Mr. Wrong (A Homespun Romance) (18 page)

It was exactly what Nan Kettle had said as well and the only sensible thing to do in the circumstances.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate again.

The Webb family were at the dinner table and Cody was holding forth delighted to have his Uncle Brady’s undivided attention.

”'n then we sang a new song.”  Triumphantly he paused at the end of his dissertation to check if his uncle looked suitably impressed by his doings.

"Which song did Miss Katie teach you today Cody?”  Brady asked, picturing her face with
its halo of brownish red curls as she taught the song, the mouth like velvet.

“Not Miss Katie,” Cody reproved, “Miss Nan.  Miss Nan taught us to sing `Five little froggies sitting on a log’.  Do you know what happened to ‘em Uncle Brady?”  he raised his eyes to his relative, longing to be begged to relate the amphibians’ adventures.

“Cody,” his uncle reached out and held his shoulder as if to ensure his attention, “Why wasn’t Miss Katie there?”

But Brady knew already.  Something was wrong with his Katie.

“Cos she was sick and had to go home.”  For a second the cherub’s face clouded at the thought of his beloved Miss Katie in pain, then he said, “but the doctor’s going to give her some bubble gum medicine and she’s going to be all better, right, Mommy?”

His mother entering the dining room with the main course paused in dismay at the sight of her brother’s empty chair and the slam of the front door.

“Where’s Brady going?” she demanded of her husband who was looking impossibly amused.

“I’m not quite sure,” he said reaching for the pork chops and serving her.  “It might have something to do with the fact that Miss Katie isn’t well.”

Karen sat down.  “Oh!”  she said and then after a second, “But he hasn’t had any dinner.”

“Honey,” said the man she’d married indulgently, “I suspect Brady doesn’t have food on his mind at all right now, but don’t worry.  I won’t let your pork chops go to waste.  Aren’t you happy I’m not in the grip of the same madness, Brady is?”

His wife threw her oven mitt at him.

Kate huddled in bed, her legs drawn up to her chin, trying to think of dear familiar things.

Nothing came to mind and as a fresh spasm seized her she groaned miserably.  Pain was clouding her mind and Kate let it carry her along, like a rag doll caught in a powerful current and then as it relinquished its hold on her, she drifted away in a state of semi consciousness.

The banging on her door brought her wide awake.  Who could it be?  Was Nan bringing her some soup?  Nan knew she never ate when she was like this.  Getting out of bed she stumbled to the door, biting down hard on her lower lip as the next wave began.

Shocked into forgetting it for a moment she stared at the man on the other side then said, “Go away, Brady, I’m sick,” and slammed the door shut.

The banging on the door started again, “Katie open this door immediately.  If you don’t......”

But she did, not wanting the noise to bother the Guthries, home for a fortnight.

“Brady, I’m sick.”  Maybe he hadn’t heard her the first time, she thought wearily.

“I know sweetheart.  That’s why I’m here.”

Even through the mists of pain, her mind noted and rejoiced at the endearment.  Then a fresh cramp had her almost doubling up.  She bit down hard on her lower lip to stop the cry of pain and bent down putting her hands around her abdomen.

But Brady had seen enough.  Whisking her up in his arms he carried her back to bed and slid her under the sheet.

“Where does it hurt Katie?  Have you seen a doctor?”

To hear him, no one would guess the mercury like fear coursing through his veins, pulling at his limbs with its leaden weight.  Katie’s body had seemed so cold in his arms.  When he’d brushed the curls off her forehead it had been damp and sticky.  What was wrong with her?

Kate didn’t say anything but Brady waited and she knew he wanted an answer.  When she could talk again she whispered through dry lips, “It’s nothing.  Just a regular problem I have.  I’ve got some medicine for it.  I just didn’t take it early enough.”

The abruptness with which she broke off, her sharply indrawn breath, the way her figure clenched over her stomach all told him she was in pain again, and he put a hand out to her back and rubbed it just like his mother had done for him whenever he was sick.

“Oh, Katie!” 

The man who fought to see deadly criminals stripped of their right to live outside prison walls without turning a hair, felt absolutely terrified.

What had Katie meant regular complaint?  Was she suffering from some rare disease she hadn’t told him about?  But then he would have seen some sign of it before this.  Regular complaint?  If it was her period why should it affect her like this?  There was something wrong here.

He stood up and reached for her.

“What are you doing?” asked Kate, feeling his hand go under her knees.

“I’m taking you to Dr. Peters.  He’s Karen’s gynecologist and he’s very good.”

“At this time of night?”

The words halted him.  He had thought of going straight to Dr. Peter’s home.  The Peters’ and the Gallaghers’ friendship went back twenty years.  But this wasn’t the time to bring Katie up to date with his real background.

“We can go to Urgent Care at the Medical Center and he’ll be called in.”

“No. The medicine’s going to start working any time now.  I’ll be fine.  Go home, Brady.”

Brady sat down helplessly.  Should he call Dr. Peter’s anyway and ask his advice? 

“Would you like some chicken soup?”  It had been what he’d been served whenever he was ill.

“No thank you.” 

Her quietness bothered him.  He couldn’t bear to see Katie doubled up with pain.  Brady wished he could gather her to his heart and hold her there till all her pain was transferred to him.  He’d gladly bear it for her.  Restless at the feeling of helplessness that gripped him, his mind chased and discarded endless ideas. 

A vague memory surfaced and he got up.  In the kitchen cupboard he found a large glass bottle filled with apple juice.  Pouring the juice into a mixing bowl he placed it in Katie’s refrigerator, rinsing the bottle out carefully before filling it with really hot water from the kitchen faucet.  In a drawer he found a kitchen towel and wrapped it around the bottle.

“Here,” he said to Katie, “try this.  It might help.”

