Jane rolled out of bed at the last minute, opting to snooze instead of showering. She'd spent another late evening with the Gingerys engrossed in a never-ending game of Monopoly. She wasn't the only one exhausted at breakfast. Val couldn't stop yawning and Prett kept rubbing his eyes. Danny looked as gorgeous as ever, but he remained hunched over his cereal, giving short, irritated gestures to anyone who dared speak to him. When he got up for a coffee refill, Prett held out his own mug, a habit amongst the brothers. Danny ignored Prett's silent request and returned the pot on its burner.

"What's with you this morning?" Prett set his mug down with a clank. "You haven't been this testy since you gave up those death sticks."

Danny scowled and stomped towards his bedroom.

"Better keep out of his way today," Prett said. "Must be mad Gerry bested him at nine-ball."

Jane inwardly sighed. No. It's because of me.

Last night she had cornered him in Genevieve's basement while he awaited his turn at pool. "I think you're secretly in love with Holly instead of Cady," she'd accused. "You can't seem to keep your hands off her."

Danny had furrowed his brow, signing something Jane believed was, She's family.

"Yeah, well, she's also married. Even if her husband is a jerk."

He had texted his reply.

         I'm cheering her up

"You'd do better to cheer up Cady. Did you really buy her that pearl necklace for Christmas?" By Danny's dopey smile, Jane had seen it was true. "Well, you'd better rethink that strategy. She's not your mistress. Jewels and furs are classier than cash, but the implications are the same to her."

Danny's smile had dissolved into horror. But Jane hadn't gotten to pursue the matter further, for Gerry called him to quit flirting and take his turn, and soon after, Val had pulled her into Monopoly.

***

To Jane's surprise, Prett joined her in painting. He'd spent the past two days staying far away from her. 

"Why didn't you join in any of the reindeer games?" she teased as the two pulled out the supplies in the first floor bedroom. "The Gingerys are a lot of fun."

"Frivolity is not my strong suit," Prett replied. "Glad you enjoyed yourself, though."

"A little too much." Jane tried to pry off the paint lid. "I could hardly drag myself out of bed this morning."

"Understandable. You got what, four, five hours of sleep?" He opened the lid for her.

"Yeah, but I used to be able to handle that. When I was putting myself through college. And working full time. Some nights I didn't get any sleep from studying. But here I spend two nights playing board games and can barely keep myself upright."

"The older you get, the harder the late nights are on you."

"Maybe. So why'd you stick around?" Jane watched Prett stir the paint. "I mean, you spent the whole time sitting in the back ignoring everyone. Why not come home and get some sleep yourself?"

"And miss out on the family fun?"

"You disdained the family fun."

"Didn't disdain it." He wiped the paint stick on the edge of the bucket. "Just not good at it."

"I see," she said, feeling a twinge of sadness.

Prett filled their paint trays before climbing one of the ladders. He busied himself with rolling the ceiling, keeping his back to her. With a sigh, Jane mustered her strength and climbed up her own ladder. She dabbed paint in the corner, too tired to talk further. A minute passed. Jane had never noticed how loud and annoying the squish of the roller against plaster sounded.

"What's the topic for today?" Prett asked. "Religion? Politics? Weather?"

Jane lowered her brush in surprise. Now he wants to talk?

"Pets?" He turned to her, his eyes twinkling. "Marriage?"

Jane grinned. "Why Prettamin James Marvel, are you proposing to me?"

"If I ever proposed, you'd know it."

"Oh yeah? You'd get down on one knee and hold up a ring?"

He turned back to the ceiling. "Something like that."

"And then whisk me off in some spur-of-the-moment wedding?"

"No, you'd probably want some elaborate affair with half the county invited."

"You sound like you've actually thought about it."

"Can't deny it's crossed my mind."

Jane dropped the brush to her side and exclaimed, "Marrying me?"

Prett shrugged.

Jane stared at him a moment then burst into laughter. "I'm not your type."

"I don't think I have a type."

"Because you don't date! You'd figure out your type then. I did."

He shot her a glance. "Yeah? What's your type?"

Jane stopped herself from replying Alex Starlin. "Someone with ambition," she said instead. "A career." She smirked. "Clean shaven."

"Excludes me then."

"Don't feel bad. Plenty of girls wouldn't mind that. Besides, you said you didn't want to get married again, anyway."

"No, I said wouldn't get married again. Didn't say I wouldn't want to."

