Chapter 8
The repugnant odor of the unventilated sick room assaulted Amanda's nostrils as soon as she entered the dark bed chamber. Fighting her body's sudden urge to gag, she stepped back in dismay, banging her head against the slanted ceiling.
No one had prepared her for the damp, dreary space that served as the only available refuge for her critically ill partner. Lee's underground associates may have had good intentions, but it looked like he'd been deposited here to die. There was nothing that spoke of care and comfort in such a grim setting.
Willing her feet to move, Amanda's innate bravery rallied to meet the demands of her mission. Her quick hands threw open the curtains and tugged at the window until she freed it from the jam. With another good shove, it opened just far enough to allow a breath of fresh air to spill into the room. Hurrying across the floor, she quietly bent over the bed where Lee lay sleeping - his face deathly still and his body barely visible beneath a stack of blankets.
"Lee, can you hear me?" Her raspy voice shook with the dueling emotions of hope and despair. She leaned in closer and listened for a answer that didn't come. Holding her breath and studiously watching for signs that he was still breathing, she sighed in relief when she observed the slight rise and fall of his chest.
"Lee, I'm here," she whispered against his ear. "You're going to be okay. Just rest, sweetheart." His only response was the deep rattle of his chest, as he struggled to breathe.
She hardly recognized the dear, familiar features of her best friend. His closed eyes appeared sunken in the ashen mask of an expressionless face, and his matted hair was longer than she'd ever seen it. The once boyish features were now obscured by unshaven whiskers, surprisingly peppered with patches of gray.
Amanda heard her own shocked whimper when she pulled the covers back and observed the frail, neglected condition of her partner's once virile physique. "Oh, Lee," she cried as she stooped to place her hand on his forehead. Realizing he was burning up, she shook off her sense of despair and propelled herself into nursing mode.
With a flurry of activity, she began the transformation. The shabby room may not be a hospital, but there was no reason it couldn't be hospitable. Before she was through, the forgotten patient would reap the benefits of the best private duty Bedside Bluebell in all of Eastern Europe. Armed with an arsenal of medications, bandages, and sterile supplies, she set her rescue mission into full operation.
Amanda quickly gathered basins of warm water, towels, and soap, letting her bedside skills dictate her decisions, regarding her patient's care. Any squeamishness she felt was replaced by her natural, nurturing instincts and her devotion to the man who needed her attention. It was time to set aside her comfortable code of propriety and step up to the challenge of ministering critical care.
"You can do this, Amanda," she coaxed herself as she carefully pulled the soiled bedding and clothing away from his flaccid frame. In the dampness of the apartment, his body shook when exposed to the penetrating air. Quickly she draped him with thick, soft towels and tucked several more under his torso and limbs. Sitting beside him, she gently cradled his battered head and washed his face and neck, giving special attention to the crude stitches that closed the long gashes on the edge of his hairline. With tender care, she dried each cleansed area before moving the wash cloth over his chest and under the hollows beneath his arms. Mindful of his broken ribs, she skirted the taped area around his trunk and gingerly wiped at the jagged cuts and abrasions that marred his flesh.
Several times, Amanda bit her lip when she felt him flinch against her. If she wasn't careful, she might apply too much pressure and reopen the festering wounds. Finally, opting for a sponge, she soaked it in the soapy water and let the solution run over the plains and crevices of his body. Then, she repeated the procedure with clear water to rinse the suds from his skin, until the towels lay drenched at his sides.
Amanda's back ached as she methodically worked her way down his long body. Arching her slender frame to stretch out the kinks, she watched a stream of water flow along the hairs of Lee's shin and make a trail to his foot. Immediately, it drew her attention to the dark bruising and pronounced swelling of one ankle. Wincing in empathy, she grazed the area with her finger, concluding the ankle might be broken or badly sprained. It was just one more injury to add to the long list of wounds of his traumatized body. Overwhelmed by his suffering, she delicately cushioned his limb on her lap and bathed it with the utmost care. She hoped her touch could convey the message of comfort and healing.
