Page 27 of A Montana Fake Marriage

He stiffened when he realized she’d helped remove his t-shirt. Now she was standing there, watching him with worry in her eyes. She nibbled on her lower lip and looked away. “I’ll… um… let me get you some water—and some meds. You get undressed the rest of the way and get in that water. It’s tepid, so it should help lower your temperature.” Sammie slipped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Caleb did his best to do exactly what she’d requested. By the time there was a soft knock on the door and her voice just as quietly through it, he’d managed to wash up and get out. He’d dressedagain in his pajama pants but didn’t have the strength for his shirt. “It’s unlocked,” he mumbled.

The door opened a crack, and she held a plate of toast and a glass of orange juice. “I put some water in the room, too. Your mom wants to know if you’ll need anything else.” Her eyes swept over him, probably relieved that he was decent. “I’ll put these in the room and come get you.”

She was quick on her return. When they reached their bedroom again, he attempted to walk to the cot, but she stopped him. “Absolutely not,” she snapped. “You’re taking the bed.”

He didn’t have it in him to protest.

Caleb took a couple bites of the toast with his pills then a few sips of the water. The second his head hit the pillow, he was out.

The next thing he felt was a light touch on his face. He leaned into the touch and moaned, “Sammie.”

“I’m here,” she whispered.

He didn’t open his eyes. They were too heavy. There was no telling how much time had passed since she’d put him in bed. Again, he drifted to sleep.

“Caleb?” A hesitant voice broke through his fitful sleep. “Caleb, you need to drink something.”

His eyes opened to the dim room. Throat dry and rough, he turned his head to find Sammie seated in the bed beside him. She was leaning against the headboard. In her hand, she held a glass.

A worried smile hinted at her lips. “You’ve been out most of the day. You really should drink something.”

Caleb nodded. The pounding in his head wasn’t as bad as he expected, but he was still exhausted. Gingerly, he sat up on his elbows and accepted the glass. She reached out and touched his forehead with the back of her fingertips.

“You’re not as warm as you were this morning. How are you feeling?”

Caleb placed the glass on the side table. She leaned over him slightly, brushing at the hair near his temples. That worry etched in her face never wavered.

Caleb snatched her fingers in his hand, then pressed her palm to his cheek. He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch. He could sense the way she stilled beside him, waiting for an answer, probably.

He shifted, leaning against the headboard as well. “Better,” he rasped. “Hungry.”

“Would you like me to get you something to eat? They saved you a plate from dinner, but since you were still sleeping?—”

He flinched. Her voice sounded so loud. “No.”

“But you said?—”

“I’m not sure it would sit well,” he chuckled dryly. “But it’s good I have an appetite back. Something small, maybe. More toast?”

She made an attempt to pull from his grasp. “I’ll go get you?—”

“No,” he repeated. “Not yet.” Caleb could practically taste the confusion that seeped into the air. There was no way he was going to tell her he just wanted to be here—with her—for a few minutes. In this quiet, dim room, all he wanted was to be with her.

From what he had gathered, she’d been by his side all day. She’d tended to him, helped ease his suffering. He might have been unconscious for most of it, but she’d been here. Instead of going to work or hanging out with his cousins, she’dstayed.

She’d never know what it meant to him for her to do that. Caleb had always fended for himself. He’d always been the one to take care of others. Even in high school, he’d contributed to the family’s income by getting a job. His mother had stopped this sort of mothering when he’d hit his teen years. He didn’t fault her for it—there was just so much more she had to worry about.

Caleb pressed his hand over hers and let out a contented sigh. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Her words were barely above a whisper.

“For taking care of me.”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to. He had just wanted her to know that he was aware of her sacrifice, however small it was.

CHAPTER TEN

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