Spencer
The only thing more difficult than keeping my hands off Ara's body was keeping her body inside her own house. Two days after the Christmas tree, I found her trying to get her long legs into snow pants. Twice. The second time, I hooked an arm around her waist, hauled her off her feet, and stepped on the snow pants until they tugged off her feet. "I'm going to tie you to the couch."
She kicked once but then went limp under my arms. "I'm sobored, Spencer."
"That is not my problem." I carried her like a bag of feed from the bedroom back to the couch where I'd set her up with books, her tablet, ice water, and soup. "Sit your ass down and get better."
Her only response was to cough, although it was looser, and she hadn't had a fever for a solid twenty-four hours. She was well on her way to being over this illness if she would justsit.I dumped her on the couch, and with a groan, she gathered a blanket around her, and despite her protests, she settled in.
She still had rings under her bright blue eyes, and her lips were chapped. She'd lost weight, if that was even possible, and I felt an odd sense of urgency about getting her well again. I knew once she was healed, she'd be off like a shot and moving at bullet train speed again. With her schedule, she needed a head start.
She glowered at me from her quilt nest. "You have alfalfa in your beard."
I swiped at it, and sure enough, a piece of green alfalfa fell from my facial hair. I'd trimmed my beard shorter and braided my hair up to keep it from getting covered in farm debris, but it seemed like a pointless effort with how dusty ranch animals were. "I have to shower, anyway. That lawyer I told you about is coming at two."
She blinked in surprise. "Really?" Then she glanced down at her disheveled sweatshirt and leggings. "I should change."
"You're fine. Just stay the fuck there. I can't believe I'm worried about taking a shower right now." I pointed at her. "If you leave, I'm going to sit on you for an hour."
A reluctant laugh bubbled past her pursed lips. "You wouldn't."
I would never get tired of hearing her laugh. She'd done it more and more as time went on, and I was quickly getting addicted to causing it. "Try me."
Ara rolled her eyes, but then she held up a placating hand. "I will stay inside."
She was going to get up and clean or get dressed or something, I was sure of it. But as long as she wasn't exerting herself in the twenty-degree weather, I didn't care. I left her on the couch and headed through the kitchen/dining room combo and then down a narrow hallway where the guest bedroom and bathroom were located. After staying here for almost a week, I was absolutely certain that every bed in this house needed to be replaced. If my wrought iron, single bed hadn't been made in the Depressionera, I would eat the ancient mattress. Arabella had updated the kitchen, painted the walls, and virtually touched nothing else in this place.
That included the small, mustard-colored bathroom with ancient, sixties-style tile and a perilous-looking faucet that groaned and whined when I took a shower. I also had to crouch down a good two feet to fit under the shower head, which was fun. But, as I dried off and wiped fog away from the mirror, I realized how temporary this was—it wasn't like I planned on living here. As I stared at my reflection, I asked myself for the twentieth time what I was doing here. How long could I realistically camp out in Arabella's ranch house before she got her strength back and literally kicked me out?
I had a condo lined up, and I'd been busy emailing and contacting contractors to get my practice up. I had an interview with an office manager next week, and I'd set aside some time in the last few evenings to get my malpractice insurance and HIPAA protocols squared away. But all that aside, I hadn't figured out what to do withAra, specifically. It wasn't like I was going to move here to Park City and then ignore her after she was better. I needed to level with her about my intention to stick around and help her. Anyone else might be grateful for the companionship, but Arabella was more likely to be livid.
"Figure it out later," I told my reflection. My uncertain expression stared back. Yeah. Right.
I'd been so lighthearted when I'd decided to leave the NICU behind and move out here, but there were moments like now that I was certain I'd lost my marbles. It was like the damn Christmas tree. My impulsivity was fun when I booked a last-minute vacation to Bali, but it tended to bite me in the ass for enormous things—like upending my entire life and moving to be near my arranged marriage wife.
I ran my hand through my damp hair, shaking my head and blowing out a bracing breath. One thing at a time. I got dressed in a gray knit sweater and joggers, and after pulling thick socks over my feet to keep Ara's drafty house from giving me frostbite, I combed my hair back and headed back to the living room.
I'd expected Ara to tidy up her little sick couch area, but she'd done more than just that. It looked spotless—tissues, water bottle, tablet, and books had been put away, and she'd folded the quilts and put them back in the closet. She closed the closet door just as I joined her in the living room, and I noted that she was wearing jeans, a button-down plaid shirt, and white socks instead of the colorful, thick socks she'd been using. She gave me a faintly guilty look, and I realized it was because she looked pale and sweaty.
I ground my teeth and folded my arms. "It's a natural resources attorney, not the pope. Will you sit?"
Weakly, she acquiesced, and I watched her stagger back to the couch. "I don't usually have people over."
"Yeah, well, this guy works with ranchers. I can't imagine he's expecting anything fancy. Relax." I joined her on the couch. "Besides, I've been over for days. You didn't feel the need to clean for me."
"You're not people," she countered absently, picking at her nails.
"I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult." I pulled her hand away from her cuticles.
She gave me a look that said it was the latter. "So, does he know we're transferring the ranch to my name?"
"He's going to help with that, too," I reassured her. "And we can go to a notary when you're better. Once we understand your ranch's water rights better, it will help."
She looked at where I still held her hand, and pink tinted her cheeks. "You said that. It's just hard to believe that you're not getting anything out of this."
The number Knox had offered to invest in my practice flashed through my mind, and I mentally winced. That wasn't the reason I was here, but it would certainlylookdamning when she found out. I opened my mouth to admit that I'd moved here to open a practice, but then the doorbell rang. I snapped my mouth closed. Not the best time, then.
When I answered the door, the older attorney met me with a tight smile that told me he was already in a hurry. I supposed I'd given people the same kind of smile on busy days in the NICU, so I couldn't exactly fault him. He held out a leather-gloved hand. "Hi, there. Theodore Spencer?"
