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“It is.” Orin’s voice was close, and when I opened my eyes, I found him only a few feet away, watching me. “Come on.”
We walked into the cabin, it smelled of Orin—of cedar and something else spicy and masculine.
“How much time do you spend here?”
“Not enough.” He strode into the small kitchen with the groceries we’d picked up the day before. I followed him, touching the live edge counter and marveling at the rustic design. I watched as he placed the groceries on the counter, then placed his palms on the edge. He bowed his head as if he were exhausted.
That was when I noticed his slightly pale skin and the sheen of sweat dotting his brow.
I attempted to touch his forehead, but he jerked away before I could. For a moment, he only stared at me before mumbling, “Sorry. Habit.”
I didn’t know what that meant, but when he leaned forward for me to touch him again, he didn’t flinch, although he did grimace a little.
“You have a fever.”
He brushed past me. “I’m fine.”
“You’re notfine.” Following him out to the car, he opened the rear door to grab the shopping bags with my clothes in them. I motioned for him to give them to me, but he pulled them out of my reach.
“You need to rest,” I insisted, trailing him back into the cabin.
“I said I’m fine.”
Stubborn man.
He walked into a bedroom where there was a single bed under the window and a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. He paused as his gaze swept over the space. “It’s small,” he announced finally.
“It’s great. I think it’s cozy.” I sat on the bed, and he stared at me—his eyes becoming more and more unfocused by the second. He weaved on his feet. I jumped up and caught his arm just as he fell against the wall. Leading him over to the bed, I managed to get him laid out before running my hand over his forehead once again.
“Shit.” He was burning up. It may have been a low-grade fever before, but it wasn’t now. “Stay there,” I told him, even though there was every chance he’d be unconscious when I returned with the first aid kit.
I found it in the kitchen with all the groceries and hurried back to the room. Sitting beside him on the bed, I opened the kit and pulled out the oral thermometer.
“Open,” I said, pushing the cylindrical tube under his tongue.
Orin laid back with a groan. “I feel fine.”
“Like hell you do. How long have you known about this fever?”
“I didn’t know I had one,” he replied.
Shit. Shit. Shit. He probably had an infection from the wound. “I need to check your side. I’m going to help you sit up.”
Tugging on his arm, I got him vertical before lifting off his shirt. As before, the sight of his bare chest and tattoos made my stomach dip, but I shoved those feeling aside and helped lay his head back against the pillow. His skin was hot to the touch, like he’d spent all day in the sun and it had retained that warmth. Lifting the edge of the gauze, I checked his wound. The edges were red—angry and puffy.
“It’s infected,” I announced, leaving the dressing off. “I’m going to try and clean it the best I can. Do you have any antibiotics here?”
He remained quiet, and I peered at his face. His mouth had gone slack, but his breathing was uneven. He was unconscious. Damn it, why hadn’t I noticed he was running a fever? I should’ve seen the signs.
Rummaging through the first aid kit, I found some aspirin and put the bottle aside. They would help with the fever, but the infection was another matter altogether. Leaving the kit on the bed, I went in search of the bathroom, finding it across the hall. I tore open every drawer and cupboard looking for more drugs, but all I could find was an expired bottle of cough syrup on the highest shelf.
I shoved it out of the way in my frustration and noticed it didn’t go very far. Something was blocking it. Pulling the bottle down, I patted my hand around on the shelf to see what else was there, the pads of my fingers grazing against a box. Inching it forward, I brought it down so I could see what it was.
I shook my head. It was a box of amoxicillin. A year past its expiration date, but amoxicillin all the same. Yanking open the top of the box, I couldn’t believe my luck that only one of the trays had a few capsules missing, leaving me with sixteen capsules. It was enough to stave off the infection.
Racing back into the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, then hurried back to the bedroom. I had to get the drugs into him as soon as I could. Perching beside him on the bed, I touched his shoulder, finding him uncomfortably hot.
“Orin? Orin, wake up for me,” I said. His black eyes found my face, and he reached for me. His strong fingers ran along my jaw, his large, warm hand cupping my cheek.
