Cowboy Casanova (Rough Riders #12)(149)

Sweet and friend-like my ass. Ben nudged the washcloth back into place. “I need to buy

you Motrin as per Doc’s orders. Is there anything else you want from the store?”


“Cherry flavored throat lozenges and 7UP.”


“Got it.” Ben tucked the covers around her. “I’ll be back.”


When he returned, Ainsley had fallen asleep again. He puttered around her kitchen.

Putting the flowers he’d bought in a vase. Finding a saucepan to heat up canned

chicken soup. He bribed her cats with treats and chuckled when the fur balls became

slightly less standoffish.


He heard the toilet flush and booked it to the bathroom. “Ainsley? You okay?”


The door opened. “I’m tired of being in bed. I think I’ll sit on the couch.”


She had a pained expression. “What’s wrong?”


“My head is pounding.”


“Maybe it’s the lights.” Ben flipped on a lamp and sat beside her. “Come here.” He

placed a pillow on his lap.


Ainsley rested the side of her face on the pillow and practically purred when he gently

stroked her hair. “God. I love how you touch me. No matter how you touch me.”


I know you do. “So…I made nice with your cats.”


“Had to bribe them, did you?”


“Yep. Shamelessly. With multiple treats.”


Her low laugh sent her into a coughing fit. She sat up, blew her nose, took another

drink of water and popped a lozenge in her mouth. “Sorry. I hate being sick. You

probably were one of those healthy kids, Mr. I-never-get-sick.”


He touched her forehead. Her skin was much cooler.


She snuggled more deeply into him. “I’m tired.” Her breathing changed and he was

certain she’d crashed again, when she muttered, “Thanks for taking care of me.”


Ben wrapped a curl around his index finger. “It’s a first for me. I’m more the

‘sorry you’re sick, gotta run’ type of guy.”


“Well, you’re definitely more the ‘I’m your boyfriend and I’ll take care of you’

type now.”


Boyfriend? Was that what he was to her? The role she’d demoted him to?


Oh hell no. Fuck no. The kid gloves he’d been treating her with the last few days were

about to come off. Just as soon as she got over this fever-induced delirium.


Naturally, Mr.-I-never-get-sick…got sick.


He swore he was dying. He’d contracted bubonic plague. Malaria. Leprosy. Typhoid. Ben

McKay was a horrible patient. But Ainsley stayed with him from the onset of the first

sniffles. Fussed over him. Took care of his dogs. And when he reached for her in the

middle of the night, she willingly went into his arms and comforted him as he shook

from his fever, not from passion.



But even in sickness he’d been in total Dom mode. That’s when the reality of this

situation with him began to sink in.


They were at an impasse. Not friends, no longer lovers. They’d be at this turn in the

road anyway, even if the loan business wasn’t hanging over them, with the thirty days

at an end. So why was she still at a tipping point? Unsure of what she wanted and