Sutton's Way

He rolled over and his black eyes opened, glazed with fever, but Amanda barely noticed. Her eyes were on the rest of him, male perfection from shoulder to narrow hips. He was darkly tanned, too, and thick, black hair wedged from his chest down his flat stomach to the wide belt at his hips. Amanda, who was remarkably innocent not only for her age, but for her profession as well, stared like a star-struck girl. He was beautiful, she thought, amazed at the elegant lines of his body, at the ripple of muscle and the smooth, glistening skin.

“What the hell do you want?” he rasped.

So much for hero worship, she thought dryly. She lifted her eyes back to his. “Elliot was worried,” she said quietly. “He came and got me. Please don’t fuss at him. You’re raging with fever.”

“Damn the fever, get out,” he said in a tone that might have stopped a charging wolf.

“I can’t do that,” she said. She turned her head toward the door where Elliot appeared with a basin full of hot water and a towel and washcloth over one arm.

“Here you are, lady,” he said. “Hi, Dad,” he added with a wan smile at his furious father. “You can beat me when you’re able again.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” Quinn growled.

“There, there, you’re just feverish and sick, Mr. Sutton,” Amanda soothed.

“Get Harry and have him throw her off my land,” Quinn told Elliot in a furious voice.

“How about some aspirin, Elliot, and something for him to drink? A small whiskey and something hot—”

“I don’t drink whiskey,” Quinn said harshly.

“He has a glass of wine now and then,” Elliot ventured.

“Wine, then.” She soaked the cloth in the basin. “And you might turn up the heat. We don’t want him to catch a chill when I sponge him down.”

“You damned well aren’t sponging me down!” Quinn raged.

She ignored him. “Go and get those things, please, Elliot, and the cough syrup, too.”

“You bet, lady!” he said grinning.

“My name is Amanda,” she said absently.

“Amanda,” the boy repeated, and went back downstairs.

“God help you when I get back on my feet,” Quinn said with fury. He laid back on the pillow, shivering when she touched him with the cloth. “Don’t…!”

“I could fry an egg on you. I have to get the fever down. Elliot said you were delirious.”

“Elliot’s delirious to let you in here,” he shuddered. Her fingers accidentally brushed his flat stomach and he arched, shivering. “For God’s sake, don’t,” he groaned.

“Does your stomach hurt?” she asked, concerned. “I’m sorry.” She soaked the cloth again and rubbed it against his shoulders, his arms, his face.

His black eyes opened. He was breathing roughly, and his face was taut. The fever, she imagined. She brushed back her long hair, and wished she’d tied it up. It kept flowing down onto his damp chest.

“Damn you,” he growled.

“Damn you, too, Mr. Sutton.” She smiled sweetly. She finished bathing his face and put the cloth and basin aside. “Do you have a long-sleeved shirt?”

“Get out!”

Elliot came back with the medicine and a small glass of wine. “Harry’s making hot chocolate,” he said with a smile. “He’ll bring it up. Here’s the other stuff.”

“Good,” she said. “Does your father have a pajama jacket or something long-sleeved?”

“Sure!”

“Traitor,” Quinn groaned at his son.

“Here you go.” Elliot handed her a flannel top, which she proceeded to put on the protesting and very angry Mr. Sutton.

“I hate you,” Quinn snapped at her with his last ounce of venom.

“I hate you, too,” she agreed. She had to reach around him to get the jacket on, and it brought her into much too close proximity to him. She could feel the hair on his chest rubbing against her soft cheek, she could feel her own hair smoothing over his bare shoulder and chest. Odd, that shivery feeling she got from contact with him. She ignored it forcibly and got his other arm into the pajama jacket. She fastened it, trying to keep her fingers from touching his chest any more than necessary because the feel of that pelt of hair disturbed her. He shivered violently at the touch of her hands and her long, silky hair, and she assumed it was because of his fever.

“Are you finished?” Quinn asked harshly.

“Almost.” She pulled the covers over him, found the electric-blanket control and turned it on. Then she ladled cough syrup into him, gave him aspirin and had him take a sip of wine, hoping that she wasn’t overdosing him in the process. But the caffeine in the hot chocolate would probably counteract the wine and keep it from doing any damage in combination with the medicine. A sip of wine wasn’t likely to be that dangerous anyway, and it might help the sore throat she was sure he had.

“Here’s the cocoa,” Harry said, joining them with a tray of mugs filled with hot chocolate and topped with whipped cream.

“That looks delicious. Thank you so much,” Amanda said, and smiled shyly at the old man.

He grinned back. “Nice to be appreciated.” He glared at Quinn. “Nobody else ever says so much as a thank-you!”

“It’s hard to thank a man for food poisoning,” Quinn rejoined weakly.

“He ain’t going to die,” Harry said as he left. “He’s too damned mean.”

“That’s a fact,” Quinn said and closed his eyes.

He was asleep almost instantly. Amanda drew up a chair and sat down beside him. He’d still need looking after, and presumably the boy went to school. It was past the Christmas holidays.

“You go to school, don’t you?” she asked Elliot.

He nodded. “I ride the horse out to catch the bus and then turn him loose. He comes to the barn by himself. You’re staying?”

“I’d better, I guess,” she said. “I’ll sit with him. He may get worse in the night. He’s got to see a doctor tomorrow. Is there one around here?”

“There’s Dr. James in town, in Holman that is,” he said. “He’ll come out if Dad’s bad enough. He has a cancer patient down the road and he comes to check on her every few days. He could stop by then.”

“We’ll see how your father is feeling. You’d better get to bed,” she said and smiled at him.

“Thank you for coming, Miss…Amanda,” Elliot said. He sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I didn’t mind. Good night, Elliot.”

He smiled at her. “Good night.”