She lays on her couch, pulling a quilt over her. “I suppose Laura blabbed.”
“She did.” Pulling her side chair closer, I sit to talk to her. Reaching out, I touch my palm to her forehead. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Oh, are you Dr. Nate now?”
“I’m a father. I know what a fever feels like.”
A frown appears on her pretty face. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You feel like shit.” Standing, I make my way into her kitchen. “When was the last time you took a fever reducer?”
“A while.”
“Can you be more specific?”
She admits that she hasn’t taken one since this morning, so I search her cupboards in her kitchen, then head into the bathroom. I finally discover the bottle on her nightstand, but it’s empty. Back in the living room, I stop in front of her. “You’re out. I’m gonna run to the pharmacy. Need anything else?”
She shakes her head and mumbles, “No.”
No matter. I know what supplies worked on my children. Something with electrolytes usually helped. I should check to see if she’s got any bread, but I don’t bother. I’ll pick some up just in case. Dry toast is always a fan favorite in situations like this. My mind is adding things to the list as I make my way to my bike. Chicken noodle soup, crackers, broth, and popsicles were always good remedies.
Don’t ask me why I feel the need to take care of Prudence. I think you already know why. I’ve just got to wrap my head around it. That’ll wait. First things first. Take care of this sweet lady, and analyze the reasons why later.
ChapterSeventeen
Prudence
I don’t knowhow long he was gone, but now he’s back holding a bunch of grocery bags. How the heck did he carry those on his motorcycle? Better question, why is he here at all? Here’s the thing, though. I couldn’t care less. I feel so cruddy that all I want to do is roll up into a ball and sleep. Except the clanging around that’s going on in my kitchen is making that impossible. “Shhh.”
“Sorry.”
Good. He heard me.
I roll onto my side and come face-to-face with a bottle of something red. “Drink this.”
“No.” It looks terrible. “Not red.”
“This’ll keep you from gettin’ dehydrated. Drink up, Prudence.”
“Yuck.”
“I’ve got purple and orange if red isn’t your thing.”
“Purple.” Ordinarily, I love grape, but right this minute, even that sounds terrible. Still, he’s got a point. Dehydration is no joke. It could be one reason I feel so awful if I’m being honest. Something cool touches my cheek, and I look up at the man holding a bottle of purple liquid.
“Here you go. Lid is off, so you need to sit up, honey.” His voice is soft, gentle even. If I felt better, I’d probably say something but I don’t so I won’t. In his free hand, he’s holding two fever-reducing tablets. “Take these.”
“So bossy.”
“Yeah, well, it’s okay to be demanding when I’m trying to help.” Then, he mumbles something that I can’t make out. “What’s your cat’s name?”
“Otto.”
“He’s a little shy.” That’s a nice way of saying he doesn’t like a lot of people.
“He and I are buds now. No worries.”
Buds? What does that mean? I’m too tired to ask. I take the pills and sip some of the drink. It doesn’t taste horrible. All of this activity is making me tired, so I set the bottle down beside me, roll over, and fall asleep.
