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Okay, she wouldn’t make it easy on me but that didn’t surprise me. It did however piss me off, and I raked one annoyed hand through my hair. “I just want to help you, Pip. Tell me what I can do.”
She stared at me with watery blue eyes filled to the brim with wariness. She didn’t trust me, not with anything more than her sexual pleasure. I thought for a second she might confide in me, might tell me what was wrong and how I could help. Instead she waved a hand towards the door with a sigh. “Just go. Please. I need to rest if I’m going to make it in to the office tomorrow.”
Even getting those words out had been too much for her, which in turn, had been too much for me to witness. I closed the gap between us and folded Pip in my arms. She stiffened at first, and then leaned against me, allowing me to take her weight and in that moment I knew, without a doubt, that something bigger than a bug was wrong with her.
“I’ll go, Pip. For now. But I will be back.” I dropped a kiss on her forehead and took a step back.
“That isn’t necessary, Ryan.” The words came out in a whisper, showing just how exhausted and unwell she really was. All of her fight and fire were gone, in its place was just fatigue.
I wouldn’t let her words stop me from watching out for her, taking care of her. Not anymore.
Chapter 22
Pippa
There was nothing like a hot shower to wash away the ick and infuse my body with enough energy to make it through a quick breakfast of toast and butter, and hot tea. After breakfast I would slip into comfortable work clothes, touch up my makeup and head to Dark Horse with a smile that I didn’t feel plastered on my face. That smile would remain in place for the remainder of my shift, until I could ensconce myself in my house and rest until morning.
Then I would do it all over again.
And again.
With my hair blow dried into soft waves and half of my makeup done, I froze at an unfamiliar sound coming from downstairs. I knew I was being silly, because this was Carson Creek, not Chicago. People didn’t break into homes here, not in broad daylight anyway. I reached for the bat beside my bed and tiptoed down the steps, straining to hear what exactly the movement was. A burglar would find nothing of value in the kitchen aside from some purposefully mismatched dinnerware, high end appliances that came with the house, and a red stand mixer that was my pride and joy.
At the bottom of the steps I hefted the bat, ready to strike as I made my way to the kitchen. Standing in front of my stove, and looking good enough to eat in low slung jeans that hugged his backside and a well-worn gray t-shirt, was Ryan.
“What are you doing?” But I didn’t need confirmation of his actions because the scents quickly overwhelmed me.
Ryan turned with a scowl and a silicon spatula in his hand. “I’m making breakfast. Devon said you were running yourself down, and I figured a nice big breakfast would help.” He was so earnest, so genuine in his concern that I wanted to relax my shoulders and offer gratitude for his actions.
That’s what I would have loved to do, and probably would have done in an alternate universe where the scent of greasy bacon, creamy butter and eggs, didn’t create a trifecta of hell that made my stomach lurch and flip a few times.
“Well, dammit, who asked you to do any of that?” I motioned to all the food and all the dishes laid out on the counter and cluttered in the sink.
“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t hear ya. The words you’re looking for are thank you.”
“Thank you?” I sucked in a breath at his presumptuous words. I opened my mouth to give this man a big piece of my mind, but that inhale had been a little too energetic and the smells got in there, good and deep. Instead of words, a groan came out and I smacked one hand over my mouth. And then the other. My gaze zipped to the sink, but it was full of dishes so I turned away from Ryan and hightailed it to the bathroom where I emptied my stomach for the second time this morning.
There was nothing much left to spew up, so I spent long minutes retching until my stomach muscles ached from pushing up the gross yellow liquid that told me my stomach was well past empty.
Needless to say that my morning was not off to a good start.
My reflection was pale, but it had nothing to do with the unflattering fluorescent lighting. There were big bags under my eyes that layers of expensive concealer couldn’t hide. I looked just as bad as I felt, which should have made me feel better, but it didn’t. It would take a hell of a lot more makeup than I currently wore to make me look not half-dead and closer to normal.
