‘Well, I’m alive.’
‘You look pale.’
‘You get that with the flu. Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I heard you were sick. I had to come.’
He had to come? She felt tears threaten and hoped she didn’t cry. ‘I suppose everyone’s talking about us after Friday night.’
‘Let them talk.’ He came into the room, crossing the floor all the way to her bed, and Sally feared she might hyperventilate.
‘You’ll get my germs,’ she felt compelled to warn him.
Ignoring her again, Logan sat on the edge of her bed and frowned thoughtfully as he placed his hand on her forehead.
Sally flinched at his touch and he flushed, took his hand away quickly and frowned more deeply. ‘Have you been eating?’
‘Not much.’ Yesterday she’d crawled downstairs and found a packet of dry crackers and a two litre carton of orange juice. ‘I haven’t been very hungry.’
‘I’ve brought you some chicken soup. It’s heating on the stove.’
But why? Nothing about this made sense. Logan had thrown her out of his life and she’d thrown him out of her home and now he was fussing in her kitchen like a nursemaid.
‘That’s very kind of you, Logan.’
His dark eyes glowed and he smiled sternly. ‘Don’t go away. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Heart thumping madly, Sally listened to his footsteps as he went back down the stairs. She heard the sounds of pots and crockery being moved about in the kitchen. She felt light-headed with unexplained happiness and told herself that was not sensible. Logan hadn’t come here to make her happy. He was in protection mode. He was overriding Friday night’s unceremonious eviction and he’d come to boss her around.
Just the same, it was wonderful to see him.
He was back as quickly as he’d promised, bearing a wooden tray with a large white bowl filled with soup, a silver soup spoon and a pink gingham napkin, all of which he must have found in her kitchen. He put everything on her dressing table, came to her bedside again and smiled down at her. ‘Let’s rearrange these pillows so you can sit up comfortably.’
It had to be the flu that made her so dreadfully tearful. She couldn’t bear Logan’s kindness, but she mustn’t cry. As he fetched her tray, she swiped at her eyes and drew in a long, deep, steadying breath, then let it out very slowly.
‘Now—’ he sat on the edge of her bed, far too close to her, and his dark eyes were heartbreakingly gorgeous as he lifted a spoonful of soup to her lips ‘—try some of this.’
Sally protested, ‘I don’t expect you to feed me.’ But she knew her hands were shaking and she couldn’t manage the soup without spilling it on the bedclothes.
Logan tilted a spoonful into her mouth. The soup was light and delicious and slipped down easily. It tasted wholesome and nourishing and Sally quickly found that she was starving.
He fed her carefully and patiently, with the tenderest smile in his lovely dark eyes.
‘This is wonderful,’ she said between mouthfuls. ‘It doesn’t taste like soup out of a can.’
‘That’s possibly because it’s not soup out of a can.’
‘Did your housekeeper make it?’
He shook his head and smiled. ‘I woke Michel.’
‘Your chef friend? You woke him? Logan, you shouldn’t have.’
He shrugged. ‘It was high time he got up.’
‘But he works long hours at night.’
‘Stop fretting, Sally. Once I explained that it was you who needed this soup, Michel couldn’t have been more helpful. We both have videophones, so he was able to give me step by step instructions without setting a toe out of bed.’
‘So you made this soup?’ Her voice echoed her surprise.
He tried to shrug nonchalantly, but Sally could see that he was rather proud of his efforts. She ate some more, enjoying succulent pieces of chicken, carrot and celery and light traces of herbs. ‘I feel as if I’m getting better already.’
It wasn’t quite true. She actually felt dizzy. She had no idea why Logan was being so kind. He’d told her once that he never made romantic gestures, but didn’t he understand that his kindness now was more touching, more upsetting than any bouquet of roses?
Tears threatened to spill again, but she ate her way stolidly to the bottom of the bowl. Logan took the tray and set it back on the dressing table.
‘There’s plenty more,’ he said as he returned once again to sit on the edge of her bed.
‘I couldn’t eat any more just now, but thank you so much for that. You’ll pass on my thanks to Michel, won’t you?’