it.”
Her back was hurting so badly, she turned on her side, wincing as she searched for a comfortable position. “I’m sorry Marcie told you to come home. It’s really just the flu, instead of pneumonia like she said, and I think I’m getting over it.”
“You’re still pretty sick, and I’d rather be here.” He rubbed her back, knowing without being told that she was aching. She was soon asleep again.
She slept a great deal, and she was listless and cranky when she was awake. Her fever yo-yoed up and down, and when it was at its highest point, she sank into a stupor. Rome stripped her and bathed her in cool water, and when she’d roused a little, he risked giving her aspirin to bring the fever down. For an hour or so she seemed to feel better, and she sat in a chair while he put fresh sheets on the bed. He fed her a soda cracker and more peppermint tea, and she went to sleep.
He sat up until he felt he couldn’t keep his eyes open a moment longer. He didn’t dare leave her, but he was afraid that if he slept on the floor, he might not awaken when she became restless with fever again. Without hesitating, he took off his clothes and got into bed beside her, lying on his side with one hand touching her, so he’d know if she started tossing around.
She woke him up twice during the night, twisting around trying to ease the aching of her body. Once she went into a paroxysm of coughing, and he winced at the deep, harsh sound. No wonder Marcie had been alarmed!
“I’m all right!” she said aggressively, her thin colorless face set in mutinous lines. He put his hand on her cheek, feeling for a rise in fever, because he’d said nothing to set her off. She glared at him. “I hate being sick.”
“I know,” he soothed.
“You’re sleeping in my bed,” she accused. “You lied. You told me you couldn’t sleep with a woman. I’ve always wanted you to sleep with me, but you never would. Why are you here now, when I don’t feel like fooling around?”
Despite himself, he grinned. Lifting the cup of tea to her lips, he held it while she gulped thirstily. “Just a case of bad timing, I guess. Boy, are you going to regret talking like this when you’re feeling better.”
“I know,” she agreed, and pouted. “But it’s the truth anyway. Rome, when am I going to be well? I’m so tired of hurting all over. My legs hurt, my back hurts, my neck hurts, my head hurts, my throat hurts, my stomach hurts, my eyes hurt, and even my skin hurts! Enough is enough!”
“I don’t know, honey. Maybe tomorrow. Do you want me to rub your back?”
“Yes,” she agreed instantly. “And my legs. That makes me feel better.”
He pulled off her nightgown and helped her to roll over on her stomach. Gently he kneaded her aching muscles, and even though she’d lost weight she hadn’t needed to lose, he still found himself admiring the clean, delicate lines of her body. Her long legs were fantastic, so slim and straight and well-rounded. Her bottom was a feminine work of art, shaped just right to drive a man mad. He placed his hand on one satiny buttock, and even in her illness, she smiled a little.
“I like that. I like it when you touch me. When I’m better, will you make love to me again?”
“You can bet on it,” he said under his breath. He moved up to massage her back, feeling the fragility of her ribs just under her skin.
“I’ve wanted you for years,” she said, the words a little muffled by the pillow, but he understood them and his hands paused for a moment. “I had to be a little unfriendly to you to keep Diane from guessing.”
“You did even better than that,” he said ruefully. “You kept me from guessing too. How many years have you wanted me?”
“Since I’ve known you.” She yawned, and her eyes closed.<
“That makes us about even, then.”
She smiled and drifted to sleep. Rather than wake her to put her back in her nightgown, he simply pulled the covers up over them, turned off the lamp, and settled down beside her. He smiled into the darkness. He’d hate for her to be this sick very often, but she carried on some very interesting conversations when she was ill. She admitted to things that wild horses wouldn’t have been able to drag out of her if she’d been thinking clearly. He knew he wouldn’t forget them, and he hoped she wouldn’t either.
CHAPTER NINE
She was much better the next day, with no nausea at all, and only a light fever. She slept most of the day, and when she awoke, Rome fed her chicken broth. She wrinkled her nose at him. “This is invalid food. When do I get something really hearty, like Jell-O? Or maybe a mashed-up banana?”
He shuddered at the idea. “I draw the line at mashing up bananas.”
“Okay,” she agreed easily, a smile lighting her wan face. “I’ll forget about the bananas if you let me have a bath and wash my hair.”
He started to refuse, but she’d already divined his answer and the light had faded from her face. He sighed, relenting. She was too weak to do it by herself, but he could understand how she felt. “I’ll help you after you finish this broth,” he gave in, and immediately she was smiling again.
If he’d expected any sign of discomfort from her over the things she’d said, he was disappointed. He thought she might not remember the night very clearly, because she’d been feverish and disoriented, but he wanted her to remember. To find out for certain, he murmured, “Do you remember talking to me last night?”
For the first time in days, color was in her face, but she didn’t look away from him. She lay back on the pillows and met his gaze evenly. “Yes, I remember.”
“Good” was all he said.
He ran a tubful of warm water, then carried her into the bathroom and carefully placed her in the tub. Leaning against the wall, he watched her carefully as she soaped and rinsed herself, ready to pluck her out if she showed signs of fainting. She finished her bath without incident and raised her arms to him. “I’m finished.” The natural way she reached out for him took his breath—that and the way the movement had lifted her high, rounded breasts. Taking her bodily from the water, he stood her before him and wrapped a big fluffy towel around her.
“Now my hair,” she said determinedly.
