As You Wish (19 page)

Ryan relaxed. She still trusted him. But she didn’t know the worst yet. Right now he didn’t think he could bear to tell her. “I should take your tray and go back to my own house.”

“You’re not going to stay with me tonight?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He felt her swallow and press into his embrace. “I want you to stay,” she said in a small voice.

“Patricia, I don’t think it’s a good idea. What if someone finds out?”

“I’m sick. You’re taking care of me. They don’t have to know that you’re sleeping in my bed.” She cuddled close, pulling his arms around her like a blanket. “Please, Ryan. I want you to stay with me.”

His eyes still burned. He could sit with her until she fell asleep at least. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

“Tell me about your family,” she asked.

“Not much to tell. Just me and my mom, and she died when I was fourteen.”

“How did she die?”

“I don’t know. She just dropped dead one day while I was at school. She used to get bad headaches, and she had one that morning. Her doctor at the free clinic said it was just a headache.”

“It was probably an aneurysm. Was it just headaches?”

“She said she couldn’t see very well sometimes. Everything got blurry.” Strangely, reliving his mother’s death wasn’t as painful as usual. He felt a little blurry himself right now. And Patricia had yet to say any of the normal trite comments that didn’t help at all.

“Blurred vision is a sign of an aneurysm. If it helps, there might not have been anything they could have done for her. She might have had a weak blood vessel in her brain, and one day it just popped. I guess they might have caught it if they’d checked, but you can’t always. I’m sorry, Ryan. What happened after she died? Did you live with other family?”

“I don’t have any other family. I never knew my father, and my mother was kicked out when she got pregnant. I grew up in foster homes.”

“Was it awful?”

Ryan thought for a minute. Some of the homes hadn’t been too bad, but nobody wanted to adopt a large teenage boy. “Sometimes, but not always.”

“My parents died in a car accident when I was sixteen. My great aunt, Beatrice, raised me from then. But I lived here the whole time. Were you lonely?” Her small hands stroked his arm.

“Mhmm.”

“I was lonely too.” She yawned. “Are you going to stay all night, or are you going to sneak away when I fall asleep?”

“I’ll stay all night if you want me to, Princess.” Ryan leaned against the headboard. He should open his eyes and watch her television program with her, but he couldn’t.

“Good. I like having you here with me. I don’t feel so lonely.”

Ryan let himself relax. He didn’t feel lonely either. He wanted to hold her like this forever, which worked out well, because he didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again.

* * * *

Patricia woke in the morning too warm. The cause was Ryan. Specifically, Ryan’s fever. His skin felt hot and dry to the touch. No surprise that he’d caught her cold. What had Rita called him? A devoted nursemaid? He’d hardly left her side for the past two days, even sleeping in the chair until she’d coaxed him to bed. Even now he hadn’t quite made it all the way in. His legs hung off the side, and he hadn’t undressed.

She rested her hand on his cheek. His lashes looked long and dark against his pale skin. His face, until recently so forbidding, looked sweet in sleep. She let her fingers trail down his jaw. It seemed wrong for his skin to be so soft. That he, who had spent his childhood in struggle, should have wanted to sit with her through a cold.

Rita was out of her mind thinking Patricia needed seven days bed rest for a simple cold. Even a simple cold that caused her to black out in the rain. However, a nice short vacation with Ryan wouldn’t be so awful. If everyone thought she was sick, they would leave her alone. They could cover her shifts at the hospital and see her patients. She had a patient of her own.

Patricia managed to get to her feet and locate her robe before she needed to sit down and rest. She sat in the chair, looking at Ryan sleeping half on and half off her bed. She’d have to call Rita and tell her she was fine. That would keep her friend away from the house. She crossed the room to Ryan. Kneeling, she untied Ryan’s boots, wiggled them off, and shoved them under the bed. Then she tried to push his feet onto the mattress. His feet seemed to weigh three hundred pounds each. Switching tactics, she stood, lifting first one leg, then the other. He muttered in his sleep and rolled onto his side. She stood, using the bed for support. She had planned to undress him so he would be more comfortable, but, wiping sweat from her brow, she decided that could wait. He’d wake up soon enough.

