Free Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems by Anne Stuart Page B

disapproval that was radiating from his old friend, and he told himself he should care, should try to explain. But how could he explain when he didn’t even understand it himself?
    â€œHow’s she doing?” Sal asked, coming up beside the bed and staring down in the darkness at the pale figure lying there.
    Sal’s night vision wasn’t nearly as good as Ethan’s, but even so, Ethan leaned over and flipped the sheet over her lightly-dressed body. He didn’t want anyone else looking at her, even in total darkness. “She’s better,” he said. “I think her fever’s finally coming down.”
    â€œEthan…”
    â€œDon’t ask it, Sally. Don’t even hint it.”
    â€œDo you know what you’re doing?” his friend asked finally. “Do you know everything you’re risking?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThen there’s nothing more to be said.”
    â€œNothing more,” Ethan agreed, staring down at Meg’s faintly parted lips. They were slightly bruised looking from his kiss. He hadn’t realized he’d kissed her that hard. “Do me a favor, Sal,” he said in a meditative voice.
    â€œAnything.”
    â€œGet me some bubble gum.”
    Â 
    M EG DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH later she finally awakened. Hours or days or weeks. Sometime during the darkness, the men had left her, the old man who guarded her, the younger man who wanted her. When she finally awoke, the turret room was flooded with sunlight and she was alone. Or so she thought.
    â€œYou’re looking better,” a woman’s voice said, and the sound was so unexpected that Meg could do nothing but stare. The woman who approached the bed was middle-aged, a plump, pretty woman with a maternal air about her that radiated comfort. “Doc Bailey thought you might be surfacing about now, but it seemed to take forever. How are you feeling?”
    Meg didn’t say a word for a moment, considering first her chest, where the tight burning had faded to a dull ache, then her aching joints and terrible headache. “Ghastly,” she said finally in her croaking voice. “I must be getting better.”
    The woman grinned. “That’s the ticket. Let me ring Salvatore and he’ll bring you some broth. Doc said you could try to get some food down, if you felt like it.”
    â€œWho are you?”
    The woman whirled around. “Didn’t I introduce myself? My name’s Ruth Wilkins. I’ve been brought in to nurse you back to health.”
    â€œWhere is he?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe man who was here?”
    For a moment, Ruth’s face creased in confusion. “Doc Bailey? Salvatore?”
    â€œNo. Him.” Meg didn’t know whether she was imagining the wary expression on Ruth’s face.
    â€œYou don’t mean Mr. Winslowe, do you?” Ruth asked carefully. “He wouldn’t come up here.”
    Meg shook her head, more as an effort to clear it than as a negation. “I don’t mean him. I mean the dark man.”
    Ruth’s expression closed off completely. “Must have been a fever dream, dearie. The only people who’ve been here are Salvatore and Doc Bailey, and Doc’s only been here twice. No one else lives here. I’m just a day worker myself, brought in to help take care of you….”
    â€œWhat about the old man?”
    Ruth’s expression of uneasiness grew even more marked. “There are no old men around here.”
    â€œThere’s a gardener. At least, I think he was…”
    Â 
    â€œD ON ’ T TALK ABOUT IT ,” Ruth said firmly, shoving a thermometer into Meg’s mouth. “It was just a fever dream. Trust me, there are no young dark men, no old men wandering around in the garden. Just Winslowe and Salvatore. Now you just lie back and rest, let the thermometer do its work, and I’ll find you something to put in your stomach. It’s