Holiday Hire (The Cartwright Family #2)

Chapter 12

12

Phoebe

T he full moon illuminates the path through the trees. Alexander races home, winding around the trail with ease, occasionally warning, "Hold on," while we fly over bumps.

My pulse never calms, and the disappointment won't fade as an argument plays out in my head.

I wanted him to kiss me.

No, I didn't. I'm still with Lance.

Am I?

Alexander's my boss.

So what?

It's wrong.

Alexander drives out of the woods, through the yard, and parks the ATV next to the porch.

We jump out and hurry inside.

Sebastian grimaces. His shirt's wet. He sloughs something gross-looking off his chest and into the wastebasket.

"Is that what I think it is?" Alexander asks.

Sebastian wrinkles his nose. "Kid's got a mean projectile."

Alexander groans. "Yeah, he always has." He rushes past Sebastian toward the bathroom.

Georgia stands near the door, declaring, "He wouldn't let me in after he threw up. He's in the bathtub, but he says I can't see him naked." A tiny look of amusement lights her face.

"Thanks, Georgia," Alexander says and opens the door. "Hey, buddy. What's going on?"

Sebastian whines, "Georgia, can you come here and try to get this off of me before I get sick?"

She glances at me, bites on her smile, and stifles a giggle. She moves toward him.

I fret, "Why did he get sick? He seemed fine all day."

Sebastian shrugs. "Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he ate too much. But I'm the one you should worry about. Georgia, please!" He holds out the towel, turns his face away, and makes a disgusted noise.

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Geez, Sebastian. When did you become the drama queen? You're not going to die from this."

I can't help myself and put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from snickering.

He arches his eyebrows at me. "You find this funny, Phoebe?"

"Sorry. It's not funny that Ace is sick, but, well..."

"There's nothing funny about this." He scrunches his face again.

Georgia orders, "Spin."

He turns.

She rolls the bottom of his shirt and commands, "Duck down a bit."

He obeys, complaining, "This is nasty. Please don't get it on my face."

She tugs the back of his shirt over his head and moves in front of him. She bunches the front and carefully slides it over his arms.

"Thank God! Let's go. I need a shower," he says, moving toward the door.

"Good thing we don't have a baby yet. I'd be on my own," Georgia points out, rolling her eyes at me.

He claims, "You can be on sick duty and I'll do everything else."

She snorts. "Sure you will." She smacks his butt and orders, "Go on. Bye, Phoebe." She smiles at me.

"See you, Phoebe," he says.

I wave. "Bye! See you later."

They step out the door. I go to Wilder's bedroom. The door is halfway open, so I peek my head past it.

He lies on his bed with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling.

I knock.

He looks over.

I tease, "You're missing all the action out there."

He scrunches his face and asserts, "I don't want anything to do with that. That was disgusting. Did you see Uncle Sebastian?"

I keep a straight face, answering, "Yes. He'll be okay though. He's going to take a shower. Are you feeling sick at all?" I sit down on the edge of the bed next to him, studying his semi-flushed face.

He claims, "Nope! I'm fine. Why did Ace get sick? He was fine all day."

I shrug. "Not sure. I take it he doesn't get sick very often?"

Wilder shakes his head. "Nah, none of us get sick, especially Dad. Everybody else on the ranch can get sick, but Dad never does. He's got the immune system of a vulture."

Amused, I question, "A vulture?"

A serious expression appears on Wilder's face. "Yeah. They never get sick and eat all the rotting animal carcasses."

"Eww." It's my turn to wrinkle my nose.

Wilder laughs. "It's true."

I reach for his forehead. It feels normal, but I still ask, "And you're sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yep. I'm staying away from Ace though."

"Good idea. At least until he's better," I add.

Wilder sits up. "That was a fun party today."

I beam. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. Can we have more beach parties?"

"Sure. But it sounds like we have lots of holiday parties coming up."

The excitement leaves his voice. "True."

"Why don't you sound excited about them?"

He ponders my question, then blurts out, "I just like doing new stuff. Everything we do is tradition."

"You don't like traditions?"

He thinks another moment. "I wouldn't say I don't like them, but I think new stuff is more fun. So can we do different things?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. You're the creative one, and today was really fun!" he claims.

My heart soars. "I'm glad you had a good time. I did too."

His eyes light up. "Okay, then can we do something else that's special for the holidays? Something we wouldn't do normally?"

"I'll have to think of something."

"You will. You're creative," he states again.

I point out, "You're creative too."

"Nope. Not like you. I'm more like my dad."

The vision of Alexander's face inching toward mine and his arm pulling me closer flashes before me. His scent flares in my nostrils, as if he's standing right next to me.

Wilder pushes, "So we can do something different?"

I snap out of my thoughts. "I'll try to think of a new project for us."

"A fun one?"

I dramatically answer, "Duh!"

Wilder grins and pumps his arm in the air. "Awesome!"

"Phoebe," Alexander calls.

I rise. "Duty calls. Get some rest."

Wilder grunts. "Okay." He slides down in bed.

I pull the covers over him, then bend over him and tussle his hair. "Night."

"Night, Phoebe."

I get to the door.