The kitchen was an incredible distance. She had never noticed how many stairs there were between the second floor and the first, and the hallway stretched out forever between the foyer and the kitchen. Slithering into the foyer chair to rest, she wondered what had happened to the Persian rug that should have been on the floor. Eventually she gave up on that mystery and made her way to the kitchen. The cordless phone beside her bed had disappeared during her delirium. She assumed either Rita or Ryan had taken it away. They would have to tell her where they’d hidden it. Hopefully she hadn’t said anything too embarrassing. In the meantime, the phone in the kitchen would work well enough. She dialed Rita’s cell.

“Hi, Rita.”

“You’re returned from the land of shadows.”

“Very funny.”

“Did you have the strength to wrestle the phone from Ryan, or did you find it while he went to take a shower and change clothes after another all-night vigil?”

“Remind me, why do I like you?”

“My witty personality. So are you going to stay home for a couple of days, or do I have to get you barred from the hospital and the clinic for being contagious and stubborn?”

“I’ll stay home. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to stop by anymore.”

“Really? Are you going to spend some alone time with your nurse?”

“Ha ha. And by the way, your radar still works.”

“What radar?”

“The skinny dark-haired guy on that series you brought me? He’s the doctor.”

“Ooo, I’m good. Are you sure you don’t want me to stop by? I can bring another season of
Buffy
for you in case you run out. Or is there something else you want to watch?”

“No, we’ll be fine.” Patricia bit her lip. Rita was bound to pick up on that. She might have been better off to let her come over and find Ryan sleeping in her bed.

“Fine, if you don’t want me, I’ll just have to keep busy tending your patients and screwing Bruce.”

“Really? You seem to be getting pretty focused on Bruce Scalia.”

“Yeah, he’s hot, and he’s covering a couple of your patients. I have to pay him back somehow.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a hardship.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,
chica
. See ya later.”

“Good-bye.” Patricia hung up the phone. She wished she were upstairs in her bed so she could go back to sleep in Ryan’s arms, but her bed and Ryan were very far away. She didn’t know where the cordless phone was, so until Ryan woke up and told her, she’d have to answer the phone down here. In the meantime, she could check the messages.

“Hello, Dr. Whitmer, this is Judith Haddix calling on behalf of the Whitmer Art Museum.” Judith sounded breathless. Probably the excitement. This was the coup of the decade. Well Spring had been closed to public events twelve years ago when Patricia’s parents died. Her grandfather had forbidden art museum events nearly fifteen years ago. “I would like to talk to you about the plans for the Halloween Masquerade Ball. Everyone is very excited. If you would, please give me a call so we can meet. I understand you’ve been ill recently, but even if we could speak over the phone, I would appreciate it.”

Patricia made a note of the number Judith left. What had she been thinking when she’d suggested a ball? She remembered her mother tearing out her hair preparing for those things, and she’d sworn she’d never do it. Of course, with David staring at her across the table, it had been impossible to say no. As a political wife, she’d have to do a lot of them.

“Dr. Whitmer, this is Mary Beth Whittaker from the Friends of the Library. I understand you’re holding an event for the Art Museum, which we are thrilled to hear. I wanted to remind you that your late mother always held a madrigal dinner for the library every Christmas. We are very hopeful you will reinstate the tradition.”

Patricia pulled a chair over to the counter and wrote another note about calling Mary Beth Whittaker. The library madrigal dinners had been even more trouble than the museum balls.

“Hello, Patricia, it’s David. I’m so sorry to hear that you’re sick. Were you sick the other night when I saw you? Is it something you picked up at the hospital? My doctor says I’m fine, but I wanted to talk to you. Please, give me a call.”

Ryan had gotten her cold right away. If David was going to catch it, he’d have been sick before now. But she could call him. Later.

There were two more messages on the machine. One from the ballet and one from the homeless shelter. At least four more local nonprofits would call within the week. She should have known when she opened her mouth that she’d be in over her head. Now she needed to hire a social secretary.

