Page 80 of Holiday Hire

My pulse skyrockets. I force myself to tear my eyes off his tattoo, and say, "You're green."

"I'll be fine," he reiterates.

"You're not," I insist, and hold the thermometer in front of him. I push the button, ordering, "Open up."

He obeys, and I slide the thermometer into his mouth.

As soon as it beeps, I take it out, read it, and fret, "It's 102.5!"

"I'll be fine," he weakly repeats.

"Maybe I should take you to the hospital."

He looks at me like I'm crazy. "No, I'll be fine."

"But you're sick. That fever is dangerous."

"Phoebe, I'll be fine," he sternly states.

I stare at him a moment, unsure what to do.

He softens his tone. "I just need to rest."

"Okay. But if it gets any worse, I'm taking you to the hospital."

He grumbles, "Fine."

I pull the covers back, and he slides into bed. I pull a sheet over him, stating, "I'm not going to put the rest of the blankets on until your fever goes down."

"Good. I'm too hot."

I go into the bathroom, find a washcloth, and run freezing-cold water over it. I fold it as I return to his bedside. I place it on the back of his neck.

"Shouldn't it be on my forehead?" he questions.

I shake my head. "No. You want the fever to pullawayfrom your brain, notthroughit."

He arches his eyebrows.

"It's true," I state.

A tiny curve appears on his lips. "Okay, if that's what you say."

I shake a bottle of pills, ordering, "You should take this to lower your fever. I'm going to grab some water for you."

He doesn't argue.

I go into the kitchen, fill the glass, and take it to him. I hand him a pill and hold the water to his lips.

He swallows it and closes his eyes. "Thank you."

I hesitate, then say, "You're welcome. I'm going to come back in a little while and see if your fever's down, okay?"

He mumbles, "I'll be fine."

"I know. But I'll be back in a little while," I repeat, leaving the room and pacing for a half hour until it's time to check on him and the boys.

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