Page 68 of Passionate Defense

Accusing him falsely made her feel worse, so she obediently opened and did her best to hold the thermometer under her tongue with her mouth shut, which wasn’t easy with a stopped-up nose.

Once it alerted, he showed her the digital display. “One-oh-two point five. You’re a sick girl. Sit up for a minute and take your medicine.” He opened a bottle of water and held out three ibuprofens. Swallowing the pills with a raw, burning throat was painful. A cupful of cough syrup came next. She tossed it back quickly. Like a shot of Bacardi 151, it burned all the way down and made her shudder violently. Holding her sore throat as she swallowed, she grimaced at the fake cherry flavor, which did little to mask the awful taste.

Ethan rubbed her back as she slumped forward, face-planting into his chest. “The medicine will make you feel better. Drink the rest of that water. You need to stay hydrated until the fever comes down.”

After she handed him the empty bottle, she started chilling again, her teeth chattering. She reached for the covers, intent on burrowing deep and contemplating her untimely death, which she felt sure was at hand.

“Wait.” Stopping the ascent of the sheets and comforter, he reached into the bag and announced, “I’ve got one more thing. Pull up your nightgown.”

“But I’m freezing.”

“Don’t fuss. Just do it.”

Pouting like a cranky five-year-old in need of a nap, she pulled up her gown to her waist.

“To your shoulders, Lanie, so I can rub on the salve.”

When he opened the jar of Vick’s Vapor Rub, she grimaced in protest. “I hate that stuff.”

“It will help unstop your nose so you can breathe and fall asleep.” He slathered a generous glob of the stinky goo on her chest and rubbed it in.

“Yuk! That is so gross.”

“You are a terrible patient.” After he was done and had wiped his hands on a towel, he helped her straighten her gown and tucked her back in. “Try to get some sleep. I’m going to make you some chicken broth since you didn’t like the tea.”

“I don’t think I can stomach it. I feel kind of sick.” As soon as she said it, her stomach gurgled, and a wave of nausea swept over her. Pushing the covers and Ethan aside, she flew to the bathroom. She was heaving when he followed her in. “Go away. I’m dying.”

Wetting a cool cloth, he lifted her damp hair and placed it around her neck. She sighed at the coolness against her hot skin. He wet another and wiped her face, reaching around her to flush the toilet. “You lost your medicine.”

“I don’t think I can take anymore, Ethan. It’ll come back up. And I really don’t want to throw up again. It burns and my throat is sore already.”

“We need to get your fever down.” He rinsed out the cloth under cold water and wiped her face again. “How about a tepid bath?”

It wasn’t really a question because before she could answer, he was already moving to the tub to fill it. Ignoring her complaints, he eased her into the tub and began scooping large handfuls of the lukewarm water over her back, chest, and shoulders. When she shivered with cold, he helped her out and bundled her in a fluffy towel before carrying her back to bed.

“Still one-oh-two,” he murmured after taking her temperature again. “I’m calling Dr. Barnes. Maybe he can call something in.”

“Not him. He’s got some kind of weird anal fixation. All he ever orders are suppositories.”

“I’ll ask for that gel you rub on your wrist for the nausea. If we can get that under control, you can take the rest by mouth.”

Dr. Barnes was on call and ordered the anti-nausea gel, which Ethan paid extra to have delivered. He also suggested a humidifier, which they had on hand, and a home COVID test. She swabbed her own nose, adamant that she could do that part for herself at least. With cool mist blowing in her face, he stretched out on his side of the bed, keeping watch as they waited for the test results while she moaned, tossed and turned, and coughed.

The fifteen-minute alarm went off—the results negative, thank goodness—right before the doorbell rang.

Ethan returned with a grim look on his face. “Bad news, sweetheart. The pharmacy was out of the gel. They sent these instead.” He held up a clear bag filled with six silver foil-wrapped suppositories.

“Kill me now,” she whispered hoarsely as she buried her head under the pillow. “Get me some flat ginger ale to soothe my stomach, and I’ll be fine.”

“Let’s get it over with so you can start feeling better.”

His voice sounded distant. When she peeked at him, he had already retrieved a tube of lubricant from the bathroom.

“No! I don’t want a suppository. They burn.”

“You’re acting childish, Lanie. You have to take your medicine.”

A wave of nausea hit her, and she was off to the toilet again. Her chest hurting and her throat on fire, she collapsed on the floor whimpering. Tenderly, he stroked her with a cool cloth until it passed. Then he scooped her up and carried her back to the bed. Instead of tucking her under the covers, he sat at the bedside with her on his lap.

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