All of Amanda's initial hesitation vanished as she labored over her patient. With diligent care, she rolled him onto his side in order to inspect the injuries to his back. Propping his body with pillows, she tediously cleansed and treated the newly discovered cuts and scrapes. A large ulcerated area around his scapula was of particular concern.
Dark purple bruising drew her attention to the battered area of the kidneys and lower spine. She smiled, in spite of herself, when she observed the deep indentations of dimples that rivaled Lee's trademark facial assets. "Well, what a surprise. How did the 'kiss and tell' crowd, at the Agency water cooler, fail to mention such a newsworthy feature?"
Reining in her wayward thoughts, Amanda ignored the pleasant distraction. Instead her mind focused on the possible injury to vital organs. Now that she could observe the traumatized area, she worried about possible internal bleeding. Given the overwhelming assault to his entire body, it was a miracle he hadn't broken his back or neck.
When her inventory was complete, she delicately and reverently bathed the rest of his body. With each stroke, she recited a soothing incantation - part pep-talk, part intercessory prayer, and part prose and poetry. Tucked within each phrase was a word of endearment, formed from the secrets of her heart. Finally, as the task was finished, she eased him onto his back and was rewarded with a flash of his hazel eyes. They involuntarily fluttered open, but remained unseeing and unaware.
She stepped back with a sigh of satisfaction. Despite her trepidation, she sensed her tender treatment could make the critical difference in the course of his convalescence. It was certainly appropriate that her first, and probably only, intimate contact with his body would be that of a loving caregiver. Nursing Lee was no different than providing care to her loved ones. This man was just as much a part of her life as her mother and children. In her mind, he was family and she, better than anyone else, should be seeing to his every need.
He looked so vulnerable lying there - totally dependent on her. Who else, in all his thirty-six years, had lovingly cared for Lee since the death of his parents when he was five years old? Clearly his uncle, the "by the military book" Colonel Clayton, had missed the mark when it came to showing tenderness to a little boy. And, too, the sexy girlfriends, listed in Lee's four black books, didn't win any prizes for nurturing, either.
Amanda let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and moved to grab some clean sheets from her supplies. There would be time for reflection later, but, for now, there was more work to be done. Her Bedside Bluebell skills continued to pay off as she maneuvered Lee from side to side to remake the bed. Pulling the covers over his naked form, Amanda shook her head doubtfully. She definitely wanted him dressed before he regained consciousness, but first she needed to wash his clothes.
Newly energized, she worked tirelessly to improve her patient's condition. She remembered to inject the antibiotics into Lee's hip as Dr. McJohn had instructed her to do. Not wanting to ignore his high fever, she managed to get him to swallow some liquid Tylenol. He was still oblivious to her presence, but, in Amanda's mind, he definitely looked more comfortable.
After straightening up and ventilating the apartment, the meticulous homemaker hand washed Lee's clothes, made soup from the supplies in the pantry, and scrubbed the sick room and bathroom. Only then did she allow herself the luxury of sitting down next to Lee's bed.
In the growing dusk of the evening, she studied his pale face and watched his shallow breathing. Reaching over to caress the stubble of his beard, Amanda wondered if she would ever get to tell him how much she loved him. "Well, Mrs. King," she lectured herself, "you may have to be content to be the nursemaid in his life, but at least he'll know you care. Good ole, reliable Amanda."
The exhaustion of the long day and the trauma of her emotions soon took their toll. It wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep. As her head fell forward, her body practically landed on the floor, before the momentum jerked her awake in time to prevent a fall.
Time to go to bed she reminded herself, at the same time realizing she had no idea where to lay her tired body down. A search of the apartment revealed that Lee was sleeping in the only bed, that, apparently, also doubled as a sofa.
