The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) (22 page)

“I know, superwoman. But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to see you
in pain.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Be back
soon.”

She closed her eyes as he left the room. The pain was starting
to build, but she knew that he would be returning soon and the knowledge that
she could rely on him, that he had her back, took the edge off her panic.

It was a novel feeling, knowing that someone else was looking
out for her, even in the smallest of capacities. In three years of marriage,
she’d never felt that way with Patrick. He had a childish fear of illness or
disability in any form—witness his abandonment since her accident. Oliver,
though...Oliver was solid. Oliver was real and generous and lovely.

To think, if she hadn’t had her accident, if he hadn’t caught
his wife cheating, if she hadn’t decided to isolate herself at the beach to go
hard on her rehabilitation and if his aunt hadn’t left him her house...if it
hadn’t rained like a demon and if their dogs hadn’t fallen for each other...she
might never have met him. She might never know what it was like to kiss and make
love and to hold and be held by him.

Pain made her breath hiss between her teeth. Nausea washed over
her. She rolled onto her side and reminded herself that Oliver would be back
soon.

Any minute now...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

T
HERE
WERE
TWO
traffic
lights between his place and the only pharmacy in town and Oliver was tempted to
run them both when they changed on him at the last minute as he drove. He
resisted the impulse—just—then scared the hell out of the pharmacist when he
insisted she fill the prescription on the spot rather than make him kick his
heels for ten minutes in long-standing pharmacist tradition. He made it to
Mackenzie’s place in fifteen minutes and didn’t bother to knock before letting
himself into the house.

She was on the bed where he’d left her, curled on her side,
eyes closed, forehead creased with pain.

“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t open her eyes. “Not great.”

“Do you need water to take these?”

“Yes, please.”

He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He helped her sit
up, more than a little alarmed at how hot her back felt and the fact that she
still hadn’t opened her eyes.

“Thanks—” She lurched forward suddenly, trying to scramble out
of bed.

But it was too late—she threw up on herself and the bed, her
small body bent almost double. When the spasm had passed, she cracked her eyes
to survey the damage.

“Did I get you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Shit.”

“I think you’ll find that’s usually a different color.”

Her mouth twisted unhappily. “This is not a laughing matter. I
just threw up on you.”

“But you mostly didn’t. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He hooked an arm beneath her shoulders and helped her out of
bed and into the bathroom.

“Could you stand a shower?” he asked.

“Yes. But can I have my tablet first?”

“Yes. God, sorry. Will you be able to keep it down?”

“I’ll have to.”

He made sure she was steady on her feet before grabbing the
glass of water and handing her a tablet. Then he helped her strip and got her
into the shower.

“You all right in here for a few minutes?” he asked.

She was very pale, her slim body hunched as though she could
protect herself from the discomfort if she could make herself compact
enough.

“Yes. Thanks, Oliver. I’m sorry to be dumping all this on
you.”

“Shut up,” he said gently.

She smiled faintly before resting her shoulder against the
shower wall and letting the water run down her back. He returned to the bedroom,
working quickly to strip the bed. He found clean sheets in the hall cupboard. By
the time he heard the shower fall silent he’d remade the bed and kicked the
soiled linen into the hall.

“You shouldn’t have,” Mackenzie said.

She stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around her
torso. More wet than dry, hair plastered to her skull, her eyes clouded with
pain. A surge of protective affection rose inside him. Mackenzie was such a
fighter and fiercely independent, but right now she was intensely vulnerable and
he was humbled that she was so willing to put her trust in him.

“Come to bed.”

She walked obediently to his side and he toweled her dry. She
stood placidly, her brow slightly furrowed.

“How we doing now?” he asked.

“Bearable. If I can lie down for a while, I think I should be
okay.”

“Where do you keep your pajamas?”

“Second drawer down.”

He found a T-shirt and a pair of pants and helped her dress,
then helped her into bed. She sighed as the covers settled over her.

“Oh, that’s nice. Clean sheets.” She opened her eyes and
touched his knee. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Oliver.”

Something jabbed him in the chest as he looked at her.
Something painful and sharp and sweet and good, all at the same time. The urge
to take her into his arms was almost overwhelming.

“Would it disturb you if I stayed awhile?” he asked.

