She awoke an hour later feeling even worse. Mitch was bathing her face
and neck with a damp cloth. "That's quite some cold," he muttered.
"It just hung on. I thought it'd be better by now."
"Why did you leave New York in the first place? You should have stayed
in bed."
He was annoyed with her. She thought that was unfair. "It wasn't snowing
at home," she argued. "I had no idea I'd run into this mess, or that it
would get so bad so fast."
"Forget the weather. You should have been in bed anyway, with a cold
like this."
"Good God, Mitch, I can't put my life on hold every time I get a cold."
"Yeah, well if you don't take better care of yourself, you may put your
life on permanent hold. Colds can turn into pneumonia, and people die
from pneumonia."
She teared up. "I just wanted to be here with you." She turned onto her
side, away from his glower, and pulled the covers up around her ears.
She was startled when Mitch lifted her, covers and all, and held her
tightly. From time to time he dipped his head, touching his lips to her
hair, her brow, or her eyes. His voice was softer when he finally spoke.
"Don't think I didn't want to see you as much. I did. But we could have
come next week."
"Someone else may be here next week."
"No one will be here."
"How do you know?" she cried with a touch of indignance.
Looking suddenly resigned, he shifted her in his arms and ran a hand
back through his hair. "Because this is my house. Miles Cooper works for
me. He rents it out when I'm not planning to be here."
The puzzle piece fell into place. Hoarsely, she said, "Oh, my. It
figures, I guess. Helps explain the original mix-up. And why you prefer
this bed. It's yours."
"There won't be any more mix-ups, Annie. I've taken the house off
Miles's rental list. From now on we'll be the only ones who use it."
Before Anne could grasp the full implication of that, a new shudder
shook her. She burrowed against him, seeking warmth for her extremities.
Gently, he laid her down and disappeared. He returned moments later and
lifted her head. "Aspirin," he explained before she could ask. "Open
your mouth."
She was a docile patient, too weak to protest his pampering, too pleased
by it to want to protest. He kept her pumped with broth and aspirin for
most of the night, dozing beside her under the quilt. One part of his
body always touched her. She couldn't so much as turn over when he was
up on an elbow, concerned. In other circumstances, the sleeping
arrangement would have been heady. But Anne's senses were blunted by
fever.
The next day was a mass of hours blurred together. Her fever stayed high
despite the medicine. Increasingly, her whole body suffered when she
coughed.
"What is the matter with me?" she cried in frustration, when she awoke
late in the afternoon feeling no better.
Mitch took her hot hand in his. "I'm not sure. As soon as the road is
plowed, I'm taking you to the doctor."
"Has it stopped snowing?"
"Finally."
"How much is on the ground?"
"A little over a foot. It makes the plowing slower, though the folks up
here are well-equipped."
"Mitch?" She rolled onto her back to see his face, as he sat beside her
on the bed. Her voice was weak, but something had been nagging at her.
"Yes?"
"If you own this house, then you have access to the names and addresses
of the renters. Yes?"
He looked amused. "Yes."
"Then you know who I am."
"No."
"But you have that information."
"Miles has that information. I suppose I could see it if I wanted to,
and I've been tempted a time or two, but I haven't peeked."
Anne wasn't sure whether to be relieved or hurt.
He laughed.
"What's so funny?" she grumbled.
"You. Your face hides nothing!"
"I'm that transparent? It's not fair, y'know."
"What isn't fair?"
"Me ... here ... at your mercy. With my transparent face and all, I feel
naked."
"Except for the good graces of my shirt, darling', you are," he drawled.
"That's not what I mean, and you know it," she scolded and broke into a
spasm of coughing. When she quieted, he ran cool fingers across her hot
cheek. It felt good.
"You talk too much, Annie. Rest your voice now."
At the silence that followed, a sound filtered in from outside. "The
plow!" Mitch was on his feet, stopping only at the bedroom door to call,
"Don't move until I get back!" Then he was gone.
She lay there for what seemed hours. Finally, she struggled out of bed
to use the bathroom. Her reflection in the mirror appalled her-pale
skin, red cheeks, dark and sunken eyes. Her hand trembled as she sorted
through Mitch's toiletries for a comb. Halfway combing her hair, her
knees began to knock. Dropping the comb, she clutched at the edges of
the sink for support. That was when the bathroom door opened.
"What are you doing out of bed?" He scooped her up and carried her back,
and the bed felt like heaven, the quilt even more so. "Next time," he
taunted, "you might just pass out in the middle of the floor. Will you
stay in bed?"
"I just went to the bathroom."
"Good. You should be set for a while. Where are the keys to your car?"
She tried to remember. "I think I put them in the pocket of my jeans."
He vanished and returned moments later with the keys in hand. "I'm
hitching a ride with the plow down to your car. It may take me a little
while to dig it out. Does it have snow tires?" When she nodded, he said,
"Good. I'll be back as soon as I can, then I'm taking you to the
doctor."
"Mitch-" Her hoarse call caught him at the door. "Your arm-is it all
right to shovel?"
She heard a sharp intake of breath, then a grunt. "It'll do."
While he was gone, she suffered. Her head hurt, her sinuses hurt, her
throat hurt, her chest hurt, her legs hurt. Curled up in misery, she
prayed for sleep.
She must have dozed off, because it seemed only minutes before Mitch
returned with a gruff foot-stamping at the front door. Lacking the
strength to call out, she waited until he appeared by her bedside, ruddy
checked from the cold, but eager to pack her up and leave.
He did it without a fuss, simply snatching her up, quilt and all, and
carrying her out. He stopped short at the front door. Swearing softly,
he back tracked and deposited her on the sofa, went into the kitchen,
and returned with her wool hat, which was now warm and dry. He put it on
her head, scooped her up again and didn't put her down until they
reached his car.
