Her fever’s gone. Relief sweeps through me.
“Morning,” she mumbles, voice low and sweet.
“Morning.” I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
Pancake hops off the bed, padding toward the kitchen like nothing ever happened.
“Guess he’s better, too,” she says, sitting up.
“Seems like it.”
I slide out of bed, pulling on my shirt. “Stay here. I’ll make breakfast.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Wren.” I arch a brow. “I’m making breakfast.”
Her lips twitch, but she settles back.
The kitchen’s incomplete but functional. I find eggs, bread, a bit of cheese, and in ten minutes, I have scrambled eggs on toast with tea.
When I carry it in, she’s perched against the headboard, hair mussed, eyes bright.
“Doctor, you spoil me,” she says, taking the plate. “And to be honest, I’m not that hungry.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching her eat. “Your body’s still warm,” I say after a moment. “You should lie low for a couple of days. No overexertion. But I think you need to eat something at least, keep your energy up.”
She nods around a bite. “Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She only manages a couple of bites, but it’s better than nothing. She thanks me again, voice soft. I kiss her hairline. “Of course.”
After breakfast, we carry the dishes down. I notice how carefully she moves, still slower than normal, but better than she was last night.
Upstairs again, she heads for the shower, and I strip her sheets, tossing them into the washer. While the machine hums, I pull out my phone.
First call: Beau. I tell him about the cases of the flu. “Be vigilant. Come in for shots,” I add.
“Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “Don’t worry, Doc.”
Levi’s out of town visiting his sister, so he’s safe for now.
As I hang up, a thought sneaks in uninvited. This is my family now. Not just the men I’d take a bullet for, but her, too. Wren, with her stubborn pride and messy hair and the way she says my name like it matters.
The bathroom door creaks. Steam drifts out. And then she steps into the room.
Wrapped in nothing but a tiny towel.
My throat goes dry.
Her skin glows, droplets clinging to her collarbone. The towel barely covers her thighs, and the swell of her breasts presses against the thin fabric.
“Fuck,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
Her brows lift. “What?”
