better this morning. Yes, simple dehydration could definitely explain fever and hallucinations like that, and I’d given her more fluids last night with the idea that it was just dehydration and nothing more. But fever and the hallucinations that came with it could also come from infection. Something a whole lot bigger than dehydration or a little virus.
And if it was an infection, I’d have to send her to a real hospital. I’d already come to terms with that. Because Trish’s safety was paramount here. Getting her healthy again was my priority. Sepsis was a real and very scary thing.
I was very, very carefully not looking at the way it made me feel to think about her leaving the house. I’d brushed up against the sudden sense of loss—the emptiness that she’d somehow, in the short time I’d known her, managed to fill—and then I’d skittered in the other direction. I’d put the thought of how good it felt to have company again out of my mind.
Because Trish wasn’t mine. She was a tourist I’d saved from a boating accident, and nothing more. Yes, so I’d quickly found that her smile lit up the room and that her dimpled face made me feel things I hadn’t felt in years—and didn’t know whether I was still capable of feeling—but that was neither here nor there.
She was not mine, and though the idea of her staying for even one more day filled me with lightning sparks, that didn’t mean it was the right thing to do—particularly if she was seriously unwell.
Honestly, I didn’t even really know why I was getting all giddy over the girl. I barely knew her—and the times we’d spoken had included her either being dehydrated, drunk, or actually hallucinating. Not exactly things you could really judge a person on.
So why, exactly, did the thought of taking her to a hospital and leaving her there, never to see her again, feel like a blister on the palm of my hand? Why did it feel like a thorn in the side of the balloon that had somehow inflated since I first saw her sailing with her eyes closed yesterday?
I got to her room at that point, and it stopped me from thinking any more such ridiculous thoughts—which was a favor, really. I’d never been good at emotions, and Lia’s death hadn’t made me any better. I didn’t want to be feeling them right now.
I knocked gently on the door and, when I heard her answer, pushed it open, moving tentatively in case Trish was still feeling feverish or confused.
To my relief, though, she looked excited and happy to see me, and motioned quickly for me to come in.
She was still in bed, and looking a lot healthier than she had yesterday. Definitely less flushed and sweaty. That was a good sign.
“You’re looking better,” I said, setting the tray of food I’d brought on the bedside table.
She responded with a very unladylike—and supremely charming—snort. “I’m not sure I can look much better than a half-drowned rat. Oh wait, a feverish and hallucinating interloper might be a close second.”
She smiled up at me with those adorable dimples, though, and I could see that she was not only feeling better but also more confident than she had the day before.
I grinned right back at her. “You are lovely in all forms, my lady. But I prefer to see you smiling and in the sunshine, myself. I’ve brought you breakfast.”
“I see that. So you’re a feeder.” She said this solemnly, as if she was stating the most serious offense ever, and looked from the tray to me, all big blue eyes and sorrow. “And if I stay here much longer, I’ll have to start exercising even more to keep my girlish figure.”
Then she burst out laughing, silvery, tinkling peals that made me grin and then begin to laugh myself—why, I couldn’t quite say. Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was the relief at seeing her feeling so much better.
Perhaps, though, it was the idea that her feeling better meant she didn’t have to leave. Perhaps it was the girl herself.
I sat down on the side of the bed, letting my instincts guide me quickly into saying something I most definitely hadn’t planned on.
“Stay a few more days,” I said, rushing through it to get it out into the open before my better sense could talk me out of it. “I know you’re here on vacation, and I don’t want to interrupt that. And