“The margaritas came after the two bottles of wine.”
“Oh.” That explained a lot of things. A hard knot of disappointment pulled tight in his gut. “So were you drunk-texting me last night by any chance?”
The cloth dropped from her face. “Yes.” She groaned, white as a sheet. “Please tell me I’ll feel better soon.”
So she probably hadn’t meant any of those things she’d sent him. Great. Freaking wonderful. He told himself to ignore the disappointment. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about it. She was sick and needed to be looked after by someone who knew the drill. And Lord, did he know this drill.
“Bed for you, sweetheart,” he said, matter-of-fact. And when she didn’t protest, he knew she really did feel rotten.
Ten minutes later, he’d tucked her up in her bed, a glass of water at her bedside. She’d fallen into sleep quickly, which was probably the best thing.
For a long moment Caleb just stood there, gazing down at her sleeping face, glossy black hair spread on the white pillow. A much prettier picture than when he’d had to clean up after the old man. No unexplained cuts or bruises. No broken furniture. No slurred litany of curses hurled in his direction.
He let out a breath and tweaked the duvet over her. She was softer asleep, young and vulnerable, the girl he remembered. The girl he’d once hurt.
There were many things he had to do today and he didn’t really have time to stay and look after her. But he couldn’t leave her. Sometimes there were complications from too much alcohol. He knew, he’d seen just about all of them. Yeah, Judith wasn’t a lousy, drunken excuse for a parent, but still. He needed to stick around to make sure she was okay when she woke up.
Decided, he turned and went back into the lounge, taking his phone out of his pocket.
He stopped in the middle of the room, looking around curiously as he dialed a few numbers. He’d never been here before and he had to say, he liked it. The warehouse-style apartment was on a tree-lined street and overlooked a park. The huge windows that ran high along one wall let in lots of light, filtered through green leaves. A series of simply mounted black and white prints adorned the walls. Landscapes. A beach during a storm. A barren mountain top. A shadowy forest.
Had she taken them? Surely not. Because these pictures didn’t have anything in common with the studio photos he’d seen of hers. These had a wildness to them. A sense of freedom that was most un-Judith-like.
Why were they on her wall, then? Before he could think about the question further, someone answered his call.
Five minutes later, an alternate meeting with the charity people organized, and several other business-related calls completed, he sat on the couch and turned on the TV. She had cable but not, unfortunately, the sports channel, which was a bummer. Plenty of arts, though. Damn it.
A couple of hours later, a rumpled looking Judith appeared in the lounge doorway. She blinked sleepily at him, pushing thick hair out of her eyes. “Caleb? What are you still doing here?”
He gave her a critical once-over, noting that her color seemed better and the dark circles less obvious. Good. “Watching Antiques Roadshow. What does it look like?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Well since you don’t have sports, it was either that or Oprah and I’m sorry but I just don’t like her hair.” He pressed a button on the remote and turned off the TV. “However, as much as I’m dying to see if that old china mug in Granny’s attic really is an eighteenth century chamberpot, I believe I can live without it. How are we feeling?”
“Better.” She gave him a wary look. “I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“You were sick. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Caleb pushed himself up off the couch. “Someone has to. Don’t you know you should always have a special hangover friend to help you recover after the night before? Especially if you’ve been chucking up in the toilet.”
She flushed. “I don’t need a special hangover friend.”
Ah yes, she must be feeling better if she could snark at him. “Sure you do, honey pie. And I am that friend whether you like it or not. Now, are you hungry?”
An expression of distaste crossed her features. “God no.”
“Excellent.” He ignored the expression, rubbing his hands together. “Because now it’s time for your extra special Caleb Steele patented hangover cure.”
Distaste gave way to outright suspicion. “What hangover cure?”
He grinned. “Show me your kitchen, my good woman, and prepare to be amazed.”