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“Good.” Doc dried her hands on a paper towel.
Laundry was constant—the hot water barely had time to refill before it was used again by someone needing to shower off their fever.
Day four of the flu wave, Viper came down with it.
“I’m not sick,” he protested.
“Sit,” I commanded, pushing him toward the bed.
I pressed a hand to his forehead and gently placed a thermometer in his ear. He glared at me. A few seconds later, I pulled it out and read it.
“Uh-huh. Just as I thought. Ninety-nine point eight.”
“That’s not a fever,” he protested.
“I’m not doing this with you,” I said, setting the thermometer on the nightstand. “You’re going to get in bed and let me take care of you.”
“Woman, I do not need—” His eyes widened. He hastily covered his mouth and made a run for the bathroom.
I went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. The toilet flushed and then the sink turned on.
A moment later, Viper appeared.
“I think I’m sick,” he said.
I nodded. “Yep. Change, get comfortable, and climb into bed. I’ll go tell Colt you’ve got the flu.”
Viper sat down on the edge of the bed and slowly began to remove his boots. “Fuck, I never get sick.”
“First time for everything,” I said.
I closed the door behind me and went downstairs in search of Colt. Brooklyn stood at the stove, ladling out a bowl of chicken soup.
“Have you seen Colt?” I asked.
She shook her head. “You okay?”
“Viper’s got it now.”
Brooklyn’s mouth quirked up. “And I’m sure he’s going to be just as fun to take care of as Slash.”
“Is Slash feeling better?”
“He says he is, but every time he gets out of bed, he gets dizzy.” She rolled her eyes. “Why do they insist on pushing it?”
“Got me. When I get sick, I lay there like a lump in the dark and theatrically moan like a Victorian woman.”
“Well, let’s hope you don’t come down with it.”
“You feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Thank goodness.”
“Thank goodness, indeed.”
I left the kitchen and headed down the hallway. I peeked into the office, but it was empty. I went out back. Colt was pacing by the fence, his face painted with anger. He was yelling at someone on the phone, his knuckles clenched with rage.
I was about to leave him to it when he called out, “Sutton!”
