Page 59 of Found in Wild Sage

There’s no resisting the urge to comfort her, so I run a hand over her head and tuck some of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah. You needed rest. That’s a good start. Let’s check you out and see what else we can do.”

She nods, her tired eyes holding mine for a moment before she shuts them. When I return with a thermometer, blood pressure cuff, my stethoscope, and various swabs I brought from work since I had a feeling this was coming earlier, she’s sound asleep again.

I try to rouse her, and she does open her eyes and acknowledge me, but she’s more than tired. She’s lethargic at this point, especially based on how little she could help when I got her up.

The thermometer reveals what I’ve expected: a very high temp, especially for an adult. I yank off the covers and she frowns even though her eyes are closed.

“I know. But you’ve got a fever and we need that to come down. Can you open your mouth and take some pills for me?”

She cooperates with this, taking a few sips of the water I hold to her lips after she gets the pills down. All other metrics here point to illness, as expected, but her oxygen saturation is good and her lungs sound clear, so we’re likely going to be treating the symptoms.

It’s not the first time I’ve seen a virus hit an adult far worse than a child. Sometimes, it’s the inverse because little kids and babies don’t have the immune system, but other viruses seem to attack adults more aggressively. That’s what we’ve got here, but I get her consent to swab her for the viruses we can test for and get a peek at the back of her throat to confirm we don’t need a strep test.

Just like with Charlie, there’s nothing we can put a name to. For now, we ride out the symptoms. I mentally compile a treatment plan, particularly with the aim of getting her fever down, and then who I need to contact for tomorrow.

I’ll ask everyone in town on Evie’s behalf.

“If your fever’s not responding to the meds, we’ll need to cool you down the old-fashioned way. Another ten minutes and then that’s it. For now, I’d like to get you into lighter clothing.”

She’s wearing fleece sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt. She can’t possibly sleep in these normally, can she? In August? Perhaps this is another way we aren’t alike, as I tend to sleep in boxers and nothing else. But no, because the first night she was here, she was in something much lighter.

“Take off my clothes. It’s fine. You’re a doctor.”

Her words are borderline slurred, and if I didn’t know she had a high fever, it’d be even more concerning.

I won’t argue with her, though. I tuck my fingers into the waistband of her thick sweats and pull them down, keeping my eyes on the progress of the pants and not on anything else, because I’m a damn gentleman. And a doctor.

Sliding the sheet up to her navel, I tell her I’m going to take her shirt now. She mumbles, “It’s fine,” then sits up just enough and raises her arms.

My heart squeezes and sprints at the same time. I slide off her shirt, tossing it behind me and helping her ease back into the pillows without hitting her head on the wooden headboard. Underneath are miles of skin and a light blue bra made from what looks like very soft, thin material. I do not appreciate the view like I might at another time, and her flushed chest and shallow breathing are enough to remind me why.

I may be a doctor who’s seen all kinds of bodies in every possible state, but I won’t pretend taking off her clothes is another day at work. I don’t feel this kind of tenderness toward my other patients, nor have I ever felt this longing. This need. But it’s all couched in the knowledge that what I want more than anything right now is for her to feel better, and I’m the one who gets to help her.

This strong, stubborn woman has persevered through so much, and she has let me help her. With the wedding, with her son, and now in this intimate moment. I do not take this lightly.

Ten minutes later, her fever is the same. I do everything shy of a sternum rub to rouse her.

“I’m sorry, love, but we need to get you cooled down.”

She blinks at me, processing my words.

“Lukewarm bath?”

I nod. She cringes.

“You gave birth on the side of the road with no one but my grumpy brother to help you. You can handle this. You’re a badass.”

Her face flickers with a smile. “Yeah. I super am.”

And with that, she lets me pick her up and carry her into the bathroom.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Declan

I’m halfway to the tub when Evie starts talking more freely.

“You know, this is nice. I like being close to you. I like when you carry me.”