Evelyn Grant stayed perfectly still, feeling a steady stream of warmth transfer from his body to hers. Her voice was muffled against his chest.
"You still need to see a doctor if you're not feeling well. I've asked Butler Shaw to call for one. You have to cooperate when he gets here."
Hearing his muffled, deep sound of agreement, she snuggled against Preston Keaton, relieved. Taking a deep breath, she said, "It must be from the desert—from being so tired and cold. You'd be fine if you could just get a few days of proper rest."
She furrowed her brow and lifted her face from his embrace, her eyes meeting his gentle gaze.
"You're not feeling well. No more working. Come with me to the bedroom and wait for the doctor."
She had been prepared to coax and pester, but Preston Keaton was much more agreeable when he was sick. A gentle affection softened his features. Hearing her, he pushed the documents aside and carried her to the bedroom.
