Almost Summer (Fool's Gold #6.2)(2)

Alistair did a good job of cooperating. He slid easily into the seat, leaving her with the thought that it was going to be a lot more difficult to get him out.

As she leaned over to fasten the seat belt around him, she was aware of the heat radiating from his body. Not sexy heat, either. This was a whole lot of fever. Oh, joy. She really hoped that measles recovery didn’t include a throwing-up session because this guy had been hit hard.

She drove through the quiet streets of Fool’s Gold and arrived back at her small house in less than ten minutes.

“Stay here,” she told Alistair, although, based on his closed eyes and slightly bobbing head, she guessed that she was speaking to a man flirting with unconsciousness.

She raced into the house and up the stairs.

Twenty-one years ago, five-year-old Paige had suffered the horrible loss of both her parents. Her only family had been her great-aunt, Sophia, a nun for the past forty years. When Sophia had heard about the tragedy, she’d immediately left her order and had traveled to Fool’s Gold to be Paige’s guardian. She’d moved into this house and raised Paige as her own.

Six months ago, Paige had lost her beloved aunt. Now she hurried down the short hallway into Sophia’s room. Once across the threshold, she paused for a second, remembering the wonderful woman who had given up everything she’d ever known to raise her great-niece.

“Hey, Sophia,” Paige whispered. “There’s this British guy who’s going to be staying here for a while. What do you think of that?”

She had a feeling Sophia would have approved. Taking care of people had been one of her callings.

Now Paige worked quickly, putting fresh linens on the bed and opening the window to let in fresh air. The May weather was warm and the light breeze carried the scent of flowers and cut grass.

Paige returned to the main floor and dashed out the front door. Alistair sat where she’d left him. She opened the passenger door and called his name. He didn’t move.

“Alistair,” she said more loudly. “Don’t go unconscious on me now. We have a set of stairs to climb.”

His eyes opened, revealing dark blue irises. “I don’t see how that is possible.”

“Anything is possible with faith, my friend. I was raised by a nun. I should know.”

“A nun? Really?”

“Yes, really. Now gather yourself. We’re getting out of the car.”

His eyes sank closed. “Just leave me here.”

“No way. My neighbors will call the police for sure.”

“I thought Americans were friendly.”

“We are, which is why we don’t leave strange men in cars.” She leaned over him and unfastened the seat belt, then pulled his legs toward her until his feet were dangling over the driveway.

“Come on,” she told him. “You can do it.”

“I can’t.”

“Someone needs an attitude adjustment.” She straightened and wondered if she was strong enough to lift him. As quickly as the thought formed, she dismissed it. Alistair was a good eight inches taller than she was and he looked well-muscled.

“So you’re British, right?”

He slowly opened his eyes. “We’ve established that, yes.”

“Know anyone in the royal family? I think I’d make a fabulous princess. Harry’s still single, isn’t he?”

“Prince Harry? Yes, I believe so.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve met him a few times, of course.”

Paige stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve met him. At my father’s house.”

“What was Harry doing there?”

“Playing polo.”

“You play polo?”

“Not well.”

“I’ve been meaning to take my game to a higher level, so I know what you mean.”

He looked at her then. “You play?”

“Of course. Weekly. Just me and the ponies. Come on, lean forward.”

He did as she asked. She grabbed his hands and pulled him forward. His feet dropped to the driveway and gravity did its thing. The forward momentum propelled him to his feet.

“I think you’re joking,” he said as he staggered a couple of steps.

“I am. Put your arm around me. We’re going into the house and then upstairs.”

“As you wish.”

“You keep saying that. If only that were true. Take a step. Then another one. Walking is good.”

She maneuvered him into her house and then paused at the bottom of the staircase.

“We’re going up,” she told him.

He barely nodded.

She put his hand on the railing, then stepped behind him and pushed. “Let’s get this over with.”

He started to move up the stairs.

“That’s it. Tell me about your father. How does he know Harry?”

“He knows the whole royal family.”

“Because?”

“He’s an earl.”

Paige nearly stopped pushing. Alistair started to lean back. They were already halfway up—there was no retreating now.

“Seriously?” she asked, shoving as hard as she could. “A real earl?”

“Are there unreal earls?”