Page 96 of The Rancher Married the Wrong Sister
He struggled to keep his voice level as he cornered Clarice by the stove. “Where’s Wednesday?”
“You don’t know?” Clarice turned to glare at him, all five feet of her radiating maternal disapproval. The woman had been terrifying him since he was seven, and apparently marriage hadn’t changed that dynamic. “She’s down with a fever.”
“Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me?”
His voice bounced off the kitchen walls, and he immediately felt like an ass. When was the last time he’d checked on her? When was the last time he’d made sure she was eating, sleeping, taking care of herself?
Three days ago, he’d had his mouth on her body. Since then, he’d treated her like she didn’t exist.
“You’re her husband, Mr. Launcelot. You’re supposed to know these things first.”
Gavine’s jaw tightened. “Watch your tone, Clarice.” The older woman might have raised him after his mother died, but that didn’t give her license to lecture him about his marriage.
Clarice, however, looked about as impressed by his authority as she would be by a toddler’s tantrum. Just like Roxanne, she seemed immune to both his wealth and his intimidation tactics when she thought he was being an idiot.
“You should be the one watching yourself, young man.” She set down her dish towel with the kind of precision that meant business. “If you don’t start taking proper care of your wife, God might just take her away from you.”
Chapter Eight
THE FEVER BREAKS JUSTas someone’s knocking on my door.
I’m not sure how much time has passed as I’ve been weaving in and out of consciousness. One moment, I was several-websites-deep researching what it means to be a supportive wife of a businessman. The next thing I know, I’m in bed with Clarice clucking her tongue and telling me I should rest and eat up.
The guest bedroom feels foreign even though I’ve been sleeping here for weeks. Dove-gray wallpaper with hand-painted cherry blossoms, French Provincial furniture that probably belonged to Gavine’s grandmother, and windows that overlook the rose garden where I first felt his hands on me. The four-poster bed is ridiculously ornate with carved posts and ivory silk curtains that pool on the polished hardwood floor. Everything about this room whispers old money and careful preservation, like a museum display of how wealthy wives are supposed to live.
I briefly recall a shadowy figure coming in and out of my room, and how the intensity of his gaze had me stirring even with the fever making my thoughts hazy.
At one point I thought it was Death, coming to my room to fetch me, and I ended up crying helplessly as I told him, “Not yet. Not just yet please because I’m still a virgin.”
Embarrassment floods my body at the memory, which is so painfully vivid that sleep offers no escape from it. I’m wincing even with my eyes still closed, my mind working perfectlybecause no matter how hard I try now, I just can’t un-see or un-hear—
“How are you feeling?”
My eyes fly open.
I’m dead.
It’s Death.
No, wait, what I mean is, my husband is looking absolutely to-die-for as he stands at the foot of my bed. His tall, powerful body fills the doorway, wearing a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a couple of buttons undone to reveal the golden expanse of his chest, and his strong legs encased in dark jeans that I’m doing my very best not to look at.
Because if I let my gaze drop even an inch lower, that’s when I’m really, really doomed.
How in the world did you end up like this, Wednesday Marie Arthurs?
I just don’t know why, but there’s something about this man that has my mind going to the gutter every time I see him.
“Wednesday?”
Oh heavens, I forgot he’d asked me a question.
My gaze flies back to his face guiltily, but his expression is neither impatient nor irritated. It’s rather hard to read actually, and that has me so nervous I end up croaking out in answer, “I’m f-fine.”
“I wasn’t immediately made aware you’d been ill. I apologize for that.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I protest, my voice still scratchy from the fever. “And it’s my fault I fell sick anyway—”
“Why would you say that?”
