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Damn it. She was vulnerable around him, and the feeling, although stimulating, was not one she welcomed.
She didn’t believe in postponing unpleasant tasks. Pulling out her smartphone, she rapidly composed a text...
Case—I have a couple of employees out today, so I have to cover some shifts. I’ll be back at your place in a few days. Will give U a heads-up beforehand. Sorry for the inconvenience. Mellie Winslow
She added her name at the end because she wasn’t sure he had entered her contact info into his phone. Before she hit Send, she stared at the words. She was shooting for businesslike and professional.
Would he read her message in that vein, or was her genuine need to postpone the Baxter house going to be seen as a ploy to snag his attention? Oh, good grief. The man probably didn’t give a flip about whether or not his cleaning lady showed up. He probably flirted automatically.
She was making a mountain out of a molehill.
* * *
The next three days were long and physically taxing. Mellie worked hard, much as she had in the beginning. In her early twenties, by the sweat of her brow, she had turned Keep N Clean into a viable operation. Clearly, she needed to rethink her staffing situation, though. She couldn’t continue to work on a shoestring.
She needed enough flexibility to handle unexpected illness on the part of her employees as well as the occasional new customer like Case. The past two weeks were a wake-up call. If she really had dreams for expansion, she would have to take her game up a notch.
The one thing that needled her now was Case’s total lack of communication. Given his past behavior, she’d expected some kind of cheeky text from him in return. All she’d gotten was No problem, and that was it. Even this morning when she had messaged him to say she was returning to the B Hive Ranch, there had been no response.
Was he miffed with her for putting him off? Did he think a man in his position deserved to be kept at the top of the list? Maybe it wasn’t egalitarian, but the truth was, he did. The significant fee he was paying her, combined with the cachet of having him on her client list, made keeping Case happy a priority.
It was barely nine when she arrived at the ranch. She saw some activity out in the fields and down at the barn, but the house looked much as it always did. Case had probably been up at first light doing whatever he did when he wasn’t tormenting unsuspecting housekeepers.
Though she would have died before admitting it, her heart beat faster than normal as she ascended the front steps. Another weather front had moved in. The morning air was damp and cold, reminding her that Thanksgiving was not far off on the horizon. The date fell early this year.
Hesitating at the front door, she held her key in her hand. Case still hadn’t replied to her text saying she was on the way. But he hadn’t said not to come.
What if he was in bed with a woman? What if he hadn’t seen or heard her text? To stumble upon her client in a very personal moment would be humiliating in the extreme.
Muttering beneath her breath, she closed her eyes and wrinkled her nose, berating herself silently for having such a ridiculously over-the-top imagination.
At last, she knocked firmly, listened and finally opened the door. The house seemed empty. Besides, she’d heard the rumors about Case’s famous rules. He didn’t entertain females at his place.
After hovering in the foyer for several moments, she told herself she was being foolish. Today she was going to tackle Case’s kitchen. The sooner she started, the sooner she could escape, and maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with the aggravating rancher.
The house was cold, but she didn’t adjust the heat. By the time she’d been working for an hour she would be plenty warm. The windows in the yellow-toned kitchen were designed to let in lots of light, creating a cheery center to the house. But today the skies over Royal were gray and sullen.
November could go either way in Maverick County. At the moment, the weather was depressing and chilly to the bone.
Mellie left her jacket on, shivering in spite of herself. Her usual routine was to clean from the top down. Which meant unloading all the cabinets above the beautiful amber-toned granite countertop. In the utility cabinet she found a stepladder that was just tall enough to give her access all the way to the ceiling.
Cleaning the tops and outer surfaces of the cabinets was not so hard. But when she opened the first one, she grimaced. Dishes and other items were crammed in with no regard for maximizing space. There wasn’t even the barest nod toward order.
The best thing would be to empty everything and then come up with a system for replacing items in a manner that would make them easy for anyone to find. The contents of the first couple of cabinets were puzzling. On the very top shelves she found exquisite antique china...lots of it, cream-colored with an intricate pattern of yellow and gold. Farther down were ultramodern dishes in black and white.
She frowned. She was no designer, but the monochrome set looked as if it belonged in a high-end loft in SoHo, not a historic ranch house in Texas. Maybe Case thought the old stuff was not masculine enough for his taste. That was a shame, because there was a good possibility that the stacks of delicate porcelain were something that had been handed down through his family for generations.
