Page 32 of The Captain's Little Girl

“How many cookies did you eat?”

“About a dozen?” she mumbled.

“A dozen?”

“Yes. Different kinds, of course,” she added, as if that made a difference. That mental picture was the final straw. Leaping to her feet, Cricket ran toward the kitchen trash can. It was the closest refuge for her rebelling stomach.

“Baby girl.” Mark’s voice was gentle as he gathered her hair.

“Go away.” Cricket was so embarrassed.

“Your daddy isn’t going anywhere.”

Turning on the faucet at the sink, Mark wet a paper towel and draped the cool material over the back of her neck. After dampening another, he placed that one on a chair he pulled close to her. “When you’re ready to wipe your mouth, Cricket.”

Finally, the spasms calmed. Cricket reached for the wet towel and wiped her mouth, standing up slightly. Mark gathered the top of the bag together and knotted it. Grabbing another paper towel, he washed her face carefully.

“Better?”

“No. That was awful. I hate throwing up.”

“Let’s put you in your crib to rest for a while.”

“No. I’ll just go home,” Cricket insisted. She was so embarrassed she just wanted to escape.

“Not going to happen. Stretch out on the couch.” Mark guided her to the sectional and propped her up on pillows. “Are you still feeling sick?”

Cricket nodded and swallowed hard again, telling herself not to shake her head. “Sick.”

Mark didn’t say a word. He simply walked back to the kitchen and returned with a large mixing bowl. Setting it on the couch next to her, Mark sat gently at her feet. He stripped off her socks and rubbed her feet.

Moaning with delight, Cricket closed her eyes. This was the best foot rub ever. He seemed to focus on several spots that were sore, easing their discomfort. She didn’t move in fear that he would stop.

“How long has your tummy been bothering you, baby girl?”

His soft question combined with the foot massage lured her into answering honestly. “A couple of days.”

Then, realizing that she’d told him the truth, Cricket immediately tried damage control. “I mean, I’m okay. Nothing bad. I just ate too many cookies today.”

“We’ll see how you feel tomorrow. A quiet night tonight may be all you need.”

“I’m sure that’s it, Daddy.” Cricket blinked up at him, trying to school her features into something less miserable than she still felt. “Could you rub my feet again?”

“Of course. Why don’t you close your eyes? I’ll be right here with you.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

* * *

“Doniphan, I’m sorry to bother you this late.” Mark’s quiet voice registered on Cricket, but she was beyond caring. She’d been sick repeatedly and was so tired. Each time, Mark dealt with the mess and comforted her.

After a bit of a silence, Mark spoke again. “Cricket’s in terrible shape. She’s gotten sick several times and doesn’t seem to be getting better. I’m worried about her.”

“Thanks, Doniphan.” Mark disconnected the call.

“I’m okay,” Cricket mumbled. “Just tired.”

“You rest, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

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