Rather than call anybody back, Patricia made her way back to bed and fell asleep.

* * * *

Patricia balanced on the low brick wall surrounding the rose garden, with her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She felt giddy with happiness. For the past five days, she’d been alone with Ryan. Gone to sleep in his arms every night and woken up beside him every morning, though he shifted into the room next door when Mrs. Dudley came. Patricia had missed him for those hours. For the first four days, they hadn’t felt up to much more than exhausted snuggling while rewatching the DVDs Rita had brought over. This morning he’d made love to her until she thought her bones would melt. His cough hadn’t developed until yesterday, and he’d still insisted he could manage to get some light work done in the rose garden. The weather had warmed up, giving them a brief respite from the cold before winter clamped down for real. The sun on the brilliant leaves gilded the world. It was as close to heaven as she could imagine.

“What time is Mrs. Haddix coming over?” Ryan asked. He snipped one of the last red roses off a bush.

“Two.” Patricia checked her watch. She didn’t know if Judith was one of those people who came early, arrived right on time, or showed up late and full of apologies.

Ryan leaned against the wall beside her as he cut the thorns off the rose’s stem with his pocketknife. His color looked good. Flushed with exertion, not fever. His hands were steadier than hers. His cough wasn’t even that bad.

“It isn’t fair that you got better before me.” Patricia pouted.

“I didn’t lay in the rain for a half an hour.”

“True.” Patricia watched his hands as they worked, removing each thorn. His fingers were strong and thorough. Her face warmed at the memory of the way they felt on her body. The light strokes and the rough grips. The way he made her shiver. The way he controlled her.

Ryan tucked the rose behind her ear, allowing his fingers to glide along the shell and down over her cheek. His fingers barely touched her skin but caused ripples of delight throughout her body. She held her breath, savoring the sensation. He studied her face with the same intensity she’d had studying anatomy and physiology in school. Like he would need to know the exact set of her features later. The weight of his gaze held her captive on the wall while his fingers lingered on her chin.

“You look sad this morning,” she said when he turned away. She’d seen a lot of his smiles over the past five days, weak ones early on as he leaned back against the pillows, but several quite brilliant ones when he’d been a bit stronger. Neither type was in evidence this morning. His color might be better, but his mood was solemn.

“Do I?” He stood up, picking up his shears.

Did he not want to get better? He might be enjoying living in the big house instead of the caretaker’s house. Not that she had been waiting on him in his illness. He’d done most of that. After two days spent napping, he’d felt better than she had, and he knew how to cook. He’d also handled the various charities that called, explaining that unlike her mother, Patricia worked a full-time demanding job. If they wanted to hold events in the house, cleaning crews, catering, and RSVPs would have to be handled by the organizations. He was so efficient she hadn’t had to do anything. So if he wouldn’t miss being waited on, what would he miss?

Not sex. They had hardly touched one another since that night in the hall. One round of actual and divine intercourse and lots of cuddling in front of the television. But he had promised to come to the house tonight after he closed the gates. Just the thought of that raised butterflies of anticipation. She had had to plead with him to agree to disciplining her. He didn’t think she had recovered enough, but she needed it so much.

And his crazy talk about not being trustworthy and needing to leave had stopped. He’d regained his keys somewhere. They fell out of his jeans pockets early in his illness. She remembered him handing them to her and locking the door behind himself, but she also remembered him turning into a werewolf and howling at the moon, so she doubted her memories were to be trusted.

Maybe it was David’s inevitable reappearance. He’d called several times during the week, but now that she was no longer ill, she could count on him arriving in person. David had also sent flowers twice. One arrangement sat on the formal dining table, where it was seldom seen. The other had been banished to the top of the piano in the music room. Mrs. Dudley found the roses he’d brought last week. They had been sitting on a table in the great hall for two days. They’d been done for by then. And yet, she thought, I have saved every flower Ryan has given me. She reached for the rose he’d tucked behind her ear.

“Patricia?” Ryan knelt in front of her. “Are you all right?”