Wishes and Stitches (22 page)

Laughing, Rig turned. “You what?”

But Milo really did have a woman by the hand. Anna followed him out, her face a mask of concern.

Jake was the first to find his voice. “Anna?”

One word flashed through Rig's mind:
Naomi
.

Anna's eyes found his. “My sister said if you weren't home you might be here. She gave me directions.” She glanced at Jake. “I hope you don't mind.”

Jake said, “Of course not.”

What if she was hurt? A traffic accident? A fall? Did they have much violence here? A mugging? He was finally able to croak, “What? What happened?”

Anna said, “She's really sick. Like,
really
scary sick. She said food poisoning, but when I came home tonight, she'd passed out, and it took me the longest time to get her to wake up. She wouldn't let me call 911, just said that you could get what she needed.”

Shit. Food poisoning didn't normally make people pass out. “How was she when you left?”

“Locked in the bathroom. Can you go?” Here she looked at Rig, “Can you check on her?”

Rig was moving before he could form conscious thought. “Are you coming with me?”

“Stay here,” said Jake.

Rig and Anna both stared at him.

He went on, “What if she has something that's contagious? Think about the baby. Just stay until Rig diagnoses her.”

“Jake,” said Rig. “If she has something contagious, then Anna's bringing it here. Aren't you freaked out about
that
?”

Jake shrugged. “Milo's tough.”

It was surprising enough to make him pause, even while his brain screamed
Get to Naomi!

Frank wandered past, seemingly unsurprised to see Anna. “Old Fashioned, my dear?” Then he looked at her belly. “Ah. I'll go light on the bourbon.”

Jake said, “And Dad's too pickled to catch anything. We'll be fine. I'll take care of her until you get back.” He turned to Anna. “Do you like Bruce Willis?”

Anna rubbed the top of her stomach. “
Die Hard
is only, like, one of the best movies ever.”

“Can I have your house keys?” Rig held out his hand toward Anna. “Just in case.”

Something like fear, a feeling he hadn't had since swinging over the edge of a derrick to get to a trapped patient, rippled down his spine.

She had to be okay.

Chapter Thirty-eight

N
aomi opened her eyes to the sound of someone calling her name. Cold, she was so cold. Her teeth chattered so hard her vision shook. And everything hurt, every cell of her body screamed for relief.

“Naomi!” The man's voice was sharp. Loud, in the small bathroom, echoing off the tile floor.

The pain was the worst. As every cramping spell waxed, she could barely breathe, and she choked around the anguish until the cramps waned again.

“Naomi, honey.”

Why was there a man in her bathroom? More specifically, Naomi wondered as she started putting things together, why was
Rig
in her bathroom? Oh,
no
. No one should be in here. A vast, horrified feeling of embarrassment swept over her, and tears leaped to her eyes.

“No, no, no, no. Out, please
out
. . .”

“Naomi, sugar, tell me what happened.”

She barely heard the endearment, she was so wrapped up in the awful thought that he was in her bathroom, and she knew it must not smell as fresh as a bathroom could. She knew she
herself
must not smell very good.

Damn, damn,
damn
. “I told Anna to get you, didn't I?” Naomi worked herself to a sitting position, shaking off his offer of help. They had to get out of here. To her bedroom, at least. Why the hell had she asked for Rig?

“She said you needed help.”

“I'm fine,” Naomi said. She stood, feeling like a newborn colt, unable to trust her legs. Rig's arms came out to catch her as she wobbled.

“Don't need you.”

“You don't, huh?” Rig stepped back as she walked toward her bed.

A cramp twisted her gut again—she knew it was just pain, she had to get to her bed, but the gasp she let out must have jolted Rig, because his arms were around her before she took a second step.

“I'm helping you to the bed, that's all.”

“I'm okay,” she lied.

“Then you won't mind if I do this. Yes, that's right, easy does it.” Rig held on to Naomi's elbow as she sat down slowly on the bed. She tipped, landing on her pillow, and he pulled her legs up so that she was lying on her side, facing him.

