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Mitch opened his eyes, and when he saw her watching him, he quickly got up. “Riley, sweetheart… can you hear me?” Big hands slid down her arms, cupped her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a few hundred buffalos trampled over me.”
Clearly relieved, he tugged her closer to him. “I’ve been so worried about you. You took the meds, but your fever wouldn’t let up. Vivian said if it’s not better by morning, I should take you to the hospital.” He put a hand to her forehead. “You’re not feverish anymore, thank goodness.”
Frowning, she stared at him. “Why are you here? With me? In Portland?”
Smiling, he combed her hair out of her face. “Dylan phoned me, but I was already in Portland. We’ll talk later, but only after you’re feeling better.”
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Riley tried to stand up. Mitch moved closer. “Bathroom…” As she got up, though, the whole room tilted, and she grabbed onto him to stay upright.
He put an arm around her as they moved toward the bathroom. “Slowly. You’ve barely eaten the last two days…”
“What do you mean two days? What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday night…” He checked his watch. “Nearly midnight.”
“Sunday night? But that can’t be. I fetched Dylan from school this morning…”
“That would be Friday morning, two days ago.”
“And you’ve been here the whole time?”
He opened the bathroom door. “Since yesterday lunchtime. Do you need help again…”
“What do you mean again?”
“You could barely stand, let alone go to the bathroom on your own.”
Blushing, she inhaled. “You mean you…”
“Someone had to do it.” He was the picture of innocence. “I was here.”
“Well, I’m fine now, thank you.” And with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances, she closed the door behind her.
His low chuckle followed her all the way to the mirror. Horrified, she touched her face. Look at her—hair all over the place, pale as a ghost, all you could see were freckles. Groaning, she took off her pajamas and got into the shower.
As the water cascaded over her, she remembered big hands washing her, drying her, clothing her…
Why was Mitch here?
As she picked up the towel after her shower, she noticed the clean pair of pajamas on the small counter. Mitch. Which meant he’d entered the bathroom while she’d been in the shower.
There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” Mitch called.
“I’m fine.” Quickly she rubbed herself dry and put on the clean pajamas. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted. She wasn’t sure she’d make it to the bed, and her hair was still wet.
“I’m coming in,” Mitch announced before he opened the door. He gave her one look. Before she realized what he was going to do, he’d picked her up. “Why didn’t you call me? You’re white as a sheet again.”
With long strides, he carried her back to her bed. As he put her down, she saw he’d stripped the bed and made it again with fresh sheets.
Frowning, she glared at him. “I can make my own bed, you know.”
“I know. But I’m here, you’re ill, so I’ve made it for you.”
“Why are you here, Mitch?”
Ignoring her question, he pulled the sheets over her. “Let’s dry your hair, and then I’ll make something for you to eat. You’ve barely eaten over the last few days. What would you like? Toast and egg? Omelet? I’ve bought some tins of soup?” Walking to her dresser, he fetched the hairdryer and a brush. After plugging it in, he sat next to her, turning her shoulders so that he was behind her.
