Dying for You Read online

  “There is more to life,” she said sternly, “than sex.”

  “There is?” Nikki looked shocked, which made Cathy laugh again. “Get out!”

  “I’d like to, but this is my kitchen.”

  “Yeah, brag a little more, creep. I still can’t believe you actually own property.”

  “I can’t, either,” she confessed.

  “I suppose you’re already plotting to redo the fence? Dig up the garden? Fix the gate?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  “And the fact that you don’t know a drill bit from a dildo isn’t going to stop you?”

  “Well, no,” she said, and burst out laughing.

  “Just checking.” Nikki downed a cream puff while prowling around the main floor, eventually pronouncing it, “Absurdly neat. Finished unpacking already, huh? Yech.”

  “We can’t all take eighteen months.” Cathy shuddered. She’d helped Nikki move last winter and the woman still had boxes stacked all over the guest bedroom. “Seriously, Nikki, how about if I come over and—”

  “No no no no no no no.”

  “No?”

  “You’re not coming over and unpacking for me. No way! I can never find a damned thing after you’ve cleaned. You have to hide everything.”

  “I did not hide the vacuum cleaner,” she replied sharply. “It was in your hall closet—an eminently suitable location, I might add, and—”

  “Blah-blah-blah. So, what are we doing today?”

  Cathy sighed. Nikki was annoying, blunt, rude, infuriating, and her oldest friend. She would do well to keep in mind that Nikki put up with her personality quirks as well. And almost always without complaining. Well, sometimes without complaining. Well…

  “I didn’t know we were doing anything today,” she replied. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Going over to see how badly Shirtless Ken is hung over,” Nikki said promptly. “Then invite him out to lunch. Let’s take him to one of those No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service places, just for fun.”

  Cathy laughed again, unwillingly. The most annoying thing about Nikki—and this was really saying something—was her completely absurd way of looking at life. Because she had not been joking. “How about we don’t do that, instead?”

  “Oh, fine, you pick, then.” Nikki took off her baseball cap—the one with the puzzling yet eternally fascinating logo GOT MAMMARIES?—fiddled with her long, straight blond hair for a moment, then tucked it all up under the cap. It never ceased to amaze Cathy how much hair Nikki managed to hide. Normally it hung down to the statuesque beauty’s waist.

  Maybe that’s why Nikki saw all her friends as beautiful, Cathy mused. Because she herself looked like an escapee from a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. Ridiculous, but there it was.

  “As long as it’s something fun,” Nikki was ordering. “Which means no libraries, no bookstores, and no bed-and-breakfast tours.”

  “No tractor pulls, either.”

  “Like I’d go to one in this heat,” Nikki retorted, which was, Cathy felt, entirely beside the point.

  Chapter 7

  “Ooooh,” Nikki said when they pulled into Cathy’s driveway four hours later. “Company.”

  “God dammit,” Cathy said, and pulled the emergency brake with a yank. Nikki’s car, a standard transmission, promptly stalled. Annoying habit of Nikki’s Number 672: the woman insisted on being driven everywhere. “I told him. I told him.”

  “Uh-oh. I’m sensing a personal space violation.”

  “How the hell did he get in?”

  “Whoa with the potty mouth! A ‘dammit’ and a ‘hell’ on the same day? Cripes. Poor slob doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”

  “You’re right about that,” Cathy snarled.

  “Now Cath. I’m sure”—Nikki said, scrambling out of the car and hurrying after her—“he’s just trying to help. You should be, um, flattered.”

  “Flattered?”

  “Okay, intensely annoyed. Aw, come on, give him a break…he’s so cute!”

  “People have been making allowances based on his appearance his entire life, I’ve no doubt.” Cathy pushed the front door open and practically leapt into the foyer. “I have had enough.”

  Her worst fears were realized: Shirtless Ken had lugged a stepladder, tool box, and various implements that required plug-ins into her living room. He was currently up on the ladder, poking a screwdriver at her 123-year-old chandelier.

  Which he had offered to fix the day she moved in.

  Which she had politely refused.

