Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 156907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 785(@200wpm)___ 628(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156907 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 785(@200wpm)___ 628(@250wpm)___ 523(@300wpm)
I felt my brows inch together. “So, this has never happened before?”
“Not with…not with…”
She was unable to finish that.
“Not with?” I urged her to go on.
“A, uh…well, erm, not with…it isn’t…that is to say…”
After what we just saw, I was worried Alfie would demand True leave his room, king or not, and do it quickly, so I needed this conversation to carry on, even more quickly.
“You can speak freely with me,” I informed her.
Her eyes, huge in her face, a pretty face, with freckles, and they were pretty eyes, a warm brown, came to me.
“He’s very handsome,” she breathed.
I found myself yet again pressing my lips together, this time for a much different purpose.
I released them to agree, “Yes, he is.”
“I have never really…that is, with any other patient I have not—”
“Been attracted to them?” I inquired.
Her cheeks reddened again.
I moved closer to her and said softly, “It is not a surprise you’d be attracted to an attractive man.”
“It isn’t appropriate I go on attending him if I have, erm…feelings. That is to say, these types of feelings.”
It was me who was trying not to burst with laughter at her emphasis every time she said the word “feelings.”
But I still managed to speak softly when I queried, “In your experience, has that happened with another patient before, Bronagh?”
She waved her hand in front of her face. “It is a natural reaction, for men, in some instances. And also natural for them to have their own feelings for the nurses attending them, and thus, such happens. It isn’t real. It’s something else. Simply physical. Or gratitude they are confusing with something different.”
“Is this real, what you feel?”
Her face remained red, but her eyes flashed. “He’s most irritating.”
He probably was.
True tended not to be irritating, ever.
Mars, however, could be irritating often, and I’d noticed that this trait only served to make him more interesting to the gender not his own (though, whenever he was being irritating to me, I just found it irritating).
That said, it was a vast understatement that Alfie was currently not in the best of moods.
But of his three nurses, one of which was much older than him, the other was of the same age as Bronagh and also quite lovely, it was only Bronagh who he seemed to be irritating to, not simply being irritable.
I took a moment to consider this situation.
I then made a decision and shared it honestly.
“Alfie is important to me. I cannot say I know him well. He is a man who is reserved. I can tell you, what I know of him is a privilege and he’s very important to my husband for a number of reasons, some of them quite personal, as they are good friends. So, what I will say next, you must understand, you are free to do what you wish, for I’m acting from a place of selfishness. But I feel you are the best person in this realm to attend Sir Alfie.”
“It isn’t appropriate,” she whispered.
“I must say, right now, what has befallen Alfie, I do not care. He is a man of action. He does not see a life ahead of him worth living if he cannot carry on just so.”
Stark fear struck her expression and her gaze this time shot to the door.
Right then.
With that, I knew I had made the correct decision.
Her attention came back to me when I carried on speaking.
“Therefore, he must be shown life is worth living for any number of reasons, including pretty fair-haired nurses with lovely brown eyes and beguiling freckles he finds most irritating because he, too, finds her attractive but he feels he can’t do anything about it.”
She blushed again.
I grinned at her.
Bronagh did not grin.
“He does not like me,” she shared miserably. “He’s always fighting me.”
“He does not fight his other nurses.”
Those brown eyes again grew round. “He doesn’t?”
I shook my head. “I cannot say he jokes with them, for he does not. But he also doesn’t fight them, curse at them or act stubborn around them.”
“Oh,” she breathed, yet again looking toward the door.
“What were you doing with his legs?” I asked. “For his other nurses have not done that to him.”
She turned to me. “It is not common practice…yet. But my professor at the Go’Da, with injuries like Sir Alfie, with much evidence he is quite correct, including my work with other such patients, contends that exercising muscles a patient cannot use will keep them, if not strong, then supple, movable, toned.” She shook her head. “If this is not done, they become stiff, the knee difficult to bend, and in the end, the muscle wastes away.”
“Then you must carry on.”
“He has feeling there.”
I stared at her, my heart flipping in my chest.
“In his hips. Even his legs. I have touched his hips and he…he…winces. Not from pain. From me touching…”