Dad In Blue. Shelley Cooper

any woman he’d ever known.

      Her words echoed in his ears. Much more of this flattery, and my ego will be totally deflated. Could she have wanted him to flatter her? His heart gave a wild leap in the seconds before reality jolted him roughly back to earth.

      “Sorry,” he said stiffly, “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

      “I was just teasing,” she chided. “Can’t you take a joke?”

      Apparently not. The old Carlo would have taken it in stride. Not only that, he would have given back as good as he got, and thoroughly enjoyed himself in the process. But the old Carlo had died, and a new Carlo had been born in his place. A Carlo who had made the decision to drift aimlessly for a while, to go with the flow and see what happened. The old Carlo would have been appalled at this lack of direction and purpose. But then, the old Carlo hadn’t turned out to be such an admirable fellow, so who was he to complain?

      And the new Carlo had had enough self-examination for one day, he decided, when the unpleasant memories threatened to push past the barriers of his subconscious.

      “Is Jeffrey ready?”

      “I’ll check.” Samantha turned to call up the stairs. “Jeffrey, Carlo’s here.”

      Considering that she could have been the poster girl for Webster’s definition of death warmed over, her voice was surprisingly strong.

      Carlo decided that he liked the way his name sounded on her lips. He liked it a lot. As a matter of fact, he liked it so much he wanted to hear her say it again. How would it feel, he mused, to hear her cry his name during the throes of passion, and then again, softly, once that passion had been sated?

      Two thumps echoed from the ceiling. When Samantha turned back to him, he gave a guilty start at the realization of the direction his thoughts had wandered. He felt his cheeks grow even ruddier as he tried to school his expression into neutrality, so that those very thoughts weren’t visible on his face. What on earth was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he control himself when he was around her?

      “That’s Jeffrey’s signal that he’ll be down in a minute,” she said. “We were a little late getting started this morning, and he just got out of the shower.” She swayed and reached out for the newel post at the foot of the stairs.

      Mentally cursing his wayward libido, Carlo moved quickly to her side and took her by the arm. The heat coming off her skin seared him as he led her into the den. The pillow and blanket already lying on the sofa bore witness to the fact that his arrival had disturbed her rest.

      Samantha’s strength seemed to ebb out of her as he helped her settle onto the sofa, and he wondered exactly how hard she’d had to work not to let on how rotten she was feeling. If her sudden weakness was any indication, she’d used up valuable stores of energy; energy that should have gone to fighting her fever.

      “You’re burning up,” he said, tucking the blanket securely around her.

      “It’s just a slight temperature.”

      “Right,” he muttered. “And the Nile is just a stream. At a guess, I’d put that slight temperature of yours at 102.4 degrees.”

      Her eyebrows climbed. Despite her weakness, she managed to look amused.

      “Do you always estimate to the tenth degree?”

      “For temperatures, I do. And, I might add, I’m usually right.”

      He made sure the pillow was centered beneath her head before straightening and looking down at her. She seemed so small and defenseless that he was overcome by an urge to stay by her side until she was well again. For a man who didn’t want any responsibilities, he seemed to be racking them up right and left: first Jeffrey, and now the boy’s mother.

      “Just how did you come by this talent of yours?” she asked, her voice a near whisper.

      It took him a beat to realize what she was talking about. “Let’s just say I’ve nursed a fever or two in my time. You’ve got a doozy. While it won’t kill you, it will sap your strength. What you need is plenty of fluids and rest.”

      “Yes, doctor.”

      He had to smile. Samantha Underwood was a nurse. She didn’t need him telling her how to treat her illness. Still…

      “Is there anyone I can call to come in and stay with you? A friend? Neighbor?”

      “I’m not an invalid,” she protested. She tried to rise up on her elbows and fell back against the sofa. “I’ve been taking care of myself for quite some time now. I think I can manage for a while longer.”

      How did she expect to take care of herself, let alone an eight-year-old boy, when she could barely lift her head off the pillow? Carlo knew better, however, than to give voice to the question. Pointing out the obvious would only make her even more defensive.

      “What about your mother? Maybe she could come over and keep Jeffrey occupied, so you can get the rest you need.”

      Samantha closed her eyes and turned her face toward the wall. “Mom’s away on a cruise. Besides, you’re taking Jeffrey out for the afternoon. That’ll give me all the rest I need.”

      Considering the thinness of her body and the circles under her eyes, Carlo doubted it. Samantha was in need of a lot more than a few hours sleep.

      If he couldn’t talk her into getting help, at least he could do everything in his power to assure the outcome she seemed so certain of. For Jeffrey’s sake, of course. Turning on his heel, he headed for the kitchen.

      “Where are you going?”

      “To get you some water,” he called over his shoulder.

      The countertop that had been covered with freshly baked cookies a week ago was a mess. An open loaf of bread teetered on the edge of the white Formica surface; two slices had already fallen to the floor. Beside the bread lay a knife that was smeared liberally with peanut butter and grape jelly. Equally smeared were the countertop itself and the two open containers from which both substances originated. An empty glass sat in a puddle of milk. Obviously, Jeffrey had fixed his own lunch.

      Under normal circumstances, Carlo would never consider rummaging around in a stranger’s cupboards. But these weren’t normal circumstances, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb Samantha to ask where she kept things. He’d just have to rely on his intuition to lead him to the items he needed. After all, he’d once been able to find a cache of stolen jewels in under one minute by letting his intuition lead him to the most likely hiding spot. How hard would it be to find things that were meant to be found?

      After cleaning up the mess Jeffrey left, it took him less than thirty seconds to find a tall glass, a tray and a pitcher, which he filled with ice and water. When he spied the bottle of aspirin on the counter, he called, “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

      “Not yet,” came the weak reply.

      He’d placed the aspirin bottle on the tray and was about to return to the den, when his glance landed on the telephone. His brother Marco was a doctor. While he had the opportunity, he might as well get the opinion of a professional.

      Carlo felt a lot better after speaking to Marco. So long as Samantha got plenty of fluids and rest, so long as her fever didn’t rise to a dangerous level, and so long as she didn’t exhibit any worrisome signs like convulsions, she should be okay.

      “Hold out your hand,” he ordered after placing the tray on the coffee table. When she complied, he shook two aspirin into her palm, then helped her to a sitting position before pouring a glass of water and handing it to her. “Drink.”

      He waited until she drained the glass to say, “You should be all set here. There’s plenty of water for you whenever you’re thirsty. There are also some crackers, in case you feel like nibbling on anything. Can I find you something to watch on television? Bring you the remote control? A book?”

      “No,