“Am I as green as I feel?”

Rig smiled. “You're actually a little more yellow. Mixed with a slight tinge of blue around the eyes.”

“Attractive.”

“I'll say.” Rig said it like he meant it, and Naomi felt something move inside her that had nothing to do with food poisoning. Her heart did that slow somersault again as he grinned at her. Oh, hell. What should she do now?

He knelt so that he was eye to eye with her. “You think it's food poisoning?”

Naomi nodded, moving her head gingerly.

“We both ate the pizza the other night . . .”

“Burrito . . .”

“What burrito?”

Oh, it hurt to even think about it. “Breakfast burrito at a taco truck.”

“Uh-oh. We should get you tested, you know.”

Naomi turned her head so she could bury it in the pillow. “No.” She knew what he meant, and she'd be damned if she gave him a stool sample. She'd light her feet on fire first. She rocked her head back and forth.

“Yes.”

“Never,” she said into the pillow.

She felt her side of the bed sink as he sat down beside her. “Oh, don't make me move like that.”

His large cool hand covered her upper arm. It felt perfect, just what she needed. That blessed coolness . . .

“You're burning up.”

“I was just freezing a minute ago.” And now she was on fire. She closed her eyes and muttered, “Oh, God.”

“Am I interrupting your prayers?” asked Rig, his tone light. “Because I can go and sit in the kitchen till you're done.”

“I'm not praying.”

“Okay.”

“Except maybe for death.”

“It'll come to all of us.”

“That's your idea of a bedside manner?” she managed before another wave of nausea flooded over her. Death didn't seem like the absolute worst idea in the whole world.

Rig ran his hand down her arm to her wrist and back up again. She lifted it so he could cover more area. There, yes, the more he touched, the more she felt soothed. Relieved.

“You have a headache?”

Like cymbals of red-hot metal clanging in her brain. She nodded and then regretted the motion.

“I'm guessing shigellosis,” Rig said.

“Yeah.” Short sentences seemed to help, and they were all she could manage around the short gasps of air she was trying to drink, to swallow, as if they would ease the pain.

“I saw Z-Pak at the office—I'll be back in twenty minutes.”

“I can get it later,” Naomi said.

Rig laughed. “You're not serious. You wouldn't make it two blocks. You can't drive, and you can't walk.”

“Then I'll tough it out. I'm not going to die.” She clutched the edge of her afghan—the only one she'd ever made. The purple yarn cut into her fingers, and for one second she believed herself.

“You're a doctor.” Rig's voice was serious. “Don't be an idiot.”

She would not,
could
not let him take care of her. She'd asked for him—she could send him away. Naomi had spent a long time taking care of herself. She was good at it. She didn't need this now. It would practically be an admission of failure, wouldn't it?

She was just a little sick.

Just then, a shiver shot through her, pain slipping from her head into her stomach, everything seeming to get worse all at once. Rolling over on her stomach, she groaned.
Please, God, don't let me have to go back to the bathroom. Not now, not while he's here.
If she could just get him to leave . . .

“Yes. Z-Pak.” The words were all she could manage before doubling over again, breathless.

“I'll be back soon,” Rig said, his voice tight.

Fine. Whatever. Just as long as he left now. Naomi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pretend she wasn't crying, that those weren't tears leaking from her eyes.

Rig reached forward and took her hand. His was cool and dry, huge against hers. She cracked open her eyes to see if the spinning had stopped, and her gaze was caught by how the light of her lamp illuminated the fine, golden hairs on his arm.

For one second, she felt normal. Wonderful. The feeling of her hand in his, and then, when she looked up and caught his dark, worried gaze—she felt as if she'd forgotten why she was lying in this bed. The last time they'd lain down together had worked out pretty crazy terrific. Was that only the night before last? She closed her eyes again, feeling a tear run across the bridge of her nose.

Then there was the softest touch on her head, just for a moment, as if his cool hand had rested there before moving away. Then, above her shoulder, where her neck was bare, she felt his lips, the slightest touch. Her door shut, and he was gone.

