SHIVER (8 page)

“You’re cold?” She rushed to the side of the bed, as quick as the pan of water in her hands would allow without spilling. Setting it down, she grabbed the thermometer. “Open up.”

“I’d rather have a few blankets.”

“Not yet. You’ve had a fever. Under the tongue, or I’ll stick it somewhere else.”

He opened his mouth. She stuck the thermometer under his tongue. They waited while he froze, goose bumps prickling over his skin. Was the window opened? The room was freezing. She pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and checked it.

She sighed. He couldn’t tell if it was from relief or frustration.

“Am I going to live?”

She actually smiled as though she cared.

His heart skipped.

“Looks like.” She held up the thermometer. “You’re normal.”

He cracked a laugh, his voice rusty. “Nobody’s actually called me normal before.”

“I meant, your temperature is normal. We thought we might lose you there for a while.”

He frowned. “A while?”

“You’ve been in and out of it for two days.”

“Two days?” He ran a hand over his eyes.
Two days.
Had Raven nursed him for two days? He was about to ask her when the door opened and Fox peeked his head around the edge.

“How’s he doing?”

Raven gestured to Aidan with a smile. “See for yourself.”

His eyes lit when he saw Aidan. “He’s awake.”

“His fever’s broken too.”

“’Bout time.” Fox walked toward the bed. “We’ve been really worried about you.”

“You have?” He glanced at Raven.

Raven placed her hand on Fox’s shoulder. “Apparently he owns your soul now since he saved you from dying.”

Aidan smiled at the kid. He wasn’t in the mood to tell Fox that he wouldn’t want any part of his soul. Not when it was black and rotten. He shivered. “Any chance of getting a blanket now that my fever’s gone? I’m going to die from exposure in this room.”

Raven tossed a blanket over him. It felt heavenly. “Thanks.” She also went to the window and shut out the cold seeping through it. The cold room explained Raven’s hoodie and knit cap she wore. She looked adorable. What he wouldn’t give to—

“I’m sure you’re hungry, since you haven’t eaten in two days.” Raven turned to Fox. “Will you run down to the kitchen and see what you can rustle up?”

“You bet.” He looked back to Aidan. “Be right back.” Then he scampered from the room.

Raven busied her hands with straightening the items on the nightstand, her eyes downcast. “Who’s Sonya?”

The question hit him like a punch to the chest. “How do you know about her?”

“I don’t. You just said her name a few times while you were out.”

“What else did I say?” Had he confessed that he was a murderer?

“That’s all I could make out. Are you married?”

“No. Are you?”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. If she were going to ask pointed questions, then so was he. “Uh, no.”

“Fox’s father?”

She glanced away. “We…uh…weren’t suited.”

It didn’t look as though she was going to say any more on the subject. “I asked Sonya to marry me.”

Raven looked at him again. “She’s your fiancée then?”

“No. She didn’t want to marry me. She’s in love with another man.”

“But you’re still in love with her?”

Was he? Being back here and seeing Raven had tipped his world. He’d tried for the last twelve years to forget her and her family, transferring a lot of what he felt for them to Sonya and her family—his fish camp neighbors in the summertime when he commercial fished in Bristol Bay.

“Don’t answer that,” Raven said, standing, and smoothing her hands down her jeans.

He reached out and grabbed her arm. “I thought I loved her. But it wasn’t a strong love.” She tried to pull away from him, but he didn’t let go. For some reason it was too important that she know. “I wanted the kind of love that
we
had with her, but it didn’t work.” He paused, then added quietly, “She wasn’t you.”

Her eyes flicked away from his, and she wetted her lips. “I need to go and see what’s keeping Fox. You must be starved.”

He released her, and she ran from the room.

Why had he said that? He had no chance with her.

Not when his father had killed hers.

She wasn’t you.

Raven ran from Aidan’s room, gasping. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded and her palms sweated.

She wasn’t you.

Did he still care for her? After all these years? After all she’d done? What was she thinking? There was no room for Aidan in her life. Not with the past between them. She couldn’t allow there to be. Fox had to be considered. She’d been very careful with him, raised her son to be different than his genetics. The part of him that had come from Aidan, and Aidan’s parents, Earl and Marjorie Harte. There was also Roland Harte—Earl’s brother—to be considered, who liked to visit during the winter, trailing mischief and mayhem in his tracks. Roland had also done jail time, hadn’t he? How many Hartes had spent time in jail? Earl was a murderer. Dangerous, mean, and cunning. She’d seen that same kind of cunning in Fox. She didn’t want any of the Hartes’ unsavory qualities to negatively influence her son. She’d made life-altering decisions based on that reasoning.

Raven entered the kitchen and found Fox and Fiona along with her grandmother, Coho, who sat at the table beading an intricate Athabascan design into a leather band while Fiona helped Fox put together a tray of food.

“Hey, Gran,” Raven greeted, dropping into a seat across from her grandmother.

“
Camai
, birdie. A few exciting days you’ve had.” Coho frowned over her bifocals. “I had to hear these things from others, you understand.”

“I’m sorry, Gran, but I have been busy taking care of
that
man.”

