Free A Season for Family by Mae Nunn Page A

insisted, drawing Heath’s attention back to Amos.
    â€œI gave him aspirin a couple of hours ago but it didn’t help much,” Velma offered.
    â€œGot any ibuprofen?” Heath asked. Olivia nodded and headed for her bathroom cabinet. She returned with two tablets, they propped Amos up and he swallowed the meds and a sip of water without resistance. But seconds later he burst into a fit of coughing, his chest heaving with the effort.
    â€œGet some towels and a bucket in case he gets sick. I can handle fever and coughing but barfing is another issue altogether.” Heath looked from Olivia to Velma and back to Olivia again, sweeping his hands in a hurry-up motion. “Well, give me what I asked for and then get out of here.”
    Olivia wasn’t at all certain it was right to dump this on Heath. Community service meant he should cook and clean, not get exposed to the worst kind of seasonal sickness.
    â€œAre you sure you want to do this, Heath?”
    â€œKeep bugging me and I might change my mind.”
    â€œHere ya go.” Velma plopped the requested items on the floor near the sofa. “Come on, Miss Livvy. Let’s get away from this flu bug.”
    Worry settled over Olivia’s heart as she moved slowly toward her door. It was late, there were clients to check in for the night and dinner to serve. She had no idea what kind of shape the kitchen was in and if Amos hadbeen sick all day that probably meant the laundry was stacked up.
    â€œYou comin’, Miss Livvy? There’s a bunk open next to me, I’ll make it up for you after dinner.”
    She had no choice but to leave the two men alone in her apartment, her private sanctuary. It wasn’t like there was anything of value in the place, but these few small rooms were her home. She glanced around at the meager, secondhand furnishings and many original paintings, then followed Velma into the stairwell and closed the door from the outside.
    Â 
    This wasn’t even close to how Heath had planned to get into Olivia’s apartment, but it would work. He looked down at the thin form of the man passed out on the sofa bed.
    As long as he could keep Amos medicated and asleep, he’d be free to search to his heart’s content, Heath thought to himself.
    But at the mention of his heart, it seemed to ache a bit. He was going to invade the lady’s private space. And, as he’d just discovered, it seemed to be hung wall-to-wall with incredible art that he’d wager had never seen the light of day. Her talent deserved to be celebrated, not locked away inside a shelter that was under surveillance by the police. He felt another twinge of guilt. Well, he’d just have to get over this dose of conscience, and in a hurry. There was no room for regret in undercover work.
    Heath was about to tiptoe toward Olivia’s bedroom when Amos struggled to support himself on one elbow like he was determined to share some news.
    He opened his mouth to speak. Instead, he began to heave.

Chapter Eight
    T wo changes of bedsheets later and Heath was afraid he might be sick himself.
    But the last three hours of tending to a sick person had taught Heath a new sense of respect for his mama. The woman had a constitution of steel. Not much had bothered her when Heath was growing up. She hadn’t shuddered when he’d come home with a nail through his hand, hadn’t shrieked when he’d wrestled a wounded squirrel from the cat next door, and never shied away when too much partying left a fraternity brother in a disgusting heap on her bathroom floor.
    Now that Heath thought about it, she’d never even hounded him on those occasions. Not unless he counted her scriptural references on each subject as hounding, and back then he had. While he scrubbed his hands for the umpteenth time he made a mental note to send his mama flowers and a thank-you card.
    â€œHeath?” Olivia called, her voice loud over knuckles hammering