She bent over the basin and he washed her hair, but it was so long that rinsing it was difficult, and he solved the problem by stripping his clothes and getting in the shower with her. “We should have washed your hair first,” he grumbled.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t think about it,” she apologized. She looked so fragile standing there before him that he gently pulled her to him, cradling her against his naked body. She put her arms around his waist and sighed in contentment.
“I’m glad you came home.”
“Ummm. I think you need a spanking for not calling me when you first got sick,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t think you’d appreciate being interrupted while you were working. I knew I wasn’t dying, though Marcie was a little hard to convince.”
He hesitated, then lifted her on tiptoe so he could crush his mouth hungrily against hers, with water running in both of their faces. “You’re more important to me than work,” he growled. “You’re my wife, and I want you healthy. If you don’t call me the next time you need me, I really will spank you.”
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she teased him, and he cast a significant glance at her bare feet.
“So I see.”
He turned off the shower and quickly dried her again, before she could become chilled. Then he patiently dried her hair with a brush and a blow-dryer, turning it into living silk.
But when he tried to put her in a nightgown and return her to bed, she rebelled. “I want to wear regular clothes, and sit in a chair in the living room like a human being, and I want to read a newspaper!”
She was weaving on her feet, and she looked like a ghost, but her soft mouth was set in stubborn lines. Rome sighed, wondering why a woman who was normally unargumentative and even rather docile would turn so willful just because she had the flu. He wanted to firmly place her back in bed and make her stay there, but he also wanted to make her happy.
“We’ll compromise,” he suggested, trying to keep his voice soothing. “Put on your nightgown and a robe, because you probably won’t feel like sitting up for very long. Deal?”
Sarah was heartily tired of nightgowns, but though he was trying very hard to be reasonable, she could tell that if she refused his compromise, she was going to find herself bundled back into bed. She didn’t want that, so she gave in. His mouth was set in a grim line as he pulled a clean nightgown over her head, then helped her into her robe. He found her bedroom slippers and put them on her feet.
“I can walk,” she protested when he lifted her.
He gave her a steady look that told her not to push it. “You can walk the next time.”
She gave in and looped her arm around his neck, cuddling her face into the warmth of his neck, and she smiled a little. Being in his arms wasn’t any hardship at all.
She found that she couldn’t concentrate on a newspaper; it seemed like too much of an effort, and her hands kept shaking, so she gave up. But it was nice to be in a different room, and to sit up. Rome turned on the fireplace, and the cheerful flickering of the fire made her feel much better. He settled beside her on the sofa, quietly reading the newspaper.
After fifteen minutes, she began to feel tired and sleepy, but she didn’t want to go back to bed. She curled on her side and put her head in Rome’s lap, rubbing her cheek against him. He put his hand on her head, sliding her long hair through his fingers. “Do you want to go back to bed?”
“No, not yet. This is nice.”
It was more than nice, he thought, swallowing. He looked down at the bright head in his lap and thought of what he’d like her to be doing. He tried to control his thoughts, but with her cheek pressed against him like that, he was fighting a losing battle.
She knew it too, the little witch. She put her hand under her cheek, and he shuddered as her fingers rubbed him delicately. He caught the tiny smile that broke through her control, though she quickly straightened her lips again, and he found himself grinning.
He tossed the newspaper aside and pulled her up onto his lap. “Sarah Matthews, you’re a tease. You know damned well I’m not going to do anything until you’re a lot better, so cut it out, okay?”
“But I’ve missed you,” she said, as if that explained everything. With his arms around her, she knew everything was going to be all right. She had no worries at all when he held her. She found a comfortable place on his shoulder for her head and went to sleep.
He held her for a while, admitting to himself how much he’d missed the feel of her in his arms. Getting married had been a damned good idea. Coming home to her warmth was enough to lure any man.
She barely stirred when he finally carried her back to bed but she was awake and hungry when Marcie and Derek came to visit two hours later. They all sat in the kitchen, grouped around the tiny breakfast table, while Sarah drank a cup of broth. She demanded and got a slice of plain toast, and her stomach delightedly embraced the first solid food she’d had in almost a week. She looked up from eating to find everyone staring at her, and she self-consciously dropped the toast. “Why is everyone looking at me?”
“I’m just glad to see you eating,” Marcie said bluntly. “I thought you were dying on me!”
“I just had the flu,” Sarah chided. “Haven’t you ever seen anyone with flu before?”
Marcie thought, then shrugged. “No. Derek’s never sick.”
Sarah cast a disgusted look at Derek, who smiled gently. Derek was always gentle, as if he felt obliged to be kind to mere mortals. No, it wasn’t an obligation to him—he was simply a kind person.
<
He left to turn out all the lights and check that everything was locked; she was drowsy when he came back to her room and began undressing, but she opened her eyes when he turned out the light and got into bed beside her. She was suddenly wide awake, and her heart was pounding. She was much better; she knew she didn’t need anyone with her that night, and he had to know it too. He pulled her into his arms and settled her against him, with her head on his shoulder. His lips brushed her forehead in the lightest of kisses. “Good night,” he murmured.
He was sleeping with her!
She was almost afraid to let herself think about it. There had been signs that he was beginning to care for her; when she tried to think back, she realized it had been some time since she’d seen the bleak moodiness on his face that had always told her he was thinking about Diane and the boys. Was time working its healing miracle? If he was finally recovering from his grief, then he would be able to start loving again, and she had the inside track!
“What’s wrong?” he asked sleepily, sliding his hand up her arm. “Your heart’s racing like a runaway engine. I can feel it.”
“I’ve tired myself too much,” she managed to say, pressing even closer to him. The security of his big warm body began to calm her, and she eased into sleep.