"Oh great," she announced to her unconscious partner. "My choices are the floor, an uncomfortable chair, or crawling in bed with a naked man."
Pondering her predicament, Amanda unpacked her suitcase and pulled out her favorite red plaid, flannel nightgown. "What on earth possessed me to pack this old thing," she wondered aloud, as she kept a wary eye on her unmoving patient.
As she studied the vacant spot beside Lee, Amanda realized the logic behind her choice. If she was getting into bed with the Agency's legendary Lothario, she definitely wanted protection, even if he was unconscious. A red flannel nightgown screamed "stop" just as clearly as the red flashing lights at a railroad crossing. True, it didn't hold the guarantee of an old-fashion, New England "bundle bag," required of unmarried sweethearts who shared a bed. However, under the circumstances, the long gown with the high neckline would have to suffice.
Undressing quickly, Amanda slipped the sleepwear over her head, turned off the light and crawled in next to the infamous Scarecrow. He didn't move when she cocooned herself in the generous material of her gown and clung securely to the edge of the mattress. Within seconds, she surrendered to sleep.
SMK-SMK-SMK
The dark void of Lee's perpetual night was slowly changing to vague forms and shapes. As light filtered in, the shadow of a moving figure hovered just out of reach.
At least he was alive. He'd been fighting a solitary battle against death's powerful force, until finally surrendering to whatever powers held his fate. Where had he gone and what had brought him back? Determined to access his surroundings, he strained to hear the muffled noises that floated all around him. There were footsteps that hurried across a hardwood floor and a lone voice that wafted like a soft breeze against his ear.
Somehow, he had to communicate. Opening his mouth, he made a Herculean effort to project his voice. "Mmmmm." A long, tormented moan splintered the silence as he surfaced from a bleak netherworld of troubled dreams.
"Ssssh. I'm here."
A sweet, feminine voice soothed him, while a delicate hand caressed his forehead. He had been found - by whom, he couldn't tell. He only knew an angel of mercy continued to ease his pain, tenderly reassuring him with a gentle touch. Soft fingers stroked his skin, bathing his feverish body. "Take it easy, sweetheart." Her words washed over him like a babbling brook, cleansing the crevices of his mind, still too traumatized to replay the details of his ordeal. Who was this Florence Nightingale ministering to his needs? He could register her words, but recognition of her voice still eluded him.
Even so, he relaxed into her presence. Her very essence filled his space with the fragrance of springtime, like a perfumed profusion of buds and blossoms, awakening from the dead of winter. This woman possessed a life-giving force - calling him back from the dormant world of the comatose.
Her aura touched his being with poignant memories of home, care, trust, and devotion. All logic denied it, but his heart willed it to be true. "A-man-da," he cried as his fingers closed around her hand.
"I'm here, Lee." Her tender lips pressed against his forehead.
Taking a ragged breath, he savored her nearness. Calmness enveloped him, as her slight frame pressed against his side. Thank God, she wasn't leaving him. Relaxing into the healing balm of cool fingers on his fevered brow, he gave himself up to the safety and peace of her presence. Now he could relax into sleep, secure in the knowledge that his Amanda had reclaimed him from the grip of death.
SMK-SMK-SMK
Lee slowly opened his eyes, cautiously blinking at the sunlight streaming through the billowing curtains. Surveying his surroundings, he fought down a wave of nausea. The pink, yellow and lavender collage of gaudy floral wall paper seemed to spin like an accelerated merry-go-round, leaving him dizzy in its wake. The assault to his fragile equilibrium left him totally disoriented, forcing him once again to retreat behind the darkness of his closed eyelids.
Soon his sense of hearing took over, and he listened to the chirping birds outside his window and the persistent barking of a dog from the street below. Farther away were the shouts and laughter of children at play. Calmed by the familiar noises of ordinary life, he waited for more evidence of his return to reality. His keen ears picked up the ticking of a clock and the welcoming chimes as it announced the ninth hour. Everything sounded normal, but this wasn't normal for him.
