Tyler crossed from the bedroom door to the bathroom, dodging bags and medical equipment and supplies that were strewn everywhere. The disaster was proof that Kinsey wasn’t as good as she claimed. So was the fact that Dad still hadn’t stopped throwing up.
The stench of it filled the air.
As Tyler paused outside the bathroom door, his sock slipped in something wet. Though the pale light from the bedside lamp didn’t reach the spot where he stood, he didn’t need any illumination to know what he’d stepped in.
Cringing, he started to back up, then paused. He needed to take off the sock first so that he didn’t track vomit through the rest of the room or even the house.
From the main living area off the bedroom, he could hear the faint sounds of Anson making breakfast for both Mom and Wyatt. The voices were quiet and happy, soft laughter mingling with the clinking of dishes.
Tyler could understand Wyatt’s steady, happy-go-lucky outlook. The child was still too young to understand the implications of his grandpa’s cancer diagnosis and the recent surgery. But Mom? She knew everything—the complications from the surgery, the possibility of infections or internal bleeding, the chance that chemotherapy would have to be put off too long, the risk that the remaining cancer could spread.
Even though the long-term outlook wasn’t great, the doctors had said that treatments were improving, and if they remained aggressive in fighting Dad’s cancer, he could live a few more years. Tyler was hoping he might be one of the small percentage who overcame it.
Mom claimed she was worried but that she didn’t want to borrow trouble from tomorrow. Instead, she said she was taking each day as it came so that she could find joy in every moment she had left with her husband.
Tyler admired her simplistic view, but that wasn’t the way he operated.
Sucking in a breath through his mouth, he bent and began to slip his sock off. In the process, he bumped against the bathroom door.
He froze.
Kinsey’s voice speaking gently to his dad came to a halt.
He didn’t want Kinsey to catch him standing there. She’d think he was eavesdropping or micromanaging her. And he wasn’t, was he? He was checking in on Dad, just like he’d been doing long before Kinsey had arrived and taken over.
Quickly he tugged at the soggy sock again. But as his fingers made contact with the slippery wetness, he had the sudden urge to gag.
The bathroom door flew open, revealing Kinsey wearing the same clothing she’d arrived in yesterday, except she was decidedly more rumpled. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun. Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes. And her face was pale.
Even so, there was no denying she was an incredibly beautiful woman. That had been evident from the first moment he’d run into her—literally—on the landing pad. Her face was smooth and her features flawless. Not only that, but she had the kind of body that could cause a man to drool—just the right curves, endlessly long legs, and honed muscles.
Not that he was drooling. He’d kept both his mouth and mind closed since he’d met her. No, he was merely acknowledging the facts.
A crease formed in her forehead above her nose. “May I help you?”
As he tried to formulate an excuse for why he was there, his fingers connected with the slimy sock again. He swallowed hard to keep from being sick to his stomach in front of her. But so what if he was sick? He didn’t care if he impressed her. He had nothing to prove. Besides, she would be leaving in a few days anyway.
Sucking in a breath, he managed to tug off his sock. He dropped it to the floor, then straightened. “How is Dad doing this morning?”
She cast a glance over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “I’ve got calls in to two different doctors to try to get a prescription for an antiemetic or neuromodulator to ease his nausea.”
“I thought he already had something.”
“He has a prokinetic to help with digestion, but it’s clearly not working.”
Tyler frowned. He didn’t like that this woman was trying to make changes. What if she suggested the wrong thing and Dad got worse? “Maybe we should fly him to Penrose and let a doctor there make the decision on what to do for him.”
She wiped her arm across her eyes and exhaled wearily.
“I’ll have Kade get the chopper ready.”
“No.” She dropped her arm and glared at him, the color of her eyes more blue than green in the dim lighting of the bedroom. “I can handle T.W. and his care.”
“Can you, though?”
“Yes, I’m managing just fine.”
“You fooled me.” Tyler glanced pointedly at the vomit spot at his feet before nodding to the disaster around the rest of the room.