“What is it?” Kate asked opening her eyes, surprised to see him still there.

“A makeshift hot water bottle.”  Gently he laid it next to her and let her pull it against her stomach.

Dragging an armchair in from the other room he sat down in it and began to rhythmically stroke her back.

Katie awoke with the tremendous feeling of relief, freedom from pain brought in its wake.  Glancing down at the bottle beside her, memories of the night before sharpened at the same time as she became aware of someone lying in bed with her holding her spoon fashion to his obviously male length.

Not someone.  Brady.

Not daring to move she stared at the wall.  Had he spent the whole night here?  Her lips curved into a smile of sheer happiness.  For the first time in Kate’s life she was aware of what the word cherished meant.  She lay against Brady, content to play make believe for a little while longer.

“Katie?”  He came wide awake with a jerk and sprang off the bed.  “Katie how are you?  I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that.”

“I’m fine, now.  What do you mean you didn’t mean to fall asleep like that?  What had you planned on doing instead?”

“I was sitting there,” he glanced at the armchair, “rubbing your back.  I just meant to take a brief nap.”

“I see.”  Katie stared at him. 

The black stubble cast hollow shadows on his cheeks and she could see the tiredness in his eyes from his vigil of the night before.  Conscious of a sudden fierce desire to hold his head against her breast, Kate stood up.

Immediately she realized her mistake.  The tee shirt she was wearing barely came to mid-thigh and Brady’s eyes were sliding with unmistakable longing over her legs.  The early morning breeze from the window was cool on her body and Kate was conscious of the stiffened points of her nipples through the thin material and of Brady’s gaze shifting to that part of her anatomy.

Moving away on trembling legs she muttered, `Bathroom,’ and fled to lean against the door of that sanctuary weakly, wishing she was the kind of girl who could throw herself into a man’s arms and say, “Take me.”

The mirror reflected a face that looked as if it had been made up for Halloween.  The dark circles around her eyes would have done a monster credit.  Her face was so pale she could have lost it in a bag of flour.  Shrugging, Katie turned away and stepped into the shower.  She emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, head wrapped in a towel feeling drained, her wobbly legs telling her she’d have to take it easy today.

Brady was at the table, two steaming mugs of tea already on it.  He looked at her face and frowned at her lack of color, the dryness of her lips, the barely gathered strength.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” 

Kate swallowed two of her tablets before replying, “I’m fine.  I don’t usually keel over like this.  I just forgot to take my medicine.”

“Dr. Peters...” Brady began only to be interrupted.

“I have my own doctor,” said Kate firmly.

“But a second opinion wouldn’t hurt it would it?” asked Brady reasonably, “I mean one doctor might spot something another has missed.”

“Brady, shut up,” said Kate. 

She felt like the survivor of a shipwreck.  The thought that he had stayed with her all through the night, when the going was toughest was making her insides quiver like birch leaves in a storm, stripping her of every defense she had ever put up against the man.  Did he have to keep talking about taking her to a doctor?  Couldn’t he just leave her alone?  What right did he have to come into her life and take it over like a......like a......locust?  If she wasn’t careful, he would devour her whole.

At that moment she hated Brady.  No, she didn’t.  She looked at him sitting across from her and the truth hit her.  She loved him.  That was it.  Kate and Katie had finally had the head on confrontation she’d been dreading and there was only one survivor.  Katie McArthur.  Who loved Brady.

Katie burst into tears.

“Honey I didn't mean to badger you,” he reached for her immediately but she avoided going into his arms well aware of what would happen if she did in her present state.  “I’m really the biggest fool in the world.  Just get back into bed and let me fix you some breakfast.  I swear I won’t say another word about the doctor.”

Katie went back to bed.  At least she could hide from him there.  Brady brought her some toast and tea and quietly went into the bathroom. 

Katie stared at her tea wishing it were a crystal ball.

What would life with Brady be like?  Absolutely glorious if one was content only to live for the day without any thought of the future and she couldn’t do that.  No, in time her nagging would embitter him, turn him into another Rip Van Winkle and wreck everything.  So back to square one.  She loved Brady but she still had to find herself a rich husband.

All day Katie drifted in and out of sleep sedated by the medicine she was taking, waking up for a drink of water or the soup Brady insisted she have at midday before she took another dose of her medicine.  He was there every time her eyes opened, in her blue armchair, reading, watching, waiting.

The little clock on her nightstand said five o’clock when Katie finally surfaced completely.  Savoring the absolute bliss of feeling completely well again, she lay there quietly aware of the smell drifting from her little kitchen invoking a growling response from her stomach.  There was no sign of Brady.

Cautiously Katie slipped her feet into mules and checked out the bathroom.  He wasn’t there.  A sharp pang of disappointment speared her and the next minute she told herself to stop being so ridiculous.  He couldn’t be expected to maintain his role of Florence Nightingale forever.

Lured into her kitchen she lifted the lid of her crockpot carefully and breathed deeply as the aroma of a stew rose up to greet her.  On the counter was a pie.  Her favorite.  Apple.  So Nan had stopped off some time during the day.  What had her friend thought of Brady in the role of male nurse, Katie wondered.  Her eyes fell on the note.  He had used a dry cleaning receipt, propping it up between the pie and the toaster, next to the plant he had given her, but it had slid down.

“Back in a little while....Brady.”

A fierce irrational gladness flowed into Katie and she grabbed clean clothes and hurried into the bathroom.

He was there when she came out and for a moment Katie’s heart leapt into her throat.  He had bought a cloth for her little table. It was one size too big but her blue and white Corelleware looked elegant against the red background.  Crusty rolls nestled in a little basket and two candles stood tall in crystal holders like serene sentinels awaiting the opportunity to do their duty.