Glassware was heavy. By the time she had emptied three cabinets—three shelves each—her back was aching. The little bottle of ibuprofen she kept in her purse was empty, but she remembered seeing some in Case’s bathroom.
In the elegant hallway with its hardwood floor and celadon walls, she stopped dead when she heard a sound. A groan. Not the house creaking as old houses often did, but something human.
She hurried her steps. “Mr. Baxter... Case?”
Another sound, this one muffled.
By the time she reached the open doorway to Case’s bedroom, she half expected to find him passed out on the floor, felled by a blow from a burglar. Her imagination ran rampant.
But the truth was equally distressing. Case lay facedown on his bed, wearing nothing except a white button-down shirt and gray boxer briefs.
Thank goodness he was facedown. Her first response was honest and self-revelatory but not pertinent to the situation.
Was he drunk? Surely not on a weekday before noon. She said his name again, approaching the bed with all the caution of a zookeeper entering the cage of a sleeping lion.
When she was close enough to touch him, her brain processed the available info. His head was turned toward her, his face flushed with color. Thick eyelashes lay against his cheeks. His lips were parted, his breathing harsh.
Ever so gently, she laid her hand against his forehead. The man was burning up with fever. Case Baxter had the flu. Or at least something equally serious.
He moaned again as she touched him. When he turned on his side toward her, she stroked his hair before she realized what she was doing. It was the same caress she would have used with a hurting child.
But Case was no child. His big masculine body shook uncontrollably, though his tanned chest was sheened with sweat. She probably shouldn’t have noticed his chest, but with his shirt completely unbuttoned, his flat belly and the dusting of dark hair at his midriff were hard to miss.
Her knees were less than steady, and she felt a bit woozy. Even passed out cold, Case did something to her. Something not entirely comfortable.
Ignoring her inappropriate reactions to the half-naked man, she pushed and pulled at him until she had him covered all the way to the neck. Case’s limbs were deadweight. The rest of him was equally heavy.
She sat down at the edge of the bed. On top of the covers. “Case?” she said. “Can you hear me?”
He muttered and stirred restlessly.
“Case.” She put a hand on his shoulder, injecting a note of authority, hoping to pierce the layers of illness that shrouded him.
His eyelids fluttered. “What?” The word was slurred.
How long had he been like this? People died from the flu. Not that Case was elderly or an infant, but still. “You need a doctor,” she said firmly. “Who can I call?”
The patient scrunched up his face. “Head hurts.”
Those two words destroyed her defenses entirely. Her newest client might be handsome and rich and arrogant as heck, but right now he was just a man in need of help. “I’ll get you some medicine,” she said. “But I need to check with your doctor.”
“Call Parker.” The command was almost inaudible.
She knew who he meant. Parker Reese was a gifted doctor who had saved more than one newborn at Royal Memorial Hospital. Parker and Case were friends. But for the flu?
“Don’t you have a regular doctor?”
“Call Parker...”
This time she could barely hear the words. “Sure,” she groused. “I’ll call a very busy specialist in the middle of the day to talk about a case of the flu.” But she didn’t really have much choice. Picking up Case’s phone from the bedside table, she sighed when she realized she couldn’t access his contacts.
She shook his shoulder again. “I need your code, Case.”
“2...2...2...2.”
Was he delirious, or did he really have such a ridiculously easy password? Apparently the latter, because it worked. Seconds later she located Parker Reese’s info and hit the green button.
She fully expected to get an answering machine, but on the third ring, a deep masculine voice answered. “Hey, Case. I’m about to go into surgery. What’s up?”
Mellie flushed. Luckily, the highly educated doctor couldn’t see her face. “Dr. Reese, this is Mellie Winslow. I showed up at Case Baxter’s house this morning to clean and found him passed out on the bed. I think it’s the flu, but I have no idea how long he’s been like this.”
“Several of us played poker last night. Case left early. Must have been feeling bad. I have a full schedule today, but I’ll pop by this evening.”
“And in the meantime?”
“Push fluids. Alternate acetaminophen and ibuprofen every two hours. Chicken soup and anything else bland.”
“I don’t think he’s going to be eating anytime soon, but I’ll try.”
Parker’s voice changed. “Do you want me to send out a nurse?”
Mellie hesitated. Two seconds. Three at the most. “Thank you, but no. I can do my work and look in on him from time to time. I don’t think he would be happy if we brought a stranger in to look after him.”
“Good point.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“No worries. I’m glad you did. I’ll be by later to check on you both.”
