Mail-Order Millionaire (19 page)

“One hundred percent sunshine, winds averaging twelve miles per hour. Not like any March I’ve ever seen.” He shook his head. “I’d rather see some weather up here.”

Max nodded. He’d rather see some weather, too. It would give him something to do, a reason to justify his existence, a way to keep his mind off Miranda. There was no challenge in reading instruments under a clear sky with no precipitation to measure. He went inside to escape the sunshine and to read the logs from the past week. But reading Jack’s small print made his head hurt more and he lay down on the daybed in the corner, where he fell asleep in broad daylight.

The ringing of the telephone woke him up. He staggered to his feet, wondering where he was and how he got there. It was Ariel, Miranda’s sister.

“It’s been two weeks,” she explained. “I hope you didn’t get the chicken pox.”

“No, no,” he assured her, scratching his stomach through his polo shirt. “I’m just fine.”

“That’s good. I’ve been worried about you. So has Miranda.”

He reached for the light switch above the desk. “Has she?” By now he should know to take everything Ariel said with a grain of salt, but it was possible, just possible, that Miranda might worry about him. On the other hand... “Well, tell her I’m fine.” He would be fine, too, as soon as his head stopped pounding and this rash on his stomach went away.

Ariel told him how much the boys appreciated their visit to the weather station and how one of them was back in school and the other one had just come down with chicken pox.

“What did you say the symptoms were?” Max asked.

“A fever and a red, itchy rash.”

“On the stomach?”

“You mean you’ve got it? I knew it. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. Don’t move. Help is on the way.”

“I don’t need help,” he assured her. “It’s just a kid’s disease.”

“A kid’s disease that’s serious for adults.”

“Not for me,” he said, switching off the light and closing his eyes. “I’m okay.”

Ariel caught Miranda on her way out of the building that Friday evening. She grabbed the raglan sleeve of Miranda’s parka. “Stop. Max has chicken pox. You’ve got to get up there right away.”

Miranda’s eyes widened and her heart stopped beating for a second. “Why, what happened?”

“It’s what could happen. In adults chicken pox can lead to pneumonia, and pneumonia can lead to death.”

Miranda stared at her under the single light in the parking lot. “How do you know?”

“I called him,” Ariel explained. “I knew he’d never say anything unless I pried it out of him. That’s the way men are. But I can tell he’s suffering. I’d go if I could, but I have Brian....”

Miranda ran her hand distractedly across the hood of her car. “I don’t know anything about childhood diseases.”

“Yes, you do. You were wonderful with Scott the other day. We can’t stand here talking. Follow me to my house. I’ll give you all the stuff you’ll need and you can leave from there. And don’t worry about the horses. I’ll send Rob out there to feed them.”

Her head spinning, Miranda followed her sister to her house. Scott, now recovered, was chasing the cat around the dining-room table. Brian was on the couch watching TV and Rob was in the garage. Upstairs in the bedroom, Ariel filled a tote bag with old towels to make compresses, aspirin and some long underwear. She added more clothes for Miranda and some lotion to relieve itching.

“Oh, and here’s the Doctor’s Guide to Children’s Health.” Ariel held up a well-worn paperback book. “Don’t lose it, I use it all the time.”

“I can see that.” Miranda turned the dog-eared pages to the section on chicken pox. She read the part about pneumonia leading to death and she slammed the book shut, dropped it into the canvas bag and said goodbye.

“I’ll call that nice man who drives the tractor,” Ariel said, following her sister down the stairs, “and tell him it’s a medical emergency and ask him to meet you at the bottom of the mountain to give you a ride up.” Before Miranda left she handed her a plastic container of her homemade beef barley soup.

Miranda nodded and got into her car. She wondered if Fred would really meet her in the Sno-Cat. Two hours and many miles later she saw he was waiting just where he had been the last time.

“Should I call a doctor?” he asked as she got into the Sno-Cat with her overflowing canvas bag.

“I don’t know. I’ll have to see how he is when I get up there.”

“You a nurse?”

“Not really. I’m just a friend.”

“Aren’t you the lady with the boots?” He peered into her bag. “What’cha got this time?”

“A few first-aid items.”

“Good. I didn’t think he looked so good the last time I saw him.”

“When was that?”

“About two weeks ago. I’ve been on paternity leave. He’d been skiing, but underneath the suntan, he looked peaked to me.”

That made two of them, Miranda thought, anxiously clutching her sack. Did Max expect her? What if he didn’t want her? What if he didn’t want anybody? Maybe she should ask Fred to wait while she went in and asked. But when Fred stopped the Sno-Cat in front of the observatory, she jumped out of the Sno-Cat and never looked back. She pictured Max lying on his back unconscious, his long tall body covered with red spots. She scarcely heard Fred wish her good luck as he gunned the engine for the trip back down the mountain. Despite her heavy bag she took the steps to the heavy front door two at a time, and pounded against it with her fist. When he didn’t answer she let herself in. The room was pitch-dark.