He calls out, "Phoebe!"

I turn back to him. "Yes?"

"I'm really glad you're here."

My heart swells. "Thanks. I'm really glad I am too."

"Night."

"Night, sweetie." I turn off the light, step outside, and shut the door.

Alexander steps out of the bathroom.

"Is everything okay?" I fret.

Worry fills his expression. "Ace is sick again. Can you go in my bedroom and into the bathroom cabinet? There's a first aid kit with a thermometer. I'm worried about how hot he feels."

A new fear fills me. "Sure." I do as he's asked and go into his bedroom.

It's the first time I've been in his room. It's like the rest of the house—neutral walls with no color anywhere. It strikes me as sad.

The Cartwrights are such a fun family, and the main house isn't boring, but something about Alexander's house not having any color, especially when he has two awesome boys living in it, seems depressing.

I make my way into his bathroom and find the first aid kit. I bring it out and set it on the table. I grab the thermometer and take it back to Alexander.

I knock on the bathroom door, and a moment later, Alexander opens it. Ace has a towel wrapped around him. His face is flushed.

I rush inside and squat down so I'm eye level with Ace. I coo, "Oh, you're not feeling well, sweetie?"

He shakes his head, then throws his arms around me, snuggling into the curve of my neck. He mumbles, "I feel bad."

I wrap my arms around him. "I'm sorry."

Alexander warns, "Ace, be careful. We don't want Phoebe getting sick."

"I'll be okay."

"Not if you get sick," he argues.

"I won't."

He grunts. "How do you know that?"

"I rarely get sick."

He arches his eyebrows. "Really? I never do either."

"Wilder said that. But don't worry about me. I've taught a lot of kids. My immune system is strong."

"Hmmm," he says, then grabs the thermometer from me. "Here, Ace, open up and keep this under your tongue."

Ace stays close to me, turning his head toward his dad.

Alexander turns on the thermometer and slides it into his mouth. It doesn't take long before it beeps. He pulls it out, announcing, "101.5."

"That's not too horrible," I state.

Alexander nods. "I'll keep an eye on it tonight. Ace, let's get you in bed."

"Can Phoebe put me to bed too?" Ace asks, his blue eyes glistening.

"Sure. I can come in."

"Good." He hugs me harder, and my heart almost breaks.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry you're sick," I offer, rubbing his back. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

We get him in his bedroom, then I step outside so Alexander can help him get dressed in his pajamas, and when they're done, I go back inside. I bring a cup of water, directing, "Take a little sip if you want."

Ace shakes his head. "I don't think I can keep it down."

"Okay, I'll leave it here in case you wake up in the middle of the night and need it." I set the glass down on the nightstand.

Ace curls up in bed.

Alexander states, "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll be back in to check on you in a little while." He leans down and kisses Ace's forehead. Then he rises and glances at me with a worried expression.

I ruffle Ace's hair just like I did Wilder's. "Get some rest."

He closes his eyes and we leave the room.

We keep the door halfway open, and Alexander goes to the kitchen. He grabs the soap and orders, "Hold your hands out."

I do as I'm told, and he pumps some foam in it. We wash our hands at the sink and then he goes to the fridge. He grabs two waters and hands me one, stating, "Well, that was an unexpected turn of events."

I add, "Hopefully it's just a twenty-four-hour bug."

"I'm sure that's all it is. My kids usually bounce back pretty quickly," he claims.

"Wilder told me you never get sick."

Alexander nods. "That's true. I haven't been sick since I was a kid."

"Really? Wow."

"Hopefully you don't get sick," he says with genuine concern in his voice.

"Don't worry, I won't," I insist and then sit down on a barstool.

He pulls the one out next to me and sits. He studies me for a moment.

Butterflies go crazy in my stomach, and heat crawls up my neck and into my cheeks.

He slowly states, "It was a fun day." His gaze drifts to my lips, then quickly returns to my eyes.

My flutters make me dizzy.

I imagined that.

No, I didn't.

I did.

He clears his throat and starts, "So anyway?—"

A shrill ring cuts him off.

I jump and realize it's my phone. So I reach into my pocket and answer it without looking. "Hello?"

Lance's booming voice asks, "Are you ready to come home yet?"

I can tell he's been drinking. I close my eyes and release a frustrated breath.

"Well?"

I rise, put the phone to my chest, and state, "I'll be right back."

Alexander's eyes darken.

I go into my bedroom and shut the door. "Lance—" I start.

"Why don't you want me anymore, Phoebe?" he whines, cutting me off.

Guilt fills me. I reply, "Lance?—"

He cuts me off again, accusing, "Admit it! You're playing games?—"

"Lance, call me when you're sober. I don't need to be harassed!" I interject.

He scoffs. "Harassed? Calling you is harassing you now?"

"Calling me when you're drunk and making insinuations is harassing me."

"Making insinuations? What am I insinuating?" he hurls out.

I sit on the bed and close my eyes. My heart pounds harder, but it's not with anticipation or excitement anymore. It's with annoyance.

He continues with more disdain in his tone. "So what have you been doing with the Cartwrights?"

I answer, "I'm not having this conversation with you right now."

