Simon Says Mommy Read online

  And there it was. Strike number one. That didn’t take long, now did it?

  Megan bit her tongue, glad the breeze blew her hair in her face and allowed her to pretend Jenn’s comment hadn’t struck home. Sleeping in your car had a way of humbling a girl. After all, it was kind of hard to put others in their place when you’d been put into yours.

  If that’s all she says to you, you need to buy a lottery ticket.

  Megan shifted her feet, her legs aching like she’d run a marathon. “Why don’t you go get something to help entice him down.” She nodded toward Jenn’s comfy-looking house and wished she could go inside to warm up. “Candy or something?”

  Jenn hesitated and Megan could practically see Jenn’s mind running wild with all the potential scenarios, that of her stealing Simon, or shoving him out of the tree or something equally dastardly. With a last, warning look, Jenn took off toward the back door and Megan waited until she knew Jenn couldn’t hear her before she muttered a curse.

  One that was promptly repeated by Simon.

  “Nice, kid. You’ll get me blamed for that, too, won’t you? So what’s the deal? You going to keep hugging that tree or come down? I could use a break about now.” Maybe he’d come down and she could follow him inside.

  Simon’s face split into a curious half grin, his beautiful teeth shining even though a big fat tear dripped off his cheek.

  “Tu m’apportes chez Dr. Ethan?”

  Megan shook her head, her heart tugging at the tone the boy used. She knew that mix of hope and fear. She’d felt it when she’d finally broken her silence and talked to the E.R. nurse two years ago, wanting to trust that the nurse meant what she said about getting help and being safe from Sean, but afraid all the same.

  “Sorry, but I can’t take you anywhere, much less home,” she told him in French. “Why don’t you come down?” Before she fell down. Who knew facing Thumper could be so nerve-racking? Her legs had the consistency of jelly and if she moved too fast, everything wobbled like a drunk on a Sit-N’-Spin.

  Simon flattened his back to the tree. “Non.”

  That “no” was very clear. Megan studied him for a moment. Simon’s intelligence showed in his expressive eyes, but something altogether different was there, as well. Something wary and hard, something she recognized. While young, this kid was no pushover. And what was with the way he held so utterly still? No kid his age sat that still. No adult did, either.

  Except the ones who knew the consequences of drawing attention to themselves.

  Megan pressed a hand to her temple and rubbed. A low thump sounded somewhere in the neighborhood and the sound echoed off the houses. Seconds later a mower started from the other side of the fenced yard next door and sent birds squawking into the sky and her heart into overdrive. Damn, she had to stop being so jumpy. “Simon, descends avant que tu tombes. S’il te plaît.”

  After a long, hard stare from his golden eyes, the kid started a slow descent. Megan sighed. Finally. She wasn’t sure what convinced him to mind her, but she wasn’t about to question it.

  Simon made it to the lowest branch. He dangled for a moment before letting go and dropped to the ground without incident. Two steps later he locked his arms around her legs and squeezed tight.

  “Vas-tu rester jusqu’à ce que Dr. Ethan arrive?”

  It took a moment for her weary brain to translate the words. Stay? If Simon wanted her to stay, she’d have to, right? Jenn obviously didn’t want the kid upset. Give you an inch and you take a mile. “If you tell Miss Jennifer you want me to stay, she might let me.”

  Have you no shame?

  Obviously not. And in the meantime, maybe Jenn would offer her something to eat and drink? Be a good hostess like ol’ Martha would suggest? Then Megan could claim fatigue from her long drive and ask to lie down in a bedroom, just for a short nap. Surely Jenn wouldn’t deny her that since she’d gotten Simon out of the tree?

  Shameless. Absolutely shameless!

  The boy took her hand. “Es-tu malade?”

  Are you sick? Megan shook her head. She didn’t have time to be sick and refused to admit defeat even though it felt like defeat was kicking her scrawny butt at the moment. She was chilled, aching, her headache growing worse. It was like her body had held on and functioned while it had to, long enough to get her here, but now it was tossing in the proverbial towel. Yeah, that helps. Piss Jenn off more by making her sick.