What on earth was he doing in this unfamiliar place? Why did he feel alien in his own body? "Oh, God," he moaned. "What happened?"
He lay in a pool of perspiration that soaked the sheets and pillows. From all appearances, he was experiencing the climatic conclusion to some horrendous health crisis. Gasping for a cleansing breath, he felt his chest seize up with a searing pain that threatened to rip the air from his lungs. In an effort to remain calm, he willed his body to take short, gentle breaths that diminished the threat of a cataclysmic cough.
A kaleidoscope of thoughts fast forwarded through his brain, but quickly faded from memory. Within seconds, the last tentacles of his perplexing dreams released their hold. Finally, he was freed from the nonsensical images that defied explanation. Once again, he opened his eyes, searching for reasonable clues that would account for his state of confusion and incapacitation.
Attempting to move his limbs, he realized he was weaker than a newborn baby. He couldn't remember ever being this sick. Certainly something traumatic happened while he was on a case. But what case? Bits and pieces of facts flashed through his mind until they congealed into a clearer picture - the fight with Amanda, the overseas assignment, the endless days of searching for his contact, his capture by enemy agents, and finally the near fatal accident. The realization stunned him - how on earth had he survived?
Lee rubbed a hand over his face, as he tried to assess how much trouble he was in. Certainly he hadn't escaped from Hungary - at least he didn't think so.
Slowly, awareness dawned. He wasn't alone in bed. Another body seemed pressed against him, and apparently a delicate foot was pinning his left calf to the bed.
Trying to turn his head, all he could derive from his peripheral vision was a dark head of hair that covered a woman's face. Who, in the hell, could this be? Cursing his stupidity for falling back into the very lifestyle he wanted to avoid, Lee struggled to disengage from the mystery lady. Pain overpowered his attempt to move, so he abandoned his effort in favor of quiet reflection.
"Okay, Stetson, just stay calm," he whispered. "Try to remember." Studying his unmoving companion, he noted her slender body was draped in a frumpy, flannel nightgown - red plaid, no less. A soft whimper emanated from the object of his attention, and a soothing hand slid over his arm.
Reaching out to touch the intrusion, he very gently traced the outline of her fingers. Now here was something familiar. Moving his head closer to his companion, he breathed in the scent of the sleeping woman, closing his eyes to the sweet, delightful fragrance that floated to his nostrils. "No, it isn't possible," he cautioned himself, as hope began to mount. He must be dreaming. Gritting his teeth to endure the pain, he reached to stroke her brunette locks and carefully pushed the hair away from her face.
"A-man-da?" he croaked, too stunned to move.
"What?" Suddenly his bed partner jerked awake. Looking totally disoriented by his outburst, the disheveled woman blurted out a rush of words. "Lee, you're awake. Thank God. You have no idea how worried I've been."
Lee stared at the unlikely goddess in the faded, flannel nightgown as if he was being visited by an apparition. His befuddled brain groped for words, until unbidden they flew from his mouth. "A-man-da? What are you wearing?"
Obviously embarrassed, she draped her gown over her bare toes and crossed her arms over her heaving breasts. "Wearing? What am I wearing? You come back from the brink of death, and you ask what I'm wearing?"
The startled spy rubbed his hand across his face, trying to assess the person with the droopy eye-lids and big yawn. "I must be delirious. You can't be Amanda King. I'm in Hungary, right? My Amanda would not be here."
Her features softened into a sweet smile. "Oh, Lee, it's really me." Stretching an arm across his body, she stroked his forehead. "Lee, you've been terribly ill. We were afraid you'd never be able to get home, so Mr. Melrose finally agreed to let me come. You needed me. So, here I am. I've been nursing you for two days."
Astonished, Lee moved his mouth, but no words would come. Ignoring his pain, he reached out for the one person he wanted in all the world. Pulling her into his arms, he thanked whatever higher power intervened on his behalf. "Amanda," he breathed. "Oh, God, Amanda."