Naomi wobbled upright and touched the place on her neck where he'd placed the kiss. She felt dizzy. Then she staggered to the bathroom again.

Rig managed to get the Zithromax into Naomi, and it stayed down long enough for a first dose. Before she fell asleep, she asked him through a yawn, “Where's Anna?”

“Jake texted me. She fell asleep on the couch. I told him to keep her there. I've got things under control here.”

“Thank you. But you really don't have to stay.”

“I know I don't.”

Then she shivered again.

He kicked his shoes onto the floor and pulled her closer to him, then moved the blankets up over them both. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, he whispered, “There. Is that better?”

She nodded against his chest. “The last time I let anyone see me sick I was seventeen. Back with my mom.”

“Moms are good for that.”

Even sick, Naomi managed a snort. “She gave me a robe and I promptly threw up all over it. She threw it out, brand new.” A pause. “I just wanted my dad. He loved me.”

“Mothers are hardwired to love,” said Rig. “Maybe she just wasn't very good at showing it.”

“That's the thing,” said Naomi, and her voice was the saddest he'd ever heard. “I think she's a good mother. To Anna. She and I just never saw eye to eye, that's all. It felt like we didn't share a language. She was looking for a little charmer, a performer, someone to dress up. She got that in Anna. Me, I was nothing like her. I disappointed her.” Another shudder rocked her, then Rig heard a deep breath, and her breathing slowed, growing regular and heavy.

Naomi fit against him like she'd been made for him, as if the mold that his body had been cut from had originally been a part of hers. Over the course of her restless night, Rig had the opportunity to hold her in many positions: sitting up, lying down spooned, cradled on his chest. Every hour or so, he helped her miserably to the bathroom, and then she'd come back to bed, even more tired than before. No matter how he held her, she dropped instantly back into sleep as soon as her eyes closed.

And even pale as she was, face shiny with dried sweat, her curls tangled as if they'd been in a blender, Rig's heart twisted when he looked at her. He pressed kiss after kiss into her temple, her forehead, her cheek, and when he did, she snuggled closer to him, her arms wrapping around his neck or his arm, whatever was closest to her. He wasn't sure if it was just because she was sick, but he hoped not. He loved it.

Rig looked at the way the lamplight fell across Naomi's cheekbones, putting her lips into shadow. She was still felt feverish—the next time she was awake, he'd force more Gatorade into her, even if she protested. And in the morning, he'd go buy some chicken broth and bring it back to her. Maybe some saltines. She wouldn't be eating much of anything for at least the next three days, he guessed.

And damn it all if he didn't want to be there for every second of her recovery. And afterward.

He closed his eyes. Shit.

Go to sleep, Keller
, he told himself, but sleep was hard to find. She seemed to be using it all, and for that he was glad, but every time she made a small noise, moved the slightest bit, he went on notice, ready to help.

God, he wished he could snap his fingers and make this go away. If she wasn't a little better when she woke up, he would haul her ass in for IV fluids. Or if she threw a total fit against it, which he could imagine her doing, he'd bring the IV pole here.

Even in sleep, Naomi's mouth was twisted, as if she felt the abdominal pain. He couldn't help it—his index finger moved as if of its own volition and touched that perfect bottom lip. He stroked it softly, just for a second or two, and her mouth relaxed under his touch. Her lips parted and she sighed against his finger. He felt himself grow hard and shifted left so that if she woke, she wouldn't know. Totally fucking inappropriate. A boner at a time like this—what an eighteen-year-old move. Rig felt himself blush in the dimness. Ridiculous. Thank God she was asleep.

Naomi made a soft sound, and then a sound of stifled pain, rolling to rest against his arm and shoulder.

It was going to be a long, long night. And he wanted to be nowhere else in the world. Rig knew he was in trouble, and he was going to have to deal with it at some point. But not tonight.

He closed his eyes and willed sleep to find him.