Jane shook her head. "Semantics. If you wanted to, you would. But not to me. You think I'd make a lousy wife."

"Not lousy. Just confused."

"Only around you! I couldn't imagine spending the rest of my life having conversations like this. Half the time I want to throw something at you."

"You're not the first to have that reaction."

His ex-wife. Jane resumed cutting paint into the corner. "Red-headed heirs," she muttered. She stopped to look at him again. "Is that why it's crossed your mind? Red-headed heirs?"

"Possibly."

"Wouldn't be a guarantee, you know. They could all look like you." Her eyes widened and she quickly added, "Not that that'd be a bad thing. Just saying." Her cheeks colored. "My best friend wanted her three kids to have her husband's dark curls, but they got her straight mousy hair instead." She clamped her mouth shut before trying once more. "There's nothing special about red-heads anyway."

"I don't know. Val's daughter has red hair. We think she's pretty special."

Jane almost dropped her paintbrush. "Val has a daughter?"

"Yeah."

"With his psycho ex-wife?"

"Yeah."

"How old is she?"

"The ex or the daughter?"

"The daughter!"

"Eight."

"Where is she?" Jane added, "The daughter."

"California."

"Does he get to see her much?"

"Once or twice a year."

Jane stared at Prett, letting this new information sink in. "Is that why you like kids?" Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "I saw when Holly handed you her nephew. I think he was just scared. He screamed when Adair tried to hold him, too. Little kids are like that, aren't they? They just want their mommies to hold them."

Prett didn't respond. He kept rolling on paint, his back to her.

"So do you wish you had kids?" Jane asked.

"Wished it. Got it. A girl and a boy."

"You had kids?"

"Yeah."

"With your wife?"

"Yeah."

"How come you didn't mention that before!"

"Never asked before."

Jane struggled to not throw her paintbrush. "Do they live around here?"

"No."

By his terse answer, he seemed finished with this topic. Jane turned back to her own paint tray.

"They're in Kentucky," Prett said. "With their mother."

"Oh." Jane looked at him again. "Do you see them much?"

"Not anymore," he murmured.

"That's too bad."

He gave a nod and said no more. But his paint strokes slowed. He lowered the roller and stared at the wall.

Jane searched her brain for a new subject. "Why'd you leave Kentucky?"

Prett took a deep breath and lifted his head, though he remained facing away from her. He ran his roller through the paint tray before answering. "Papaw kicked me out as soon as I turned eighteen."

"That's terrible."

Prett shook his head. "He did the right thing. I was disrespectful, angry. A bad example for my brothers. I had to leave so they wouldn't emulate me." He covered a new section of ceiling with paint. "I went to Pennsylvania. Worked construction. Custom carpentry."

"Did you learn that from your dad?"

He nodded. "He made furniture."

"Like Genevieve's kitchen table."

"Yeah. But where we lived not many could afford it. With three boys and medical bills..." Prett lowered his roller again. "My stepmama was sick for three years before she..." He set his roller in the tray. "Daddy worked in a hardware store during the day and in his shop at night to keep up with the bills. Soon as I turned sixteen, I quit school to help him turn out pieces. But he died a year later. Heart attack." Prett sighed. "And Papaw sold everything. Every last tool. That's why I was angry. That, and...everything. Now, of course, I..." He stared at the tray.

"He must not have understood how much the tools meant to you."

"I never told him." He tilted his head towards Jane. "I wasn't much of a talker then, either."

"Is that why Val and Danny gave you that set of hand tools for Christmas?"

He nodded. "We're all trying to mend the past."

"Did you ever mend it with your grandfather?"

"Of sorts. He decided I wasn't wasting my life, and I discovered he wasn't a doddering old fool. It's amazing how the stupid adults surrounding me as a teenager suddenly became wise when I entered my mid-twenties. I hear it's a common phenomenon."

"Don't I know it," Jane said. But I'm not ready to talk about that. "So how did you end up here in Nebraska?"

"Got kidnapped."

"No, seriously."

"Seriously."

"You were kidnapped."

"Yep. Hogtied, thrown in the back of a Toyota and driven here against my will."

"Who kidnapped you?"

Prett raised one side of his mouth. "Two guesses."

Jane grinned. "Your brothers."

"Good guess."

"They really tied you up?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Only way to get me in the car."

"You didn't want to come to Nebraska?"

"Not in a Toyota."