She stumbled across the floor and switched on the light above the desk. There in the corner on the daybed Max lay sleeping with one arm over his head as if to protect himself. She’d never seen him asleep before, never known him to look as vulnerable as he did now. Her heart turned over and her eyes smarted with tears. She crossed the room and stood by the side of his bed. His chin was grazed with the dark stubble of a beard, his forehead dotted with red spots. She wanted to lay her palm against his cheek and hold his hand. She wanted to put her arms around him and tell him everything was going to be all right. But was it?

Under her gaze he shifted to his side and opened his eyes just a crack. “Oh Lord,” he muttered, “now I’m delirious.”

“Max,” she whispered, kneeling down next to his bed. “How are you?”

“Miranda?” he said, rubbing his eyes with his fist. “How did you get here?”

“In the Sno-Cat. We were worried. I heard... Ariel said... Are you all right?”

“Fine. Just tired. Tried to go out... couldn’t.”

“No, no, you can’t go out. Can’t do anything. You might get pneumonia and... and...” She blinked back the tears that sprung to her eyes again. He wouldn’t get pneumonia and he wouldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him. “You’ve got to rest.”

He cracked a half smile. “I am resting.”

Encouraged by his smile, she leaned forward on her knees and tilted her head to look into his eyes.

He held out his hand to stop her. “Don’t get too close. You’ll catch whatever I’ve got.”

“Chicken pox. I’ve already had it.”

“Well, in that case...” He reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. His fingers were strong but his palm was warm, too warm. He closed his eyes and pressed her hand to his cheek. “I don’t understand how you got here, but I’m glad you came. Maybe you told me, but my brain’s not working very well.”

“I came to take care of you.”

He shook his head slowly. “You can’t do that. You’ve got the farm and the horses and your job.”

“This is the weekend. I don’t have anything else to do but take care of you.”

“I don’t want to be taken care of,” he protested.

“You took care of me,” she reminded him lightly, turning her hand in his to feel the calluses on his palm, reminding her of all the hard work he’d done for her. “Remember what you said, that if you were sick you’d let me put you to bed and even kiss you good-night.”

There was no mistaking the smile that angled the corners of his mouth or the gleam in his half-closed eyes. “Anytime,” he muttered. “Anytime.”

Reluctantly Miranda eased her hand out of his and got up off the floor. If she could make him well by putting him to bed and kissing him good-night, she would, but first she had to bring down the fever and make him comfortable. She covered him with a blanket and went to put the soup on the stove and soak the towels in cold water. Then she sat by his bed in the same chair she’d fallen asleep in the last time she was there, holding a cold compress on his head while he drifted in and out of sleep. In her other hand she held the medical guide and read about chicken pox.

Sometimes he muttered something about the clouds and the precipitation or the wind speed. She brushed back the thick blond hair that stuck to his forehead and prayed that he only had chicken pox. What if she hadn’t come? What if he’d been lying here alone and he got pneumonia? When he blinked his eyes she put her arm around him and helped him sit up.

“You’re still here,” he said, squinting at her with bleary eyes.

She nodded and handed him a glass of apple juice. Seeing him lying helpless almost made her forget how independent he usually was. As for her, she’d had enough independence for the moment. She was ready to admit she couldn’t manage the farm by herself, but only to herself. She’d never admit it to Max or to her sister, they’d jump to conclusions. Independence was a quality she admired but hadn’t quite achieved yet. If she were more independent she wouldn’t feel this longing steal over her, this desire to be where he was, to share his thoughts, his hopes and his dreams.

She knew he wanted her. She saw the look in his eyes, felt the heat of his touch, but she also knew that his hopes and dreams didn’t include her, no matter how much he desired her.

He set his glass down on the table next to the bed. “Tell me again why you’re here and who you are.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Max, don’t you know?”

“Humor me. I want to touch you and hear you talk so I know I’m not dreaming.”

She leaned back in her chair and gave in. The least you could do for an adult with chicken pox was to humor them. “Okay, I’m Miranda Morrison. I came to take care of you because you’re sick, but normally I’m in customer service.”

A crooked grin creased his face. “Some service.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand. The current from his body flowed to hers and back again. They made a closed circuit. His fever was bringing back his Southern accent. She felt her defenses crumbling.

“Why is it the only time you and I are in the vicinity of a bed together one of us is too sick to do anything about it?” he asked.

“If we weren’t, I’m afraid of what might happen. I’m afraid of what you do to me,” she muttered under her breath.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said, turning on his side and holding her hand against his heart so she could hear it pound.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said half to herself. She pulled her hand away and sat up straight in her chair, summoning her strength. “We’ve been through this before. And it always comes out the same way. There’s an attraction between us. I feel it and you feel it. But I’ve got a farm to run that needs all my money and all my attention. You’ve got a job that requires half your time and all your interest. And that’s why we only get together when one of us is sick, when one of us needs the other.”

“What if I said I needed you all the time,” he suggested, his eyes bright and feverish.

“You mean half the time.”