She wheezed heavily for most of the trip into the village. Between
darkness and the new walls of snow lining the roads, there wasn't much
for the headlights to pick out.
He parked in front of a tiny clinic, ran around the car, and hoisted her
up. He had had the driver of the plow call ahead. A doctor was waiting
inside.
Thirty minutes later he carried her back to the car. "Bronchial
pneumonia. Good show, Annie," he teased gently as he tucked her into the
passenger's seat again.
Weary, she caught his eye. "Do you have my pills?"
He patted the spot where the upper-left breast pocket of his shirt would
be. "Right here. Are you comfortable?"
"Comfortable?" she shot back hoarsely. "I've been poked, X-rayed, stuck
with needles, and carted around like I had no feelings at all." She
scowled. "I feel hot and cold and achy. And you ask if I'm comfortable?"
She looked away. "Don't ask."
Mitch chuckled. Slamming the door, he circled the car to the driver's
side and slid behind the wheel with remarkable ease, given his length.
"At least your good humor is intact," he teased. "Let's go home. The
doctor ordered warmth, rest, and lots of hot liquid. We'd better get to
it."
For the next three days they followed the doctor's orders to a tee, with
Mitch in command, dictating when each pill was to be taken, when she was
to eat and sleep. She felt miserable for another full day before the
medication began to take effect. Only then did she dare to balk at the
strict regimen.
"I'm going to turn into a chicken if I drink one more drop of this soup.
It's awful," she complained when he appeared on Tuesday morning with
another mug of broth. "I feel better today. Honestly I do." She was
sitting up against the headboard of the bed, dressed in her own flannel
nightgown.
"You still sound lousy," he informed her, as though that settled that,
but she was impatient.
"If you don't want to hear my noise," she croaked, "don't good me into
conversation. Isn't it about time I went upstairs to the other bedroom?"
He grinned. "You don't like sleeping with me?"
"I'm not 'sleeping' with you, as the expression goes. It's more like
sleeping in spite of you. You may think that I'm out of it, but I feel
you beside me. I know you're there ... all night! You touch me just
enough to make sure I'm all right, but that's all. What fun is that?"
She broke into a fit of coughing from which only Mitch's firm slap on
the back saved her. He stayed to gently rub her neck and shoulders, his
touch growing more seductive by the minute. She hadn't been aware of his
other hand on her midriff until it moved upward. Her breast tingled at
its touch. She gasped, but couldn't pull away. His palm passed around
and over her nipple, teasing it through the soft flannel. She gripped
his arm, as much to hold it there as for support.
"It isn't much tin, is it?" he said, "but you'll stay down here for now,
where I can keep an eye on you. In a few days you can go back upstairs."
"In a few days I'll be going home." A sad thought, indeed. At his urging
she lay back on the pillow. Her eyes held his. She waited. "Something
has to give," he said. "You know that, don't you, Annie?"
She nodded. They were nearing the point where a kiss alone wasn't
enough. Same with the occasional week together.
"Are you ready for more?" he asked.
"Are you?"
"I asked first."
"I can't answer until I know more. Tell me about your family."
His eyes held hers. "There isn't much to tell. My parents are alive and
well in Manhattan. My father is retired. He has been for several years
now. It's nice. Gives him time to spend doing other things."
"What did he do?"
Mitch grinned. "He was a concert pianist. I'm sure you'd recognize the
name if I told you." He didn't offer it, nor did she ask. That part of
the bargain held.
Anne was intrigued. "That's quite a switch-from concert pianist to
business tycoon in one generation. Was the musical ability passed on at
all?"
He smiled. "Can I carry a tune? Fairly. Can I play the piano? No. My
sister does, though."
Her eyes widened. "You have a sister? Is she older or younger than you?"
He gave the ceiling a one-eyed squint. "Older by ... let's see ...
three, no four, minutes."
"Years," she corrected quietly.
"Minutes," he reasserted, laughing.
"TWINS?"
He nodded.
"Oh, Mitch!" She was delighted. "That's marvelous! You must have had fun
growing up!"
"Not really. She was always taller, smarter, and faster than I was."
"And now?"
He grinned. "I've caught up."
"There must have been some advantage to being the runt of the litter,"
she teased.
"Oh, there was. My mother pampered me more. She felt sorry for me."
A mischievous gleam danced in his eyes. "I suppose that's why I still
have the need to touch and be touched." He took her hand between his
two. Anne refused to be distracted. "Are there other twins in the
family?"
He shook his head. "Just Liz and me."
"Liz?" A bell rang. She smiled when Mitch realized his slip. "Hmmmm ...
Liz," she repeated with an accusing lilt.
He grew sheepish. "Now you know my secrets."
"That was Liz with you at the restaurant before Christmas."
"Uh-huh."
"Is she married?"
"It didn't work out. But lately she's been seeing a nice guy."
"What does she do with her music?"
"Actually, she's more a harpist than a pianist."
"Beautiful!" Anne exclaimed.
"Not while she was first learning," he muttered.
Anne gave him a nudge. "You're jealous of her talent."
"Maybe." He raised her hand and kissed her fingers in true continental
style, then left her alone to rest.
That night Anne had a nightmare. It was more frightening than any she'd
had since she'd been a child. Bolting upright in bed, drenched in a cold
sweat, she struggled to catch her breath until Mitch's arms came around
her.
"What is it, honey?" he asked in alarm. The room was dim, bathed eerily
in the blue light of the moon as it spilled over the snow in the yard.
"A nightmare. Oh, God, it was awful." She trembled in spite of his
steadying hold.
"Want to tell me about it?"
"It's that court case hanging over my head."
"What court case?"
"The accident. My husband's family has been pushing me to sue for