"Lee, be careful, I don't want to hurt you." She gingerly hugged him back before gently pulling away. Smiling shyly, she cleared her throat.
Slowly, it dawned on Lee that he'd never been quite so undressed in Amanda's presence. Watching her closely, he saw a blush start up her neck and quickly color her cheeks a bright crimson. God, she was the most adorable creature he'd ever seen.
"Sweetheart, ah, Lee, how do you feel?" Amanda's attempt to abort the endearment wasn't lost on him.
Smiling at the vision before him, Lee took inventory of his battered body. "Well, I feel incredibly sore and weak, but definitely happy to be alive. Certainly, I owe it all to you." Touching the tender areas of his torso, he cringed as the details of his long ordeal settled in his mind. "Hell, Amanda, when I left Washington, you were lying in a hospital. You're the last person that I expected to see in Hungary."
"I know, Lee. Jamie told me about your visit. Thank you for being there for me."
"Hey, wild horses couldn't keep me away. Although, Joe tried his best to shut me out." Lee squeezed her hand. "You know me - I don't give up easily." Watching his friend nod in agreement, he cupped her chin to capture her gaze. "Amanda, you never should have put yourself at such risk by coming here."
"Oh, Lee, you would do the same for me." She lowered her gaze as he continued to stare at her in awe. "Dr. McJohn sent medicine and other supplies. The antibiotics were just the ticket for your needs. Which reminds me. I have to give you another injection this morning."
Scampering off the bed, Amanda produced a syringe. "Roll over, Stetson."
Now it was Lee's turn to feel embarrassed. "A-man-da, just give me the damn shot in the arm?"
"Nope, it's the doctor's orders, so don't argue with me." When her patient still didn't budge, Amanda placed her hands on her hips. "Listen, Scarecrow, it's my job to watch your tail, so let's see it."
"A-man-da! I can't believe you said that."
"Sorry, Stetson. Hospital patients have to check their dignity at the door."
Frowning, Lee gingerly turned his body. "Who are you, and what have you done with my modest Amanda?" Feeling the exposure of his right flank and a quick jab, he let out a yelp. "Ouch! Jeez, that hurts."
"Men are such babies," Amanda mumbled as she carefully covered her charge back up. Turning back over, Lee grabbed her hand. "Ah . . . Amanda, just where are my clothes?" He could barely conceal his amusement as his beautiful partner blushed clear to her hair roots.
"You're dressed, Lee - sort of."
"Dressed? Are you referring to this terry cloth Indian brave loin cover you've wrapped around me? I suppose this is something you learned to make in Bedside Bluebell school."
Amanda averted her eyes toward the ceiling. "Well, you know," she said, nervously running a finger around the neckline of her nightgown. "It's hard work to stuff large patients into pajamas. I mean, I should have brought hospital gowns with me, and some of those adult, ah, protective absorbent pads. But, um, Dr. McJohn's office forgot to include them in the supplies. I did manage to wrestle you into pajames twice, but I didn have the strength to wrestle you again last night." Shaking her head, she ran out of steam and dropped her gaze to the floor.
He couldn't let himself laugh. It would hurt too much, and Amanda would be mortified. "Oh, yes, of course," he replied, trying to keep a poker face and dignify her ramble. Reaching out, he took her hand. "Thank you! I'm grateful for your expert care."
Amanda nodded weakly and then hurried from the room. Returning quickly, she held out his pajamas by the tips of her fingers. "Here, you'll have to do the honors with the bottoms, but I'll help you with the top."
Lee struggled to comply as she turned her back. "Hey, I really do appreciate what you've done for me, okay?"
"My pleasure," she announced with a short laugh. "Now that you're awake, you'd better be on your best behavior."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with a salute. "I plan to take my orders from my very own Bedside Bluebell."