Jane laughed. "What did you want to drive? A pickup?"

"Nothing, actually. Didn't want to go anywhere. Do anything. I'd given up."

"So they tied you up and stuffed you in the trunk?"

"They let me out eventually."

"In Nebraska?"

"Pennsylvania. But they didn't untie me till Illinois."

Jane laughed again. "Were you mad?"

"All through Indiana. Forgave them in Illinois. That's why they untied me."

"You're putting me on."

"Ask them."

"I will." Jane shook her head. "Forgave them in Illinois."

"Had to. I wanted to sleep in the motel. Otherwise they were going to put me back in the trunk. Besides..." He sighed. "They saved my life."

"By kidnapping you?"

"Yeah."

"How so?"

Silence followed her question.

"So why Nebraska?"

"GiGi'd had a heart attack. Thought she might not live. Good reason for a road trip. Didn't know we'd end up staying a dozen years."

"Why'd—"

A thud followed by several shrill whistles from both Val and Danny interrupted her.

Prett grimaced as he climbed down the ladder. "I told Val to stay out of his way. Why do they never listen to me?" Another round of whistles prompted him to yell, "I'm 'a mind to whip both ye' into next week iffen ye' dun knock off that infernal recket! I heared ye' the first time!" The whistles stopped. Prett gave Jane his half-smile. "Now they think I'm mad. Makes 'em more pliable."

He thumped out of the room, and Jane looked at what little progress she'd made. With a sigh, she lifted her brush to the ceiling. Twenty minutes later, as she inched up Prett's abandoned ladder, he reentered the room.

"Vel broke the last drill bit, so we're headed to Menards for some retail therapy. Want to come?"

"No, I want to finish this room," she said.

"I like your dedication."

Jane let the roller drop onto the tray with a splat.

"You okay?"

She took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm getting old."

"Did I say that?"

"I can't stay up late anymore. At least not two nights in a row. That's what happens when you get old, isn't it? You have to go to bed earlier and earlier, and the next thing you know you're changing into your pajamas at six o'clock."

"I stand in awe of your pessimism."

Jane sighed as she picked up the roller again. "I just can't stay up late anymore."

"Well, we'll be gone for a few hours, so if we're goofing off, you might as well, too. Go take a nap."

"And give in? I'm not even thirty! I shouldn't feel this old." She rolled paint onto the ceiling. "Besides, you don't pay me to sleep."

"Quite right. Carry on, then. If we're not back by nightfall, you'll know we've been raptured into home improvement heaven."

Jane pushed through her exhaustion as the morning wore on. She worked in quietness since even soft music assaulted her ears. She painted the ceiling and two walls, stopping only to wash her face with frigid water in an effort to re-energize. It didn't work. As she climbed down the ladder after finishing the third wall, she felt a telltale sensation on her thighs.

Her skin hurt.

"Oh, no," she muttered. No, no, no. Not this. She took a few steps. Her jeans felt like sandpaper scraping her skin. It is. It always starts like this. Always.

Influenza. Aching muscles, headaches, fever. That would be her lot for the next few days. She brushed away unbidden tears with the back of her hand, transferring blotches of paint onto her cheeks. "Crap." She sighed and stared at the last unpainted wall. With resolve, she moved the ladder into position and climbed up.

Over an hour later, she shuffled toward the front staircase just as Val entered the building. He saluted in greeting, but his initial smile quickly vanished.

"Is Prett back?" Jane asked.

Val nodded, jutting his thumb towards the apartment next door.

"Could you do me a favor and tell him I'm done for the day? I'm sick. I've got the flu. I'm going to bed now." She turned and headed up the stairs. "Tell him I finished the bedroom, but I'll be sick for a few—Oh!" She cried out as her foot caught the edge of the stair tread.

She reached out her hands to stop from falling, but her action came too late. Her mouth banged hard on the wood. Squealing in agony, she pushed herself into a sitting position, clamping her hand over her mouth, not knowing whether to cry from the pain or laugh at her clumsiness. She ended up doing both at once, resulting in a series of high-pitched staccato squawks.

Val already knelt beside her. He pulled her hand away. Jane registered the pool of blood in her palm and Val's eyes widening in panic. He flung one arm around her torso and grasped the other under her legs, crushing her to his chest. Instinct caused her to throw her arms around his neck as he lifted her. In two steps he carried her to the door, somehow opening it without releasing her from his hold.