  And now he had snuck, had waited until she was gone and snuck into her home, on the pretense of “helping” her, and that was…that was just really…that was…

  “Ken!” she bawled, and later decided that’s why she felt such guilt and why she made the series of disastrous decisions. Because if she hadn’t yelled, the rest of it might never have happened.

  Startled—which was stupid, hadn’t he heard them drive up?—Ken flinched. The screwdriver went in a little too far. Shirtless Ken was suddenly galvanized as electric current slammed through him.

  Cathy had just enough time to start toward him and think, don’t touch him, knock him off the ladder with something wooden—a broom?, when he toppled off the ladder and hit the living room carpet so hard a cloud of dust rose in the air.

  “Holy shit!” Nikki had time to gasp, before Cathy seized her arm in a claw-like grip. “Ow!”

  Then Cathy hissed, “9-1-1!”

  While Nikki grabbed for her cell phone, Cathy crossed the room, seized Ken by his shirtless shoulder, and hauled him over on his back. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. His chest didn’t rise and fall. There was blood on his face, blood had foamed from his nose, but it wasn’t moving, wasn’t leaking. It was just there.

  Cathy did not pray—she believed in God, but felt He had a strict “every man, woman, and child for themselves” policy—but she had time to think, Please God, not another ghost in this place. Then she started mouth-to-mouth and CPR.

  “Well, he was clinically dead for a good minute,” the doctor told her an hour later. “Lucky for him you were there, Miss Wyth.”

  “I don’t think he’s gonna see it exactly that way,” Nikki cracked. Cathy shot her a look and the taller woman immediately stuffed the rest of the Hershey’s bar in her mouth. “Gmmf nnnf unnf.”

  Cathy took a deep breath and faced the resident. “How long will he be here, doctor?”

  “Well, we’ll keep him overnight for observation,” she said. She was a short woman who was probably twenty-five but looked forty-five. Sleep-deprived didn’t begin to cover it. She blinked at Cathy through glasses that made her look like a tired owl. “But you can take him home in the morning.”

  “I can?”

  “Yes, he’s listed you on all his forms.”

  “But I’m just his neighbor!”

  “Well, now you’re his home health aide, as well.” The doctor must have noticed the way her eyes were bulging out of her head, because she added, “You’re surprised.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Nikki said with her mouth full.

  “But Ken seemed very sure that you—”

  “Have my friend here right over the proverbial barrel.” Nikki started to laugh. “And to think,” she added with typical irrepressibility, “I almost stayed home to watch the Seinfeld marathon!”

  Chapter 8

  “So how’s your stud-in-a-bed?” Nikki asked. She was standing with odd respectfulness outside Cathy’s screen door.

  “He’s sleeping,” she replied shortly. “What are you doing out there? Come in.”

  “Well, you did kill the last guest who took you by surprise,” Nikki said, opening the screen door and stepping inside. “I’m the cautious type.”

  “My ass,” Cathy said rudely.

  “Oooh, more profanity! A new and, may I say, dark side of you. So, how’s Shirtless?”

  “Asleep. Don’t you have a job?”

  “A
nd miss all this? No chance, Killer.”

  “Do not start calling me that.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get mad, Psycho.”

  “Oh, God…Nikki…”

  Her friend—ha!—took pity on her and set a bag bulging with bakery goods on the table. “Brought breakfast! And seriously, Cath, I thought you might need a hand the first day or so. So, I told work that my grandma died—”

  “Again? Nikki, they’re bound to do the math one of these days—”

  “Minor details. So here I am, with three days off at your disposal. Paid!”

  “God help me. I mean, thank you.” Cathy pulled the bag toward her and opened it. Ah. Cream puffs, éclairs, smiley-face sugar cookies. Bakeries were divine. The one down the street, Rosie’s, in particular. “I guess this works out nicely. I had some vacation time I needed to burn or I’d lose it, so I’ve got the rest of the week off, too.”

  “To play nursemaid?” Nikki asked, reaching for an éclair and decimating it in two bites.

  “I…guess so.”

  “Mm innfff afff oo, y’mmmmf.”

  “I know, but what could I do? Abandon him at the hospital? He almost died, Nik. He did die, actually, for a few minutes.”

