Page 40 of Tangled Trust

"Of course. I forgot you’re in real estate. Have you met the Taylors?"

"No. I know. I’m a lousy neighbor."

"Not lousy. Just busy."

"Well, I’m glad to be home. There's nothing like sleeping in your own bed," Carter says.

His words are innocuous, but the thought of him in bed makes my skin tingle.

Don’t start, Ella. Smile and go about your business of Au Pairing.

* * *

It’s past 8 a.m., and Jagger isn’t galloping through the house with Dash giving chase. Something is amiss. I make my way to his bedroom and open the door softly so as not to disturb him if he’s still asleep. Jagger is still on holiday, so I don’t mind if he wants to sleep in. After the hectic vacation he’s had, I wouldn’t blame him for catching a few extra zees.

I sneak up to the side of his bed and watch as his chest moves up and down. His face is flushed, which is unusual for a sleeping child, so I place the back of my hand on his forehead. He’s burning up.

Ugh! It looks like my charge has brought home more than just a few war stories. It seems like there is a stowaway bug at work here. Poor little guy.

An hour later, Jagger wanders downstairs, clutching his Nerf gun in one hand and a blanket in the other.

"I’m not feeling well," he moans.

"Hi, sweetheart. Yes, you’re burning up," I coo as I bend down to pick him up. "Come, let’s have a look at you."

"My throat is burning," he says, putting his head on my shoulders.

I fall back into doctor mode with such ease that it’s automatic. After doing a thorough check, I make my diagnosis. Chickenpox.

"You’re going to be okay, little guy. I’ve got you. Come, let's get you back in bed."

Once Jagger is comfy, I call Carter.

"Hi, Ella. Is everything okay?"

"Hi, Carter. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I’m calling to let you know that Jagger has chicken pox. Please don’t worry; everything is under control. I just thought you should know."

"Oh, shit."

"He’ll be fine; don’t worry."

"Yes, I don’t doubt that. It’s just that I never had chickenpox as a child. I hope I don’t get it."

"Oh, dear. I see. Okay, well, let’s keep an eye on you too," I say without thinking.

"Do you think I should go to the doctor?"

Why? You have one living in the same house as you.

"Uhm. Are you feeling okay?"

"I do have a scratchy throat."

"I wouldn’t stress too much."

Famous last words. Carter looks like hell when he gets home. Clearly, the chickenpox virus has him by the scruff of the neck. It’s a rather unpleasant experience when you’re an adult, but all is not lost. I’m well versed in how to treat the symptoms and what to look out for to avoid any nasty complications. I’m probably the most qualified Au Pair Carter could ever have hired. Ironic. I should be charging more, I think, thoroughly amused.

"Looks like the bug has you licked," I say, placing the back of my hand against his forehead. "Yup. You have a fever."

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