Page 87 of Mended Hearts

Her lips quirked. She finished the verse before shaking her head. “Get out of the danger zone before it’s too late.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just in the mood to regurgitate your intestines?”

Snorting, I crouched in front of her. “I’ve got an iron stomach. Was never sure how I got it.”

“Don’t risk it,” she said, turning away as I reached for her. When I laid the back of my wrist across her forehead, she sighed, “Oh, man, you’ve got a death wish.”

“No fever. At least that’s something.” I checked Mattie next. A little warm, but not bad.

“I’m alright. Mattie seems to be the hardest hit.”

“She doesn’t get sick easily, but when she goes down, she goesdown.”

Leighton smirked. Her glossy eyes shimmered with something dangerous. “I relate to that sentiment on so many levels.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“When was the last time she ralphed?”

“About an hour ago.”

“And Beau?”

“Not since last night.”

“Good. We should be through the worst of it then.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Think I can move her?”

“Mmmmmmm,” Mattie groaned, cracking one eye open like a sea creature surfacing from the deep.

“Anywhere has to be more comfortable than here,” I pointed out.

“I bet you’ll sleep in bed,” Leighton predicted.

“Uhhhhhhg. Fine.”

I looked down at my little girl’s grimace. “Sure. When Leigh says it, you listen.”

“Sorry. I’m just that cool,” Leighton said, fumbling to stand—then pausing. “Oop. Maybe not,” she muttered, eyes scrunching closed as her face went ghost-white. She wobbled, hand reaching out for the counter—and coming up short. I lunged, grabbing her before she could hit the floor.

“Easy, Trouble.”

“‘M alright.”

“Very convincing.”

“I mean it. I’m okay.” Still, she lowered herself to the ground and tucked her head between her knees.

“I’m gonna get Mattie to bed. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, not lifting her head.

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