you mind if I took a look?” Asher asked. “I have some advanced training and the captain calls upon me when there’s a medical issue.”
“I suppose that would be all right.” She sat up and unbuttoned her blouse enough to free her arm. “It feels hot and itches like crazy.”
Asher gently held her arm. “Have you ever had a reaction to a mosquito bite before?”
“No. I was raised on a farm and was bitten a hundred times. I’ve never had anything like this happen.”
Asher carefully examined the bite, and Everly had to admit the redness and swelling around the area were impressive. It had spread to the entire upper part of her arm. “The mosquitoes in the Amazon carry a number of different viruses.”
“Will you need to amputate?” she asked, mainly to lighten the mood, seeing how serious Asher looked.
Asher didn’t even crack a smile. “Some of these viruses can be serious, Daisy. How are you feeling generally?”
“What do you mean?”
“Headache? Nauseated?”
Now that he mentioned it, she could feel a humdinger of a headache approaching. “I think if I get a good night’s sleep, I’ll be fine by morning.”
“I’ll check in with you then,” Asher said. “But first I’m going to get you something to take down the swelling and help you rest comfortably.”
“Not another sleeping pill.” This time she wasn’t joking. She appreciated his concern, but she had a tough constitution. The bite didn’t overly worry her. She had malaria pills and had gotten the required shots, so she should be fine. A tiny mosquito bite wasn’t going to do her in.
“No sleeping pill,” he promised.
Asher left and returned a few minutes later with two capsules. He explained what they were and how they would help before she swallowed them down.
Not long afterward, Everly fell asleep. It was hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours earlier she’d been in Chicago in the middle of a blizzard. She woke in the middle of the night with her stomach roiling. Her head pounded and she felt dizzy as she rushed into her bathroom. She arrived in the nick of time to empty the contents of her stomach. With her hand pressed against her midsection, she stumbled back to bed. She felt wretched, worse than she had in years.
At eight the following morning when she was a no-show for breakfast, there was a knock against her door.
“Daisy, it’s Asher.”
“Come in,” she called, her voice weak.
The instant he stepped into the room she saw his eyes darken with anxiety. She felt certain she was burning up with fever, and her head pounded like someone with evil intent had taken residence inside her.
“You don’t look any better,” he said, coming to sit on the side of her mattress. He pressed his hand against her forehead. “You’re feverish.”
Everly felt like she was about to burst into tears. Her bottom lip quivered. So much for a robust constitution. This was worse than anything she could remember; she wanted her mother and Mom’s homemade chicken soup.
“Everything hurts,” she whispered, leaning back against her pillow. “My hair hurts. My teeth hurt. My fingernails are throbbing.”
“I guess you were serious,” he said, grinning.
“What?”
“You really will die without the Internet.”
“Very funny,” she grumbled. “How long is this reaction thing going to last?”
Asher pulled the chair up next to her bed and sat. “Some people don’t feel sick or suffer any symptoms.”
“Not what I wanted to hear.”
His eyes were sympathetic. “You should be right as rain in five to seven days.”
Everly flopped back against her pillow. “That long?” She couldn’t imagine feeling like this for an entire week. Covering her face with both hands, she groaned aloud.
Asher left only to return a few minutes later with more medication and liquids. He sat with her until she drank it all down. By this point, Everly was feeling beyond being heroic. She sniffled several times and reached for a tissue at her bedside, loudly blowing her nose. The drugs Asher had given her seemed to make her woozy and talkative at the same time.
“I’m stronger than this,” she insisted. It felt as if everything had gone downhill with the speed of an Olympic skier since she’d left Chicago. “I refuse to let a little mosquito bring me down.” To prove her point, she raised her index finger to the ceiling and announced, “I. Have. Milked. Cows.”
Asher gently squeezed her hand. “You’ll feel better soon,” he promised.
“I’m not a weak person,” she repeated, finding it vital that he know