He flew down the sidewalk, Jane's body jolting with every pounding step. Tell him you're okay. Her breath came in gasps. Blood dripped down her chin. She slid one hand from Val's neck to stem the flow, and the metallic taste filling her mouth made her stomach lurch. I don't think I am okay. She pressed her head into Val's shoulder, tightening her grip around his neck with her other arm. He smelled of soap and sawdust. The scents comforted her. Soon they were inside the mercantile, up the stairs, and through the men's apartment door. Val whistled a shrill tone before plopping Jane sideways onto the sofa.

Prett strode from the kitchen. "What happened?"

Val touched two fingertips and then his fingers' sides to his left palm.

Prett sat beside Jane, mashing her legs into the backrest. He removed her hand from her mouth long enough to see the blood. "Get water and ice," he barked, and his brothers hurried to obey. In a more gentle tone, he asked, "Did you fall off the ladder?"

Jane shook her head, her hand muffling her words. "I...twipped..." Prett's warm brown eyes, full of concern, melted her resolve. She let out several hiccuping sobs.

"How far did you fall? Are you hurt anywhere else? Did you break anything?" He glanced over her arms and legs.

She shook her head and sniffled, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "Just my...pide."

"Your what?"

"Pride...I tripped...going up...the stairs." She swallowed more bloody saliva and her stomach threatened to revolt. "I'm a klutz," she murmured.

Prett's concern changed to relief. "We all have talents."  

Danny arrived, placing a large plastic bowl in Jane's lap and handing her a glass of ice water.

"Rinse your mouth out," Prett instructed.

Jane did so, spitting the bloody saliva into the bowl.

"Now grin." Prett bared his teeth and she mimicked him. "That's good," he said. "No chips. Just a cut. You'll live. Now suck on an ice cube."

Val arrived with wet washcloths, which he handed to Prett before sitting on the coffee table. 

Noticing the reddish-brown splotches on Val's coveralls, Jane mumbled through her mouthful of ice, "I got you all bloody." 

Val shrugged.

"Don't fret about it," Prett said. "He's done worse to himself. Why do you think he quit shaving?" He pressed a washcloth onto her lower lip. "Hold it there. We'll get you cleaned up now. Won't be able to eat my lunch if you're sitting across from me looking like the undead."

"Thanks." The shock of adrenalin had worn off, and Jane slumped further into the sofa.

Prett's eyes twinkled with humor. "Did you get paint on the walls at all this time, or just here?" He tapped her face with the second cloth. Then he flashed a smile. A full smile this time, not the half-hearted kind he usually deigned to give. His face lit up for just a moment. The bright vision remained in Jane's eyes, shimmering as a ghostly image.

She managed a weak smile in reply. Prett wiped the second cloth around her mouth, then her cheeks and forehead, the coolness chilling her. A wave of vague awareness enveloped her as Prett took hold of her free hand to wipe it off. Then he dropped the washcloth. He slid his fingers under her sleeve to grasp her wrist. "You're hot."

Is that appropriate?

"You're hot." His voice sounded distant and distorted as he put his hand to her cheeks and forehead. "Why are you so hot?"

I'm not hot. I'm cold...clammy...shivery...

Her other hand grew heavy. She let it drop and the washcloth fell to her chest. Prett fell away too, obscured by a billowing cloud of black and red. He called her name, his voice fading into darkness, the haunting image of his smile still shimmering.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please help me improve my writing by pointing out problems. And if you like what you read, please click the Vote button below. And comment! I love comments! 😊

Fun Fact: Whenever I experience illness, high stress, or some sort of shock, I take a step back in the midst of it to record the physical symptoms and emotional reactions for later use in my novels.  After all, why suffer alone when I can inflict the same pain and misery on my characters? 😄

So let's see:  

✔ Whenever I come down with the flu, it always starts with tiredness and then the telltale skin sensitivity on my thighs. 

✔ When I get faint, I first feel cold and clammy, then start to shiver.

✔ Black and red "clouds" billow in from my peripheral vision as I succumb to unconsciousness.

✔  Nightmares can happen during a fainting spell; they generally involve falling backwards down a red/black hole. Screaming (imagined or my own) is a possibility.

✔  High fever causes strange physical sensations, such as floating and changing sizes.

And many, many, more symptoms that poor Jane will suffer through in the following two chapters...

Be sure to vote and comment! ⤵