“And how is Aidan doing? I have missed him over the years. Such an interesting boy. So unlike his black-hearted father and weak-minded mother.” She sighed and threaded beads onto her needle. “It’s nice to know he didn’t follow in his parents’ footsteps.”

“What do you mean?” Raven asked. How would Coho know what Aidan had done with his life?
She
didn’t even know.

“I thought you knew? Fox has known for years.”

“Grandma Great,” Fox rushed over. “You weren’t—”

“Oh, that’s right.” She laughed. “I wasn’t supposed to tell. Oops.” She smiled, acting forgetful, but Raven knew she was anything but. Coho’s mind was as sharp as the needle she pierced through the leather band.

“What weren’t you supposed to tell?” Raven looked to her grandmother and then to her son, who glanced at his feet. “What’s going on?”

“Better come clean, grandson,” Coho said out of the corner of her month as she continued to sew beads into the leather strip.

Fox fidgeted but glanced at Raven when he spoke. “I know who Aidan Harte is.”

Raven’s breath caught. Her son knew Aidan was his father? How? Nobody knew.
She’d never told a living soul.

Fox went over to his backpack and pulled out a book, laying it on the table in front of her. “Mr. Harte is a famous graphic novelist. See, he writes a series of novels that feature the powers of the totem.”

“
This
is what you didn’t want me to know?” Raven frowned. So Fox didn’t know Aidan was his father? The light in the room seemed to dim as Raven’s heart tried to regain its normal rhythm.

“Uh, you probably wouldn’t consider them appropriate reading material.” Fox hesitated to begin. “But they
so
are,” he rushed on. “He writes about the battle between good and evil and good always wins, though sometimes it looks like there is no way they can, but he always makes it happen.”

“Where did you get these?” She caught the look shared between Fiona and Fox.

“I ordered them off the Internet,” he mumbled.

“With whose help?” Raven shot a look at her mother.

“With mine,” Fiona answered, raising her chin. “I didn’t see the harm in it, and besides, I’ve read them and they are quite good. It’s nice to know that Aidan has made such a success of himself.”

Raven picked up the glossy book and thumbed through it, a little smaller than the size of a magazine but bound like a novel. The pages were full of vibrant colors, the words captured in bubbles. Kind of like the old-time comic books, but in a much more elegant, sophisticated style. She immediately recognized the level of talent it would have taken to draw the characters and settings. She glanced at the front where Aidan’s name was prominently featured in bold letters. “Can I read this?”

Fox looked worried. Appropriate content? Right.

“Sure, but keep an open mind, Mom. See the whole story, not just a few of the scenes. Okay?”

Raven raised a brow but nodded.

“Who is taking a lunch tray to Aidan?” Fiona asked. “Fox or you?”

She raised her hand. “I will.” She didn’t want her son getting more attached to Aidan than he already was.

“But, Mom,” Fox objected. “I wanted to.”

“Is your homework done?” She nailed him with a look. “Chores?”

“No, and no,” he muttered.

“Get them done then. Besides, Mr. Harte needs a lot of rest so that he can recover quickly.” And get the hell out of their lives before he really messed them up more than he already had.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Raven walked into Aidan’s bedroom, balancing the tray on one hand. The bed was empty. Could she be so lucky? She heard colorful words coming from the bathroom. Guess not. She set down the tray on the nightstand and followed the cursing. Aidan was sprawled out on the floor, one of his crutches completely out of his reach by the linen closet. “What
are
you doing?”

“Trying to take care of myself,” he growled like a wounded bear.

“You’ve been in bed with a fever for two days. I won’t even bring up the trap. You have no business getting out of bed. You want a relapse?”

“I need a shower.” He looked at her with that same look Fox developed when he decided he had to do something right this minute and was going to be stubborn about it.

“And you thought you could accomplish that by yourself?” He was just like any other man. Stupid.

“You want to give me a hand?” he asked. “Help me undress, soap me up, dry me off?” He raised that brow of his, suggestive and sardonic at the same time. How did he do that with one look?

“No, I don’t want to help you.” She stuck her hands on her hips. “I’ve been giving you sponge baths for two days. Believe me, you are clean. You don’t need a shower.”

“So…” He cocked his head to the side. “I
didn’t
dream that?”

The sponge bath or the kiss followed by the almost sex? She felt heat rise in her cheeks. Just what did he remember? “Dream what?”

“You. Us. On the bed. Together. My fingers inside—”

“Dreaming!” she interrupted. “You definitely were dreaming
that
.”

He gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it, but he let the subject drop. “You going to help me up, or leave me here on the floor?”

She would have loved to leave him on the floor, but she was never one for tormenting someone. Unless it resulted in pleasure for them both. Like that time she had—

What was she doing? Remembering their sexual escapades wouldn’t do either of them any good. She walked over to the crutch that had skidded across the floor and picked it up. “How did you end up in this position anyway?”

“Reached to turn on the shower. Lost my balance and came down on my bad leg. It gave out, and I went down.”

She pursed her lips. “Do you think it’s broken then?”

“I don’t know. but it hurts a hell of a lot.”