Mellie ended the call and stared at the man in the bed. Somehow she had gone from being a paid housekeeper to a volunteer nurse.
What would Case Baxter think of this new development?
Six (#u047f3563-69a3-5384-8cea-74b4d0356db5)
Mellie located both medicines and fetched orange juice from the kitchen, as well as a notepad to record the time. She didn’t want to be responsible for overmedicating her patient. With a little prayer for patience, she returned to the bedroom.
It was a relief to know that Case hadn’t been lying sick and alone in this big house for three days. But that also meant he still had tough hours ahead of him. The flu had hit early this year and with a vengeance. Many people had been caught off guard, thinking they still had time to get a flu shot. Fortunately, Mellie had already gotten hers.
Now she knew why Case hadn’t answered her text this morning. He’d been out cold, maybe since he’d stumbled home last night. Poor man. She sat on the edge of the bed again, choosing to ignore the fact that the poor man was worth seven or eight figures. Even so, he was human. And at the moment he needed her.
She put a straw in the juice since she wasn’t sure she could coax him into sitting up. “Case...” She spoke in a loud voice, hoping to rouse him. He stirred but didn’t open his eyes.
“Case.” She touched his arm. While she’d been in the kitchen, he had tossed back the covers. His body was still hidden from the waist down, but a broad masculine chest was on display.
His skin was hot. Too hot. She said his name a third time. Finally, he lifted one eyelid. “Leave me alone.”
Grumpy and sick was better than semiconscious. “Dr. Reese—Parker—said you need to drink some juice and take something for your fever.”
Case rolled to his side, taking the covers with him. He started shivering again. Big, visible tremors that shook the bed. “Parker c-c-can kiss my a-a-ass.”
Exasperated, she glared at the lump of truculent male. “You told me to call him.”
“Did not.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” She moved around to the other side of the bed and crouched so she could reach his mouth with the straw. “Drink this. Now.” She was only slightly astonished when he opened his lips and sucked down a good portion of the OJ.
The muscles in his throat worked. “Tastes good.”
“Of course it does. Now open up one more time. You have to swallow these pills.”
She tapped his chin. He cooperated, downing the medicine without protest, but afterward he blinked and focused his fever-glazed eyes on Mellie. “Did you just poison me?” he asked.
“Don’t tempt me.” She glanced at the clock. Hopefully, his temperature would improve in half an hour or so. She grabbed the extra blanket from the foot of the bed and spread it over Case. “Better?”
His nod was barely perceptible. “Thank you.”
Those two words went a long way. He might be sick and ornery, but at least he had enough sense not to alienate the only person helping him. “I’ll check on you again in a bit. Sleep, Case. That’s all you need to do.”
Unexpectedly, he reared up in the bed. “Gotta go to the bathroom.” He lurched to his feet before she could stop him. And promptly fell over like a giant redwood. His head caught the edge of the bedside table as he went down. A trickle of blood oozed from the small wound.
Dear God in heaven. Save me from stubborn men. She got down on her knees beside him. “Are you okay?”
He rolled to his back, his face ashen. “I never get sick,” he said, a look of puzzlement creasing his brow.
His bafflement would have been funny in another situation. But their predicament erased any humor she felt. How in the heck was she going to put him back in bed?
“Can you get on your hands and knees?” she asked. “I’ll help you up.”
“Of course I can.” Five seconds passed. Then ten. Case didn’t move. His eyes were half-open, his attention focused upward. “Please tell me there aren’t really snakes on my ceiling.”
“Your fever is very high. Those are swirly lines in the paint.”
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes, and his breathing became heavy.
Mellie rubbed his arm. “You said you needed to visit the bathroom. Let’s go.” Her heart contracted in sympathy, but she kept the drill-sergeant tone in her voice.
She pushed on his hip, hoping to give him a nudge in the right direction. Finally, muttering and coughing, he rolled over and struggled onto his knees.
“Good,” she said. All men responded to praise, right?
Putting her arm around his shoulders, she urged him upward, her back screaming in protest. Fortunately, his brain got the message, and he finally stood all the way upright, albeit with a little stagger.
Slowly, carefully, she maneuvered him toward the open bathroom door. She had cleaned every inch of this luxurious space. It was now as familiar to her as her own. But somehow, with the master of the house sharing it with her, the area shrank.
Case noticed himself in the mirror. His mouth gaped. “I look like hell.”
“No argument there.” She steered him toward the commode.
Her patient locked his knees suddenly, nearly toppling both of them. “I don’t need your help.”
