Free Future Perfect by Suzanne Brockmann Page A

arriving this evening,” she said. “I have to do laundry and get the rooms ready.”
    She was wearing an old pair of gray sweat pants and a faded maroon Harvard sweat shirt. Her eyes still looked sleepy, and her hair was rumpled, but she smiled at him, and Webster thought he’d never seen her look better.
    “I’ll be back to check on you in about twenty minutes, okay?”
    Webster nodded. “Did you go to Harvard?” he asked.
    She looked at him blankly, until he motioned to her sweat shirt. She saw what she was wearing, and shook her head. “No,” she said, and laughed.
    Webster didn’t get the joke, and she didn’t explain.
    Over the course of the day, Juliana came into his room often, bringing him minuscule amounts of saltine crackers and flat cola and ginger ale. She made sure he wascovered up when he was asleep, and she brought him books and magazines when he was awake.
    He really wanted her to sit and talk, but she didn’t have time.
    In the late afternoon, Juliana brought in a steaming bowl of chicken-and-rice soup, balanced on a bed tray.
    “Zowie,” Webster said, putting down the book he’d been reading. “Real food.”
    Juliana smiled, putting the tray down across his lap, trying to ignore the fact that the flannel shirt he wore was unbuttoned, exposing the hard muscles of his chest.
    He hadn’t shaved in days, and with the stubble on his face and his hair a nest of curls, he looked roguish and dangerous. But his smile softened the effect.
    Webster watched as Juliana sat tiredly in the chair next to his bed. Her ratty sweats had disappeared, replaced by a quaint green-patterned Victorian dress. Gone were the loose curls around her face. Once again, she wore her hair primly back and up.
    “I’ve got about an hour before the first guests are due to arrive,” she said. “Heavens, I think this is the first time I’ve sat down all day.”
    He stirred the hot soup, letting some of the heat escape. “Maybe you should use the time to take a nap,” he said.
    Juliana sat up straight. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re probably working, reading at least. I should go, let you—”
    “No!” The force of that one word startled even Webster. “I mean, please. I just thought you might want to rest. I guess I feel guilty for keeping you up two nights in a row.”
    “Don’t worry,” Juliana said, her lips twitching up intoa bewitching smile. “I’ve figured out a way for you to repay me.”
    She could see the flash of interest in his dark-blue eyes. “Oh, really?”
    “Yes, really. Maybe I’ll tell you later this week.”
    “Not another secret?”
    She smiled. “Eat your soup.”
    Webster took a spoonful of the fragrant broth, blowing gently on it before putting it in his mouth. “This tastes great,” he murmured. “Thanks.”
    Juliana smiled her welcome, letting her eyes drift shut as he focused all of his attention and energy on eating the soup. After a while, the sound of the spoon hitting the bowl stopped, and she opened her eyes to find Webster watching her.
    “You know,” he said, “you can lie down over here.” He motioned toward the other side of his big bed. “I don’t bite.”
    “At least not too hard,” Juliana said, repeating his own words. It seemed as if he’d said that to her years ago, but it had only been a few short days …
    Webster saw wariness come into her eyes, as if she’d suddenly remembered who she was dealing with. She stood up tiredly, stretching her arms and back. “I better start baking for tomorrow’s breakfast,” she said, trying to sound casual, but really searching for a way to leave.
    As he watched her walk toward the door, Webster was filled with sudden, gut-wrenching despair, far worse than any stomachache the flu had given him. Now that he was better, everything was going to go back to the way it had been. The easy familiarity between them would vanish, and Juliana would turn back into the cool, polite stranger.
    Webster wasn’t entirely