  You’re not sick. You’re not sick. You’re not sick!

  “Tu as l’air mal. Pourquoi me mentes?” the boy promptly shot back, stating she looked sick and why was she lying?

  Yeah, well, there was another sin. She was good at lying. She’d had to be to survive. “Est-ce que tu vas prendre soins de moi si je suis malade?”

  The little boy nodded vigorously that he’d take care of her if she was sick. “I’ll remember that, kid,” she murmured, wishing hopelessly that she and Jenn could talk as easily as she did with this boy. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  Simon made a noise in his throat, a French uh-oh, his eyes widening.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Simon! Simon, I told you to behave. Why have you been giving your aunt Jennifer a hard time?”

  Expecting Jenn, Megan whirled to face the angry male voice, her heart in her throat because of the start it gave her and how she immediately thought Sean had found her.

  It wasn’t Sean. That much registered before she realized her body couldn’t stop spinning once it was in motion. Her breath hissed out of her chest with a rough exhalation, and everything moved in Tilt-A-Whirl patterns. The sky, the grass, the house, the tree. All the colors blurred together in a big wave of distortion. Lost in the haze, she caught a brief flash of wide shoulders and dark hair before black circles blotted out everything but the pain of her body hitting the ground. She heard a disjointed moan and belatedly realized it was hers.

  Hands touched her and rolled her over. She blinked and found Simon’s panicked, wide-eyed face hovering above hers until a large, broad hand shoved Simon back with the order to give her some air. Stupid man, he’d said it in English, so she sluggishly told Simon she was fine in French and prayed her head wouldn’t explode from the pressure inside it.

  Why now? Why here? Another moan left her throat. Jenn would never let her in now.

  “WHAT’S GOING ON, SWEETHEART? Come on, talk to me. Are you diabetic? On any medication? Did you take any drugs?” Ethan stared down at the woman sprawled on the ground in front of him and wondered who she was. She had to be a friend or neighbor of his sister-in-law’s for her to be in the backyard, but he didn’t remember ever seeing her around Beauty.

  “No,” she whispered, wincing and lifting a shaking hand to cover her eyes. “No drugs. I’m…okay.” She tried to sit up but only made it as far as her elbow. Ethan gently pushed her back to the ground and she went willingly, her trembling fingers moving to massage her temple.

  “Somehow I doubt that.” The woman was too pale, too thin, gaunt, if her hands and face were anything to judge by. Why was she so thin? Was she anorexic?

  Her cheekbones were more prominent due to her extreme thinness, her nose, although perfectly shaped, was too big for her slender face. A surgeon himself, he focused on the slight scar visible only to the most critical eye. Maybe a little too perfect?

  Ethan put his fingers to her throat. Her pulse was rapid but nothing dangerous, her skin clammy, her forehead much too hot. No wonder she was dizzy, she was burning up. If the thick sound of her breath was any indication, pneumonia was a definite possibility, bronchitis a given.

  “Hey?” He ran his knuckles over her cheek when she stayed silent. “You with me?”

  “I’m okay,” she repeated.

  Uh-huh. “Nice try but I have a feeling okay isn’t something you’re going to be for a while.”

  The hoodie she wore had ridden up and her jeans gaped at her waist, revealing the thin straps of a thong high on pointy hips. Juicy was stitched across her chest and with a littl
e more meat on her, he would agree with the sentiment. But as it was, she reminded him a little too much of the women in Niger, all bones and skin and sunken eyes. Hers were a beautiful shade of blue-gray, but the purple shadows beneath made them look bruised.

  Ethan ran his hands over her arm. She’d fallen hard but he felt no obvious signs of a break. He lifted her sweatshirt just high enough to slip his hand along her side to check her ribs. The sight of the sexy little glint of metal attached to her belly button sent his blood pressure soaring, despite the extreme inappropriateness of the moment.

  Her entire body tensed. “Are you feeling me up?”

  The comment caught him by surprise and a rough laugh left him. “No, I’m examining you.”

  “Well stop. I don’t need some guy playing doctor.”