  “Zzz mmm nnnt.”

  “I know, I know, but I think the punishment was quite a bit worse than the crime, don’t you? And I’m not being taken advantage of,” she added sharply as Nikki opened her mouth to drool custard and make another point. “He might have put my name on the forms, but it was still my choice to have the ambulance drop him off here. In fact, don’t you think that’s sad? That out of all the people in the world, he listed a neighbor? Not even an old neighbor. A new one. I just—I just hope everybody’s okay with it.”

  Jack hadn’t made a sound since the accident. No helpful plates of cookies, no materializing car keys, no knocks. Nothing. Zip. It was funny how something initially scary had gotten comforting. His silence was making her distinctly nervous.

  “Well, shoot, Cathy, I didn’t think my opinion mattered so much,” Nikki joked. “Hey, the only one who has to be okay with this is you. Me, I think you’re nuts. But I’ve thought that since the seventh grade.”

  “Continuity,” she mused. “How comforting.”

  “Amen,” Nikki said, and selected a cream puff. “So, is he asleep or what?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “He was sleeping when the ambulance dropped him off. I’ve…I haven’t gotten around to checking on him yet. The doctor said he needed lots of rest.”

  “Is he burned?”

  “Not too badly. The shock was pretty quick. He’s got some second-degree burns on the tips of his fingers and his feet and that’s about it.”

  “He’s likely to be a sucky patient. You know how men are. Okay, you don’t, but take my word for it, they’re total babies when they need to be taken care of.”

  “That’s a cliché.”

  “For a reason, honeybun. Trust me, this guy’s gonna be a pill.”

  “I suppose,” she sighed.

  “Well.” Nikki popped the top off her cream puff, like taking the cap off a mushroom, and carefully licked out the whipped cream. “Go check. Get it over with.”

  Cathy drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at the stairs. “I suppose. The alternative is watching you eat.”

  “Hey, I got a bag full of cream puffs, honey. I could do this all morning.”

  Cathy got up to check on her new patient.

  Chapter 9

  She rapped softly on the guest room door, heard nothing, and carefully eased the door open. Shirtless Ken was sitting up in bed, smiling at her. The fact that it was a genuine smile and not a leer was startling in itself, but there was something different about him. Not just the smile. Some fundamental change in his appearance, something she couldn’t quite put her finger—

  “Nice shirt,” Nikki observed from behind her.

  Ah-ha!

  “Good morning, Nikki.” Ken’s smile widened, showcasing laugh lines around his gorgeous dark eyes. “Good morning, Cathy. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.” His voice was deep and soft, and gone was Shirtless—er, Ken’s—usual sneery whine.

  “No problem,” Nikki said, staring.

  “I’m just so sorry you got hurt,” Cathy added. Ken was wearing a scrub top, doubtless loaned to him from someone at the hospital. His dark hair was mussed, and stubble bloomed along his jawline. “I feel…I feel…I feel…”

  “Terrible,” Nikki supplied helpfully.

  “That is simply ridiculous, ladies,” he said. “I can assure you the accident was entirely my fault. Why, I’m fortunate you’re allowing me to stay here at all!”

  Nikki stared at her watch. “How long has he been asleep?” she muttered. “What year is this?”

  A fine question. Cathy was having a terrible time not staring. Not drooling, to be perfectly blunt. If Shirtless Ken had been ridiculously good-looking, Polite Ken was mesmerizing. Those dark eyes…almost knowing in their intensity, their—

  “Really,” he was saying, “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “D’you want me to run over to your place, pick up some clothes or something?” Nikki offered.

  “I couldn’t put you to more trouble, Nikki.”

  Cathy cleared her throat. “Can I—would you—are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” he said softly, looking her straight in the eyes.

  “One, two, three, swoon,” Nikki said under her breath.

  “I’ll…I’ll bring you some soup.”

  “Perhaps I should get it,” Ken suggested. “I feel I’m imposing on you enough as it is.”

  “Don’t be a dumbass,” Nikki said. “You’re supposed to rest. We’ll be back in a second. Don’t so much as twitch out of that bed.”

