Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
What the … Somehow I got out of bed, listening to that familiar posh accent I couldn’t quite place rattle on about his long drive and how I better be in here. Sickness rose as the world spun, and it felt like I was on the deck of a ship in the worst storm ever as I made my stumbling way through the bungalow to the front door.
With trembling fingers, I opened a door I realized I’d forgotten to lock.
And standing on my doorstep was Theo Cavendish.
“Oh, great,” I muttered as black spots crawled around the edges of my vision. “I’ve progressed to full-on hallucination.”
“Dear God,” I heard him say just before all the lights switched off.
Five
THEO
The last thing I expected to happen when I arrived at Haven’s View Cottage was for its owner to open the door and faint in my arms. I lunged for Sarah as her eyes fluttered closed and her knees buckled. Holding her off the ground, I deducted, using my sharp observational skills, that Sarah was ill. She was drenched in sweat, her skin feverish, and she was currently unconscious. Bending down, I slid an arm under her knees and lifted her. Carrying her into the bungalow, I noted how light she was as I searched the house for the bedroom. Although average height, she looked and felt tiny and fragile.
There were two bedrooms, but the one with the rumpled curtains and half-empty glass of water on the nightstand told me this was Sarah’s. I laid her down on the bed, my heart racing a little that she hadn’t woken up yet. Noting her thin nightdress had pulled down at her chest, almost revealing her nipple, I tugged on the strap, restoring her modesty. The last thing she bloody needed was a strange man ogling her. She shivered in her unconsciousness, so I pulled her duvet over her.
“Sarah?” I murmured, brushing her sweat-soaked hair off her face. “Sarah, are you conscious, little mouse?”
She whimpered in her sleep, and I bit out a curse. It had been years since I played nursemaid but needs must. Tugging my phone out of my back pocket, I did a quick search for doctors in the area. Surprised to discover the small village had a health center, I called them.
“Gairloch Health Center, Jan speaking,” a woman answered.
“Ah, yes, good morning. I’ve just arrived at my … my friend’s home here in Gairloch to find her stricken with something flulike. She just passed out and I can’t rouse her.”
“Is she a patient with us?”
“I have no idea. She’s not long moved here, I think.”
“What’s her name and date of birth and I’ll check for you?”
Impatience rose as the little mouse’s eyes suddenly opened. They were glazed with fever. They fluttered closed again on a moan. She was in a bad way. “Sarah McCulloch. I … I’m afraid I don’t know her date of birth.”
“Address?”
“Haven’s View Cottage.”
“Ah, yes, Ms. McCulloch just registered with us.”
Thank God. “Do you do house calls?”
“Let me put you on hold while I speak to a doctor.”
Reaching out, I pressed the back of my fingers to Sarah’s forehead and she pushed into my touch as if seeking the cool. Staying on the phone, I marched across the hall to the bathroom we’d passed and found a facecloth. After running ice-cold water over it, I squeezed it out and took it back to Sarah, where I carefully laid it over her forehead.
She seemed to sigh in her sleep. Tracing my fingers over her flushed cheeks, I murmured, “Poor little mouse.”
“Sir?”
“Ah, yes?”
“Has Sarah woken up yet?”
“She opened her eyes, but she wasn’t cognizant of her surroundings and she’s passed out again.”
“Okay. Dr. Garroway will pay a house call. He’ll be there within the next half hour.”
Relief filled me. “Excellent, thank you.”
Hanging up, I stood over the patient, uncertain what to do next.
“No,” Sarah moaned and then mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Her tone was distressed.
I leaned over the bed, pressing my palms into the pillow on either side of her head. “Little mouse, you’re okay,” I murmured in her ear.
“No, don’t. Please don’t.”
“Sarah, wherever you are, it’s not real. I’m here. You’re fine.”
Her eyes flew open, still glazed with illness, but recognition lit them. “Mr. Cavendish?” she croaked.
I smirked wryly. “I think you can safely call me Theo, little mouse.”
“D-don’t … don’t call … me … that.” Her eyes fluttered closed again, and I would have been amused if I wasn’t low-level alarmed by how bloody ill she was.
Thankfully, I only had to wait nervously by her bedside for another lengthy ten minutes before there was a knock at the door.
A tall, elderly gentleman with very long limbs stood on the other side. “I’m Dr. Garroway,” he told me in a clipped accent almost as posh as mine.
“Dr. Garroway, I’m Theo. Come in. Sarah is this way.” I closed the door behind him and gestured for him to follow.