  He smiled, unable to help himself. “That’s good because I’m not playing. I’m the real thing. Scout’s honor. Want to hear my diagnosis?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Not if you’re going to charge me for it.”

  “This one’s on me.”

  She lifted a shoulder in a shrug and winced at the move. “Go for it, then.”

  Ethan smiled down at her, amazed by her spunk when she was obviously aching. “You’re very sick but you’re going to live.”

  “Lucky me,” she said wryly, her breath leaving her chest with a painful-sounding cough. “That means Jenn will have the advantage when she kills me.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  ETHAN WASN’T SURE what the comment meant but she didn’t give him too much time to ponder the possibilities. She grabbed his wrist in a weak grip and held.

  “You’re almost at second base, you know. Another millimeter and you’re either going to have a black eye or you’ll have to buy me dinner.”

  A low chuckle left his chest and he shook his head. Taking one last look, he covered the temptation of her soft skin and readjusted her sweatshirt in spite of her fumbling fingers getting in the way. “No broken ribs but you do have some redness. You’ll be sore tomorrow. How long have you been sick?”

  “I’m not sick.”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  “Mind over matter.” She breathed the words, the sound thick. “Can I get up now?”

  “Pouvez-vous la guérir?”

  Ethan’s tired brain couldn’t decipher Simon’s question. “English, Simon.”

  The kid drew back at his tone and Ethan sighed. Damn. He had to watch that, but patience was hard to come by these days, especially when he felt as if he was drowning half the time.

  Simon’s dark fingers slowly reached out and touched the woman’s creamy forearm. The contrast between their skin tones was startling and denoted her paleness even more. She’d let herself get too run-down and hadn’t taken care of herself in a while. The roots of her hair proved that. Her long brown hair didn’t match the light blond at her scalp or her eyebrows. Most women he knew dyed their hair blond, not the other way around.

  “Ethan, what are you—” Jenn’s words broke off with a gasp. “What happened?”

  “Oh, great,” his patient murmured. “Help me up. Please, get me up.” She sounded panicky.

  Jenn was rapidly approaching them, a bright red Popsicle in one hand and the portable phone in the other. He grasped the woman’s hand in his and felt her lack of strength. “Good timing. Your friend isn’t feeling well.”

  “She’s not my friend.”

  Ethan was taken aback by his sister-in-law’s blunt declaration and the less than pleasant gleam in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  A deep, gusty sigh left Jenn’s ample chest. “Ethan, my sister, Megan. Megan, Ethan.”

  “Move,” Megan whispered, “and let me up.”

  Ethan stayed right where he was. “Not so fast. Just sit here for a minute until you get your legs back.”

  Jenn stared at them, emotions rolling over her face. Worry, upset. Anger. Anger was a big one, impossible to miss.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  He blinked once more, his eyebrows rising high because of Jenn’s blatantly unsympathetic tone. Jenn hadn’t been a member of the family long, but she was usually the ultimate in kindness and understanding. Who knew sweet Jenn had a dark side?

  “She’s burning up with fever and looks dehydrated,” he told Jenn. “Megan, have you eaten today? Drank fluids?”

  “This morning.”

  But nothing since? It was almost four in the afternoon. “I’ll help you into the house.” He put his arm around her too-slim waist and straightened, watching her closely as he brought her slowly to her feet. A second passed before her knees buckled, her face lost what little color it had regained, and even though she immediately righted herself by locking her knees and tightening her grip on his shirt, he caught her against him and swung her up into his arms.

  “No, I’m all right.”

  “Ethan, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.” Jenn stepped toward them. “Put her down.”

  “My leg is fine.” He bounced Megan in his arms to get a better grip and heard her teeth chattering. Poor thing. The fever was taking a toll on her. “Jenn, my bag is in the car. Will you get it?”

  Jenn didn’t look at all happy about the situation but he didn’t care. Megan needed help.

  Jenn handed the Popsicle off to Simon and turned on her heel to head around the side of the house. His newly adopted son shot him a questioning glance before Simon quickly looked away and lowered his head.

