The Homecoming (Thunder Point #6)(41)

“On the feet?”

“Neat trick,” he said, gently massaging it into the sole of her foot. He smiled to note her eyes rolled back in her head. “Nice, huh?”

“Ohhh,” she agreed.

She flopped back onto the pillow on her couch and just moaned softly, with a rattle in her chest, while he massaged her feet. When he thought he was done, she wiggled a foot to suggest a little more. He laughed and obliged.

“I’ll get you some soup. And then—”

There was a knock at the door. “Now what?” she asked.

“Very few possibilities,” he said, putting her sock back on her foot. “Either my mother, demanding to know why the deputy is at your house in the middle of the day, or Dr. Grant, whom I called.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“Because you’re sick. He might have some miracle cure in that little bag of tricks of his.”

“I could make do on more VapoRub,” she whined.

Seth laughed on his way to the door. Who knew the way to Iris’s heart was through her feet. She was playing with fire here, he thought. If she didn’t have a completely disgusting virus, he could take complete advantage of her. In fact, he looked forward to it.

“Hey, Scott,” he said, when he opened the door.

“Hey, Seth. How’s the patient?”

“Very low on gratitude. Why don’t you have a look while I dish up some chicken soup.”

“I’ll do that,” Scott said.

While Seth was in the kitchen rummaging around for a bowl, tray, other necessary items, he listened to Scott and Iris. “Bad flu, huh?” Scott asked.

“I think you need higher quality vaccines, Scott. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Or maybe it worked and if you hadn’t had the flu shot you’d be way sicker.”

She coughed and wheezed. “When you get sicker than this, you die.”

“I’d like a throat culture, please,” the doctor said.

“Just look at it, check out the razor blades. That should be enough.” She opened and said, “Ahhh.” Then she gagged, which led to more coughing.

“Ick,” Scott said. “Try not to breathe on anyone. Absolutely no kissing anyone.”

“Look at me,” she said. “You know anyone that stupid?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “How invested is the cook?”

“I’m not kissing her,” Seth yelled from the kitchen.

“Good,” she yelled back. “I wouldn’t let you!” And, of course, she coughed.

“Can I listen to your heart and lungs, please?” Scott asked. “Deep breath?”

Seth was bringing the chicken soup into the living room when Scott was putting his stethoscope back into his bag. “You have a nice little rattle in there, but I don’t think we need a chest X-ray. If your throat culture is positive, I’ll bring you some antibiotics. For now it looks like you have everything you need. Have some soup and, Iris, would it kill you to drink more fluids?” He pinched the flesh on the back of her hand. “I know it hurts to swallow, but you have a fever, probably because you got a little dehydrated. That happens when you have a sore throat. Drink about a gallon of orange juice and water, all right? And maybe some tea. Any nausea?”

“Nah. All my troubles are from the chest up.”

“What’s the bucket for?” he asked.

“I filled up a trash can with tissues and didn’t have the energy to empty it and the bucket was right under the sink.”

“Ah. Take a couple of hot soaks or long hot showers—steam is good. If you can stand it, gargle with warm salt water. It will do wonders for your throat. It’s kind of amazing, how it heals. Need anything else from me?”

She shook her head.

“Eat some soup,” Scott said, patting her knee. “I’ll let you know about the throat, but I think it’s just irritated from coughing.”

He got up to leave and Seth walked him to the front door.

“It was nice of you to check on Iris,” Scott said.

“We look out for each other when we can,” Seth said.

“I see that.” Scott smiled. “Lip looks good. Peyton did a good job.”

When Seth went back to the sofa, Iris was balancing the tray holding the soup on her lap, spoon in hand, tears running down her cheeks. “Aw,” he said. “Sore throat?”

She shook her head. “I think the Advil kicked in. It’s not too bad.”

“But you’re crying. Iris, you almost never cry. Like, twice in your life, and both when I’m around...”

“I just feel rotten....”

“But you’re going to eat soup, drink orange juice, smear Bag Balm on your nose, sleep through a bunch of chick flicks and feel better,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said, crying through another spoonful of chicken soup.

“I’m going to be in town late tonight,” he said. “Half my staff is out with the flu, which means two guys, leaving only me and Charlie. I’m going to run over to my house, get some clothes and a clean uniform and spend the night next door. I’ll have my phone on all night. I can check on you later and if you need anything...”

She looked at him through her filmy eyes with her Rudolph nose shining. “Why did you come over?”