Page 26 of Forgiving Her First Love

On the second ring, she threw off her sheet and padded down to the kitchen, snatching up the landline from its cradle on the wall.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Logan said over a crying Storm. “Can you come over?”

“What? No. Why? I’m in bed.” She folded one bare foot over the other.

“Storm’s sick. I thought she was missing Emma, but she’s hot and threw up her bottle.” She’d never heard him so anxious. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll be right there.” She hung up and got herself into jeans with a long-sleeved shirt, then shook Gramps awake enough to say, “Storm’s sick. I’m going over to help Logan.”

“All right.” He rolled over and probably wouldn’t remember. He was snoring again by the time she found the flashlight and her shoes.

The moon was waning, the sky was clear. She arrived at the house breathless from jogging up the hill.

Logan opened the door before she knocked, obviously watching for her flashlight. He was shirtless, wearing only trackpants hanging low on his hips. His hair was mussed, his cheeks stubbled, his brows glued together with worry.

“Hey, sweet pea,” Sophie said, touching the back of Storm’s neck.

She turned her face away, crying wretchedly into Logan’s shoulder.

“Did you take her temperature?”

“The thermometer is there.” He pointed to the kitchen island. “I didn’t know how to do it.” He grimaced.

“You put it in her armpit.”

“Oh shit. Yeah, I thought I had to—This is why I called you.”

She hid her smile at how discomfited he was and set her box of supplies on the counter. It was full of all the things she reached for when Biyen was sick, but Emma was equally prepared. There was already a plastic tub with a thermometer and teething gel along with a bottle of infant Tylenol and a dosing syringe.

Logan shifted Storm so he could tug open the snaps of her sleeper and bared her arm. She wasn’t having it. She cried even harder when he gently pinned her arm down for the minute the thermometer needed to get its reading.

It finally beeped and Sophie read, “A smidge over one hundred. Let’s see if this brings it down.” She gave the grape flavored medication a shake, then read the dosage schedule. “How much does she weigh?”

They double-checked the concentration and each other’s math, finally squirting a small measure of the syrup into Storm’s mouth.

She stopped crying as she decided whether she liked the taste or not, then fell back onto Logan, crying it out again.

“Let’s get a damp cloth and cool her off a little. Oh! Em has Popsicles for the kids, doesn’t she?” They had all had one the other night. Sophie opened the freezer. “They’re not ideal for rehydration, but it might calm her down and cool her off.”

It helped. Storm knew exactly what it was and reached for Sophie when she saw it.

“Do you mind holding her?” Logan asked. “I still smell like barf and have to clean her crib.”

“Of course. Come on, pumpkin.” Sophie carried her to the couch and sat with Storm sniffling in her lap. Storm kept one hand on Sophie’s to keep the orange Popsicle against her unhappy mouth.

Logan went up the stairs, then came back a few minutes later to carry a basket down to the basement. He returned wearing a blue T-shirt and brought a damp cloth.

Storm didn’t like the cloth on her hair. She promptly rejected Sophie with a wail and a reach for big brother.

“All right,” Logan murmured as he gathered her up. He paced and rubbed her back. “This is what happens when you get into Dad’s rye. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Something all the Fraser children learn the hard way, I presume,” Sophie said, setting the melting Popsicle on its wrapper.

“Oh, we never learn. We got into it a couple of weeks ago like a bunch of amateurs.” He touched his lips and dipped his chin to indicate Storm’s eyelids were drooping.

Sophie sat quietly, lulled by the sight of him soothing Storm to sleep.

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