  Ethan’s guilt grew at the tone he’d used in talking to the boy. “Simon, peut-tu ouvrir la porte?”

  Simon hurried toward the door to open it like Ethan had asked, but the boy stood there a moment as though unsure of what to do.

  “Grab the left side and push it right.” He waited impatiently, reminding himself that he and Simon had a long way to go and a lot to learn before they were comfortable with each other as father and son. Simon’s early years had been spent in a tiny village in Niger where he’d lived in a hut pieced together from scrap wood and whatever else could be found. Simon’s village might have spoken French, but the workings of a French door wasn’t something Simon had learned there.

  “It’s okay, Simon, I’ll get it. Sit out here and eat your Popsicle so you don’t drop it on Aunt Jenn and Uncle Nick’s carpet, okay?” He indicated the metal table and chairs on the patio and finally resorted once more to his deplorable French. “Stay here and eat the ice. Here, understand?” Don’t move and for pity’s sake, don’t run away, he added silently.

  Simon’s head dropped in a nod.

  Megan’s weight was getting to him, slight though it was, and she was starting to mutter protests about wanting down. In rapid French she repeated his instructions to Simon, using a much gentler tone to address the boy while she glared at Ethan with her feverish eyes, her expression stating loud and clear she thought him an ass of a father. She’d have to join the club.

  Juggling her and the door, he managed to open it far enough that he could shove his foot inside the crack and push it the rest of the way. The muscles in his leg screamed out a protest and pain shot all the way up to his hip. More proof that he wasn’t ready to tackle the O.R. just yet. No way could he stand on the operating floor for hours at a time if he couldn’t handle a short trip into the house.

  He carried his patient across the kitchen into the living room to the couch and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I could’ve walked.”

  “Next time you can carry me,” he countered, having a hard time ignoring his throbbing leg. “Sit tight and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  Jenn entered the house via the front door and hurried down the foyer hall with his black doctor’s bag. Ethan grabbed his stethoscope the moment she set it beside him.

  While he went to work he was aware that Jenn sighed, wrung her hands and sighed some more, in between stints of glaring at her sister and shaking her head back and forth like she had a conversation going on only she could hear.

  Megan lay on the couch quietly,
studiously ignoring Jenn.

  “Breathe deep. That’s it, deep breaths.” The sweatshirt was too thick and he had to slip his hand beneath it. The move earned another tired yet sassy raised-eyebrow look from Megan. She appeared to be making an effort to rally her fighting spirit, but she wasn’t up to it yet. He flashed her a grin. “Get well and I’ll buy you that dinner.”

  Behind him, Jenn huffed.

  Megan closed her eyes briefly, her lips quirking at the corners. Ethan listened closely, shifting the end of the stethoscope from her front to her back to check her lungs. Megan had definite congestion but no pneumonia. So far. “Bronchitis,” he said aloud, unplugging the device from his ears. “And a severe bout of it from the sound of things.” He slipped his hands to her jaw and neck to check her lymph nodes. Her skin was silky, her hair soft where it wrapped around his fingers. “You’re exhausted. Any particular reason why?”

  “I’ve been traveling a lot.”

  “That’s no excuse not to take care of yourself.” He continued the exam, taking her temperature last. “Fever is 103. You’re one hot woman,” he said for her ears only. The comment earned another weary smile, and he liked the way it lit up her eyes. “How long have you been sick?” he asked, focusing on the most pressing matter at the moment.

  Ethan moved to the edge of the couch to relieve the pressure on his leg, and watched the ongoing silent byplay between the sisters. They glared at each other when they knew the other wasn’t looking and avoided eye contact if they were. What was up with that?

  Looking awkward, Megan dug her elbows into the cushions and struggled to push herself up. Ethan reached out and supported her while she repositioned herself against the sofa’s back. “It…started last week. It’s just a cold.”

  “Not anymore. The good news is that with rest, meds and food, you’ll get better.” Ethan waited for Jenn to back his words up with a supportive comment and was even more puzzled by her lack of response. This obvious dislike and upset with her sister was a surprise.

  Jenn twisted her fingers together in front of her. “Megan, what are you doing here?”