Husband for a Weekend

* * *

Every muscle in her body ached. Kim stretched slowly on the bed, trying to work out kinks that seemed to have set in permanently. She was still wearing her T-shirt and shorts—even her bra—none of which were particularly comfortable for sleeping. Her hair was a tangled mess around her face and her mouth felt as though it were filled with sand. She rolled to the side of the bed, groaned when the movement resulted in even more discomfort, and staggered to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, she returned to the bedroom, still feeling terrible but somewhat more presentable. Peering blearily at the bedside clock, she was shocked to see that it was almost 5:00 a.m. Had she really just slept for ten solid hours?

Daryn! She jerked open the door she knew she had left fully open the night before and hurried toward the nursery, only to stop short in the doorway. She could see at a glance that Daryn was still sleeping peacefully, but it was the man sprawled in the rocker who held her attention.

Tate had kicked off his shoes and propped his feet on the footstool. He was sound asleep, his head resting against the back cushion of the padded chair, his arms lying loosely in his lap. He wore his usual work clothes of khakis and a polo shirt—maroon, this time—and there was a tiny hole in the toe of one of his khaki-colored socks. Maybe her illness weakened her to the point of finding that rather adorable.

He couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He was going to be as sore as she was when he awoke. Should she rouse him now? He seemed to be sleeping so soundly.

She swallowed, and her inflamed throat protested angrily. Lifting a hand to her throat, she bit her lip for a moment in indecision, looked at her daughter again, then turned away. Maybe she’d go back to bed and let everyone sleep undisturbed for a little while longer.

Dressed more comfortably in yoga pants and a clean, looser T-shirt, she slipped beneath the top sheet on her bed and rested her aching head on the pillow. She really should contemplate the fact that Tate had spent the night babysitting. Or she should try to decide what to say to him when he woke. Instead, she closed her eyes and let her mind go blank—not a difficult task considering how lousy she felt.

The next time she opened her eyes, another two hours had passed. She groaned.

Her head still hurt, her throat was still sore, and her muscles still hated her, but she thought maybe she felt just a little better. Maybe she would survive this bug, after all.

She needed to check on Daryn again. And she needed to face Tate, though she still had no clue what she was going to say to him. She wasn’t even sure how she felt about him being there. Annoyed? Grateful? Embarrassed? All of the above?

The nursery was empty now. She headed for the front of the house, stunned that she had slept so soundly again that she hadn’t heard Daryn wake up. Daryn should have had her breakfast an hour ago. Maybe Tate had given her a bottle to hold her over.

She stood in the living room doorway, taking in the scene there. Daryn sat on her play blanket on the floor, her prop pillow behind her to keep her from toppling backward as she played with the toys strewn in front of her. She wore a lavender romper and one of her stretchy headbands with a lavender bow. The bow was tipped a little far over one ear and her hair was combed rather oddly, but it was obvious that Tate had made an effort to dress her nicely.

It was so darned annoying that he kept being so sweet.

Speaking of Tate, he sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Daryn, making the baby gurgle by dancing Mr. Jingles across the blanket. Along with the impromptu puppeteering, he sang a little song about monkeys dancing in the jungle…not a song she recognized. Apparently, he was making it up as he went along. Whatever its source, the song delighted Daryn—and it was causing a similar reaction in Kim, despite her resistance.

She cleared her throat, which she immediately regretted. “Good morning.”

Daryn squealed and kicked, almost tipping over despite the pillow. She caught herself at the last minute. Tate put down the monkey, looking a little sheepish as he climbed to his feet. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

He eyed her closely, then stepped forward to rest a hand against her forehead. “You’re still too warm. I’d say you still have a low-grade fever.”

She drew back a little, not quite trusting herself to be touched by him without melting into a puddle. “Since when did you get a medical degree?”

“Doesn’t take a medical degree to see that your cheeks are red, your eyes glassy and you’re swaying on your feet. Sit down, I’ll get you something to drink. You don’t want to dehydrate. Water or juice?”

The litany of ways that she looked ill wasn’t particularly flattering, but she told herself that didn’t matter. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine now that I’ve had some rest.”

“I’ll just hang around for a little while longer. I haven’t had breakfast yet. You wouldn’t send me out hungry, would you?”

That was an excuse, of course, but she sighed and conceded, “Of course you’re welcome to have breakfast before you go.”

After all, the least she could do in repayment for his selflessness last night was to feed him. “I could make some eggs or pancakes.”

He grinned. “Um—thanks, but no thanks, Germ Lady. You sit down. I’ll cook.”

Pouting a little, she sank to the couch. “So I’m a germ lady with a red face and glassy eyes. Lovely.”

“Yes,” he said with a smile that made her toes curl. “You are lovely.”

She gulped and said hastily, “Fine. You can make breakfast. I guess I don’t have to tell you to make yourself at home.”

“I guess I have. By the way, I helped myself to a new toothbrush I found in your guest bath.” Handing Mr. Jingles to Daryn, he sauntered into the kitchen.