“You, too, Finnigan.” She used his last name because that’s how Miguel and Brielle addressed him.
Before Brielle left Julia alone with Miguel, she said, “The bathroom connects to a smaller guest room. You’ll find it comfortable with everything you need. I have to be at the SWAT command center by seven, but the kitchen is fully stocked. Please feel free to help yourself to anything you want. Good night, Julia.” Like Finnigan, she patted Miguel’s shoulder. “Good night, sweet friend.”
Miguel whispered, “Good night.”
“Thank you, Brielle,” Julia added. “I appreciate your kindness and hospitality.”
Brielle smiled. “No thanks necessary. This is what we do for each other.”
Julia nodded. She was beginning to understand just how deep the friendship ran between the Laguna Beach cops and their wives. “Good night.”
Although Julia yearned for a warm shower and to crawl into bed, she couldn’t think about herself right now. Her primary concern was to bring down Miguel’s fever and try to keep him hydrated. In the pretty bathroom decorated in shades of light and dark blue and complemented with beach-themed fixtures, Julia found a plush royal blue washcloth and soaked it with cold water. She returned to Miguel’s bedside where he lay half-unconscious.
She raised his head long enough to give him his antibiotics and began to apply the cold washcloth to his hot face.
“Mm…that feels nice,” he murmured with his eyes closed.
“Shh. Don’t speak. Go to sleep. I’ve got you, Miguel.”
Because she couldn’t sing, Julia hummed what she remembered of the Spanish lullaby Miguel had sung to her. She hoped it soothed and comforted him as it had for her at the worst moment of her life.
For the next couple of hours, Julia bathed Miguel’s face, hands, and arms with cold water. When she took his temperature, his fever had dropped three degrees. Relieved by this positive improvement, Julia let out a sigh and rose from the bed. She went into the bathroom, luxuriated in a warm shower, washed her hair with sweet-smelling shampoo, and dried her body with a fluffy royal blue towel that matched the washcloth.
Exiting into the adjoining bedroom, she separated her and Miguel’s clean clothes from their dirty ones and slipped into a pair of cotton sleep pants and a thin white tank top. Julia found a blow-dryer in the bathroom and dried her hair. Instead of crashing in the adjoining bedroom, she curled next to Miguel. She rationalized her decision by convincing herself she could aid him if he needed her, but it was more for her.
Because his declaration that she was his woman, even if spoken while feverish, sparked reciprocal feelings in her.
Miguel Rivera was her man.
Julia fell asleep listening to Miguel’s labored breathing.
In the morning, something startled her awake. The sound of a garbage truck lumbering down the street. When she became aware of how warm and cozy she felt, Julia’s heart skipped several beats. She lay with her head on Miguel’s chest, and one of her legs was thrown across his. His arm snaked around her, holding her against him, and his hand rested on her hip. She relaxed, enjoying the intimacy between them.
As she closed her eyes, Miguel murmured in her ear, “Is this real, or am I hallucinating?”
His husky voice sent a thrill through her. “It’s real.”
“You’re risking your health by being this close to me.”
Julia raised her head to stare into his eyes now dulled by his fever. “I know. It’s reckless, but I didn’t want to leave you alone. How are you feeling?”
“Honestly? Pretty crappy.”
Julia rose reluctantly from the bed to fetch the thermometer. She pointed it at Miguel’s forehead. “Your temperature is holding steady at ninety-nine.” She shook two Tylenol tablets and the antibiotics out of their bottles, handed the medication to Miguel, and passed a cool glass of water to him.
“Thank you, Jules.”
His nickname pleased her, and she smiled at him. “I’ll get dressed and head downstairs to make something for breakfast. Do you feel like solid food or soup?”
“Soup.”
“All right. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Julia threw on a clean pair of jeans and a plain yellow T-shirt. She carried an armload of dirty clothes to the laundry room, tossed them into a large washing machine, and started a cycle.
In the kitchen Julia discovered a container of frozen homemade chicken soup thawing on the granite counter. Next to it sat a box of saltine crackers, chamomile tea bags, and two coffee mugs. Julia spooned some of the chicken soup into a bowl and set it in the microwave to heat. While she waited, she made a cup of hot tea for Miguel and popped a K-cup into the Keurig to make coffee for herself.
Her stomach growled, so she scrambled a couple of eggs, toasted two slices of bread, and placed everything on a serving tray that Brielle had thoughtfully left on the kitchen table. When she reached the bedroom and pushed open the door that had been left ajar, Julia almost dropped the tray.
