The Caregiver - By Shelley Shepard Gray Page 0,44

more than she’d ever imagined happening. With a wince, she shifted, but that only served to push the rocker back and for her to lose her balance.

And for the nausea to return.

“Oh, Graham, I am sorry I asked you to come over. I shouldn’t have. I’m in quite a state today.”

But instead of chiding her like he usually did, Graham crouched in front of her and clasped her hands, comforting them in his warm, capable ones. “I’m not sorry at all. Matter of fact, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. It’s a verra bad day you’re havin’ today, ain’t it?”

Raising her gaze, she met his own. “It is a bad day. But it is no worse than that. It’s just that the medicine they’ve been putting in my veins has made me feel terrible.”

“I don’t recall you complaining about the other time you had the chemotherapy. You didn’t get so sick, did you?”

Fighting through her nausea, she attempted to explain things. “Nee. But the nurses said that the medicine is like that. It’s a cumulative thing. All of a sudden, my body will say that it has had enough of this poison.”

He winced.

And she knew she’d been too blunt. “Graham, I’m sorry,” she said again, hating how whiny she sounded. Hating that he was witnessing it.

And that it was all her fault. “I asked Lucy to go get you because you always seem to know what to say. You always seem to be able to shake me out of whatever doldrums I fall into, and to make things so much better.”

“It’s a wonderful quality of mine,” he said modestly—though she caught the gleam of amusement in his eye. “But today, however, I’m afraid I don’t seem to be doing a good job of it.” Almost tenderly, he brushed a thumb against her knuckles. “Is my being here making it worse?”

“Not at all.” She slumped. “But I don’t seem to be able to shake things.”

Straightening, Graham reached for both her hands. “On your feet now.”

He wanted to go walking? What in the world had gotten into him? “Graham—I feel too bad to go for a walk . . .”

“Oh, but you are a stubborn woman, Mattie Lapp,” he blurted, his voice as hard as it ever was. “Just listen for once, now, will ya?”

“I will.” But still, she felt as lost as ever. She’d asked him over to help her feel better. But so far, all he seemed to be doing was getting her riled up.

Finding the strength from somewhere, Mattie obediently stood. “There. Is this better?”

“Nee.” He sighed as he wrapped one arm around her and then ever so gently guided her to the long couch near the room’s pair of windows.

Then, to her surprise, he sat down and guided her down right next to him. Close enough so that their sides touched. “But this is better now, jah?”

Every bone and muscle in her body felt like it was on fire—and felt weak as well. It was as if her body couldn’t hold her weight any longer.

Oh, for heaven’s sakes! She was going to black out! Either collapse against the back of a couch in a terrible, horrible slump . . . or lose herself completely and faint. As her world spun, she clutched at his arms. “Graham, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think I’m—”

She had no more words as he sighed and rearranged her in his arms. Now she was leaning back against his very solid, very hard and muscular chest.

His support felt so good, but surely it wasn’t appropriate. “Graham, maybe—”

“Shh, Mattie,” he commanded. After a second, he spoke again, his voice smoother, almost like a song. “Hush, now, Mattie. I’ve got ya. Just relax now. Please, just rest.”

Little by little, her body conformed to his. Slowly relaxing. At least her body was, because her mind was spinning. What they were doing certainly wasn’t proper. No, she surely knew she wasn’t supposed to be lying against him.

Alone. Once more, this was certainly not what she had intended to happen when she’d asked Graham to come over.

But as her muscles slowly relaxed and his calm heartbeat thudded a reassuring rhythm against her body, Mattie knew she didn’t care anymore.

An overwhelming sense of relief and comfort floated through her, as the pain that had racked her body slowly ebbed and flowed into something manageable.

“I’ve got ya, Mattie,” he said again, rubbing one calloused hand along her arm. “I’m glad ya sent for me,