"No? Then when are you going to talk to me? You don't want me there. You say we're still together, but it sure as hell doesn't feel that way, and then I call you and you don't even want to talk," he accuses.

I cringe. Everything he said is true. I can't deny it, but it sounds worse than it feels in my head.

Lance lowers his voice to a softer tone. "You don't miss me at all?"

There's another tug on my heart, mixing with my anger. I haven't thought about him since he left. And we didn't exactly part on good terms.

He asks, "What's the point of us taking a break if you don't even miss me?"

"I do," I claim, but deep down it's a lie. I know I haven't missed him.

It's because I'm so busy.

No, it's not.

Yes, it is.

"Do you, Phoebe?" he asks softer, piling on the guilt.

So I reassure him. "Yeah, of course I do."

"Then talk to me. If you've ever loved me, talk to me. Please."

I take a deep breath. The desperation in his voice is something new. I'm not sure how to take it.

He continues, "Tell me what you've been doing all night."

"We had the beach party."

"Isn't it too cold to go swimming?" he asks.

"Yeah, but we didn't swim. We cooked over the campfire and the kids played games."

"And you had fun?"

"Yes, I did."

"That's good," he says, and for a brief moment, I'm reminded of the Lance I first met.

"What have you?—"

"Lance," a woman's voice shouts just as loud music fills the line.

He quickly states in a normal, everyday voice, "Okay, Phoebe, got to go. Just wanted to check in."

"You miss me so much that you only called me to talk until your party started?" I accuse.

He groans. "And there you go being dramatic again. Talk later. Bye." He hangs up.

I stare at the phone and then pace around the room, trying to calm myself. But I can't. I put my hand on the doorknob, then stop.

I'm too angry to leave the room. I have to cool off first. So I go sit on my bed and attempt the techniques my instructor taught me in meditation class.

After a minute, it's not working. So I reposition myself on the bed and then close my eyes, breathing deeply. Before I know it, I fall asleep.

When I open my eyes, the alarm clock's illuminated numbers shine at me, telling me it's 5:00 A.M.

I sit up quickly. I've left Alexander all night on his own while Ace is sick. I leave my room to go check on him, but I hear a groaning in Alexander's room. I cautiously step inside, calling out, "Alexander?"

The light in the bathroom's on. A retching sound fills the air.

I hurry toward the doorway and freeze at the entrance.

Alexander's face is over the toilet. He gets sick, then leans back against the wall. He wipes his mouth.

I rush over to him and crouch down. "Oh my gosh! You're sick."

His bloodshot eyes stare into mine. He weakly declares, "I'll be fine."

I put my hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

"I'll be fine," he insists.

I turn on the shower. "Get in the shower. Try to cool off." I leave the bathroom to go find the thermometer. Then I go back to the bedroom and stop at the doorway.

The outline of his backside is just barely visible through the frosted glass.

My heart beats harder.

He leans against the wall with his forearms, his head pressing against them.

Stop staring!

I call out, "I have the thermometer. I'll be back when you're done with your shower."

He doesn't reply.

I check on Ace, but he seems fine, sleeping peacefully. I feel his forehead, and I'm pretty sure his fever's broken. The flush he had earlier is no longer on his cheeks.

Then I check on Wilder. He seems okay too.

I find a bottle of fever reducer, wait for ten minutes, then reenter Alexander's bedroom. He sits on the side of the mattress in his boxer shorts.

My pulse skyrockets. I force myself to tear my eyes off his tattoo, and say, "You're green."

"I'll be fine," he reiterates.

"You're not," I insist, and hold the thermometer in front of him. I push the button, ordering, "Open up."

He obeys, and I slide the thermometer into his mouth.

As soon as it beeps, I take it out, read it, and fret, "It's 102.5!"

"I'll be fine," he weakly repeats.

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "No, I'll be fine."

"But you're sick. That fever is dangerous."

"Phoebe, I'll be fine," he sternly states.

I stare at him a moment, unsure what to do.

He softens his tone. "I just need to rest."

"Okay. But if it gets any worse, I'm taking you to the hospital."

He grumbles, "Fine."

I pull the covers back, and he slides into bed. I pull a sheet over him, stating, "I'm not going to put the rest of the blankets on until your fever goes down."

"Good. I'm too hot."

I go into the bathroom, find a washcloth, and run freezing-cold water over it. I fold it as I return to his bedside. I place it on the back of his neck.

"Shouldn't it be on my forehead?" he questions.

I shake my head. "No. You want the fever to pull away from your brain, not through it."

He arches his eyebrows.

"It's true," I state.

A tiny curve appears on his lips. "Okay, if that's what you say."

I shake a bottle of pills, ordering, "You should take this to lower your fever. I'm going to grab some water for you."

He doesn't argue.

I go into the kitchen, fill the glass, and take it to him. I hand him a pill and hold the water to his lips.

He swallows it and closes his eyes. "Thank you."

I hesitate, then say, "You're welcome. I'm going to come back in a little while and see if your fever's down, okay?"

He mumbles, "I'll be fine."

"I know. But I'll be back in a little while," I repeat, leaving the room and pacing for a half hour until it's time to check on him and the boys.