  For a second, before she shut the door, Cathy thought she saw Ken blush. But that was ridiculous. The man threw epithets around like he was being paid for them.

  “Oh my God,” Nikki was rhapsodizing on the back stairs. She clutched her chest and wheezed like an asthmatic on the first day of spring. “Talk about turning over a new leaf! You should kill people more often!”

  “Maybe he feels bad. What kind of soup do you think he’d like?”

  “Maybe you have a helpless hunk in your bed and should stop babbling about soup. Those eyes! That hair! Ooh, the sexy unshaven look! God, he looks like an escapee from Studs and the Women Who Make Soup For Them.”

  “Tomato?”

  “Cathy, I swear to God…” Nikki slumped into the closest kitchen chair. “Did you see the way he looked at you? All earnest and yummy?”

  “Earnest and yummy?” she repeated, laughing in spite of herself. “Actually, I’m relieved. I thought he was going to be…ugly. Very ugly.” In fact, she had been dreading the confrontation. “It makes logical sense; he was unpleasant before I accidentally killed him.”

  “Ken couldn’t be ugly if you drew a mustache on him in black marker. Hell, red marker. I’m gonna go up and see if he needs a sponge bath.”

  “Nikki…”

  “I was only going to do his testicles,” she whined.

  “Nikki, make yourself useful.” Cathy tossed her friend a sponge. “And it’s not what you’re thinking. The dish soap is under the sink.”

  “Sure, while you tempt him with soup, you whore!”

  “That’s the plan,” she replied smugly.

  Chapter 10

  “Really, Cathy, I can feed myself,” Ken teased. He gently took the spoon from her, and she nearly tipped the bowl over at the shock of his warm fingers on hers. “I feel terrible to be putting you to so much trouble. The least I can do is dribble soup down my own chin.”

  “It’s…it’s no trouble.”

  “Well, I know you must have a job to worry about.”

  “I took some time off.”

  “Now I feel even guiltier,” he said softly, but he smiled at her and she nearly drooped into a puddle beside the bed.

  “They’ll…they’
ll just have to get along without me at the office for a couple of days.”

  “This is very good, by the way.”

  “It’s just…it’s just from a can.”

  “Homemade chicken soup is overrated,” he said, and laughed. Laughed! A deep, booming laugh that made her smile. She’d never heard him really laugh before. Sneer and chuckle nastily, yes. But a true laugh? “I used to hate my mother’s chicken soup. She’d take a perfectly good chicken and wreck it with vegetables and overcooked noodles.”

  Cathy pounced. “Should I call her? Do you have anybody you’d like me to call?”

  Ken’s smile faltered. “No. No, there’s no one. I’m the last of my family line.”

  “Oh. I am, too. Except for my father and his wife. I’m…I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Cathy. You’ve got to stop apologizing for events you can’t control.”

  “Okay.” She took the plunge. “But, um, but the fact that you’re here flat on your, um, back for the week is very much my fault, and I—”

  “Now, Cathy, we’ve been over this. I was stupid, and I paid the price. I’m grateful for the use of your guest room, and promise I won’t be a burden on you much longer.”

  “You’re not a burden,” she said truthfully. She couldn’t believe she was thinking it, much less saying it, but she added, “It’s nice to have company. I’m still not used to living in such a big house by myself.”

  “You weren’t really by yourself, though.” He scraped the last of the noodles from the bottom of the bowl, then handed it to her.

  “What?”

  “Old houses have stories,” he clarified. “Histories. It’s hard to feel alone when you’re in the middle of history.”

  “Oh. Hmm. Uh-huh. Ken, are you on any medication that I, as your hostess, should be made aware of?”

  “Gosh,” he said, handsome brow knitting in thought. “Not that I know of. Maybe some, what do you call them, antibiotics? You can check the bag the hospital sent me home with, if you like.”

  “Because you don’t seem yourself. At all.” Thank goodness! Still. Very odd. She’d been bracing herself for Sullen Shirtless Lawsuit Ken. This smiling, pleasant stranger in Ken’s body was a complete shock. Argh. She shouldn’t say shock.