“No. That’d be nice.” Her words were a little slurred and he
guessed the meds were kicking in.

He toed off his shoes and took off his jacket, then lay down
beside her. She curled on her side and he wrapped his arm around her middle.

“This okay?”

“Yes.”

She wriggled a little closer. They lay snuggled together for
what felt like fifteen minutes and slowly he felt the tension ease out of her
body.

“Feeling better?” he guessed.

“Yes. Thank God.” She sounded drowsy, almost as though she was
tipsy.

“Let me guess. You’re not supposed to operate heavy machinery
on those pills, huh?”

“Something like that.”

He tightened his grip for a moment, pulling her closer. Unable
to help himself. She felt strong and fine and infinitely precious cradled
against him.

“Can I ask you something?” Her voice was slow and lazy and
contemplative.

“Sure.”

“You can be honest, because I probably won’t even remember this
tomorrow. Do they ever bother you? You never look at them, you never say
anything, but it’s not as though they’re not obvious. They must register.
Right?”

It took him a moment to understand she was talking about her
scars. It hit him that this was something that had been playing in her mind for
a while, even though he suspected she would never have raised the subject if she
wasn’t dopey from the pills.

He hated the thought that she’d been worried about something so
trivial, that beneath her surface confidence and assurance this had been eating
away at her. If he had known, he would have said something long ago. Mackenzie’s
scars were a part of her, testaments to her grit and courage. He couldn’t
imagine her any other way. It was that simple.

“They don’t register, for the most part,” he said, choosing his
words carefully. “You have to understand how the male brain works. When there’s
a naked woman in the room, there are better things to focus on, if you know what
I mean. But I do wonder sometimes if they hurt.”

“They don’t hurt. Not anymore. My hips hurt, sometimes. And my
back. And I can’t lift my left arm past shoulder height. But otherwise I’m good
as new.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re better than
new.”

“So are you.”

Her hand slid over his, squeezing warmly. Words—affectionate,
committed, emotional words—filled his head. Crazy and impulsive. He opened his
mouth, but common sense stopped him before he could say what was in his
heart.

It was too early to even be thinking like that. He needed to
take a deep breath and remind himself that there was no need to rush into
anything. They had time. Even though he would be returning to Sydney soon,
Melbourne was only an hour’s flight away. He could visit every weekend if he
wanted to. Or Mackenzie could come to him. His returning home was not the end of
this. Of them.

“It would be really easy to fall for you, Oliver Garrett,”
Mackenzie said. “So easy.”

He went very still, but she didn’t say anything further. After
another minute or so her body loosened even more and he realized she was asleep.
He lay beside her, breathing in her scent, thinking about what she’d said and
what he hadn’t.

Was it possible to fall in love so quickly? It seemed to him
that the answer had to be yes, because he was in love with Mackenzie. Fiercely
so.

She challenged him, aroused him, fascinated him. She made him
laugh, she made him think. She made him want more.

More of her. More happiness. More hours in the day. More
laughter.

He could hear his brother’s cautious voice in his head, warning
him to be practical and prudent, but he ignored it. His gut told him this was
right, and so did his heart.

He waited until Mackenzie was deeply asleep, then eased from
the bed and left the room, closing the door behind him. Mr. Smith waited in the
hallway, his head resting mournfully on his front paws. He glanced at Oliver
without lifting his head, giving him an even more lugubrious air.

“She’s fine, buddy. Don’t worry.” He leaned down and scratched
beneath the dog’s chin. “You’re a good dog. But that doesn’t mean you’re off the
hook for messing around with my girl.”

Mr. Smith settled his head back onto his paws, his gaze once
more going to the closed bedroom door. Oliver left him to his watchdog duties,
heading home to check on Strudel.

She seemed fine, if a little sleepy, but the vet had warned she
might be lethargic in the early stages of her pregnancy. He fed her some liver
treats and changed her water, then drifted from room to room, seeing
half-a-dozen things he could do but not feeling inspired to do any of them.
Finally he gave in to need and went to Mackenzie’s place, taking Strudel with
him this time. The dogs skittered off to do whatever they did when they hung out
on Mr. Smith’s cushion in the living room, and he let himself into Mackenzie’s
bedroom.

She was still asleep, and he took off his shoes and joined her
on the bed, wrapping an arm around her. She murmured in her sleep, then settled
again. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck.

“I love you,” he said very quietly.

He expected it to sound preposterous, like a teenager making a
rash declaration.

It didn’t. It sounded...right.

He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

* * *

M
ACKENZIE
WOKE
FEELING
disoriented and woozy. It was very dark, and a heavy arm lay across her
belly. Oliver, sleeping beside her.

She tried to ease out of the bed without disturbing him but his
arm tightened around her middle.

“All good?” he asked.

“Yeah. I think so. My head doesn’t feel as though it’s going to
split in half, anyway.” She glanced at him, even though she could only make out
the shape of his face in the dark. “Thanks for staying with me.”

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

It hadn’t even occurred to her to send him away. Even though
she’d been sick and pathetic and helpless. She trusted him. It was that simple.
And having him near had made her feel infinitely safe and cherished.

“You want a glass of water?” he asked.

“I can get it.”

He slid his arm free as she sat up and swung her legs over the
edge of the bed. There was a moment where her head was a little swimmy—a side
effect of the pain meds—then the world righted itself and she was fine.

She made her way into the kitchen, aware of Oliver following
her. She smiled at him as she opened the fridge door.

“I’m not going to keel over, if that’s what you’re worried
about.”

“Never thought it for a second.”

She pulled out a carton of juice and found two glasses. Her
stomach rumbled as she poured them both a drink.

“I can take a hint. You want some eggs on toast, or maybe a
sandwich?” he offered.

“You don’t have to make me dinner on top of everything
else.”

“Shut up,” he said, pushing her toward one of the stools on the
other side of the counter.

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me today.”

“And yet you’re still talking.”

She smirked at his joke and slid onto the stool, nursing her
juice.

“How’s Strudel?”

“Asleep on Smitty’s cushion.” He gestured with his chin and she
glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, the dogs were sleeping next to the
sofa.

She rested her elbows on the counter, keen to give voice to the
thought that had been sitting front and center of her mind once the fog of her
medication had dissipated.

“I’ve made a decision.”

Oliver stilled. “And?”

She loved that he didn’t need to ask what she was talking
about.

“I want to explore the possibilities with Mary,” she said
firmly. It would mean the next few years would be a little dicey, income-wise,
but she could manage.

A slow smile curved his mouth. Then he lifted his juice in
salute. “Good decision.”

“It feels good.”

Especially because as a self-employed documentary producer, she
would be able to base herself anywhere—Melbourne...Sydney...

Soon she would run that aspect of her decision past him, see
how he responded. But not this morning. She wasn’t confident she could mask her
disappointment right now if he didn’t say what she desperately wanted to
hear.

The dogs chose that moment to patter into the kitchen in search
of sustenance. Not for the first time it struck her that they made a very
mismatched pair, Strudel knee-height and nicely proportioned, Mr. Smith
ground-hugging and overly long.

“I can’t believe she’s going to have Mr. Smith’s babies. You
have to send me pictures of the puppies when they’re born.”

He glanced at her as he cracked eggs into a mixing bowl. “You
can see them for yourself when you come to visit.”

She blinked. Then she shook her head. “Sorry, I’m a bit thick
at the moment.”

“I’m asking if you want to come visit me in Sydney after I go
home.”

“Yes.”

She said it without hesitation.

“And if I can visit you here in Melbourne.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to think about it for a moment? Maybe phone a
friend?”

“No.”

His mouth curled into a wide, unashamed grin. “Well, then.”

“Just what I was thinking.”

They locked eyes, both of them smiling. He abandoned the eggs
and moved around the counter to kiss her. She rubbed her cheek against his and
looped her arms around his neck.

Suddenly she felt crazy to have ever doubted him, to have
doubted
them.
So what if it had been only a few
weeks? So what if his life was in upheaval?

What was happening between them felt
right.

“Why do you always smell so good?” she asked.

“Why do you always feel so good?”

They kissed until her stomach rumbled again.

“Yes, ma’am. Coming straight up,” Oliver said.

He made them both creamy scrambled eggs with toast and they ate
on the couch. An old Cary Grant movie was on and they watched it and talked
about their favorite movies and books. After a while she was struggling to stay
awake and Oliver insisted she go to bed.