Part 2.4 – That's Why
Della awoke alone. Her throat was sore, her chest tight and her head congested. She had coughed a bit throughout the night, waking up Perry several times as she tried to get comfortable after each spate of painful dry hacking. She finally disentangled herself from his arms under protest and turned her back to him so he could get some sleep and she could be free to toss restlessly. Damn. Why did she have to come down with a cold now? Now, when they were totally alone with nothing to do but enjoy each other and explore their lovely house together.
She threw back the covers and sat up, steadying herself as her stuffy head made the room swim before her eyes. Oh, this was not good. She slid to the floor and steadied herself by keeping one hand on the bed until her head cleared. Dressing quickly in a pair of rolled up dungarees, an oversized white oxford cloth shirt, untucked, and a pair of thick socks; she pulled her hair away from her face with a headband and went in search of Perry.
He was in the kitchen, seated at the glossy painted table, a cup of coffee and a sheaf of papers in front of him. He looked up and smiled as she entered the homey room. "Hello there, young lady. Have you by any chance seen my very grown up and sophisticated secretary?"
She yawned and shuffled over to sit on his lap, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him into a heady kiss. "Are you saying I look like a child?"
"You may look like a child, but you definitely kiss like my very grown up secretary." He rubbed her back as she laid her head on his shoulder. "How do you feel this morning, darling?"
She shrugged. "Not terrible, but not terrific. Somewhere in between. Do you think we might be able to fit a nap into our busy schedule today? I may need one later."
"If you didn't get enough sleep, go back to bed. I've got plenty to keep me occupied." He nuzzled her forehead as a pretense to checking her temperature. It was as warm as the day before following her sneezing fit. "I'll be lonely without you, but I'd rather you be rested and well than tired and sick. How about a cup of tea? That might fix you up. I haven't had breakfast, so I'll just scramble some eggs and….what?"
She was shaking her head. "Just tea, please. I'm not hungry."
"Baby, you need to eat. Just some plain eggs. I won't put hot sauce in them."
She continued to shake her head. "I'll eat later."
"Della Street, look at me," he said sternly.
She raised surprised eyes to his. He hadn't used that tone of voice with her since…well, since ever.
"If you don't eat, I'm taking you home and straight to Chris Sadler's office, do you hear me? If you're too sick to eat, you're too sick to spend a week away from home."
"But I am home," she protested weakly. "How about toast? I'll have tea and toast." She loved that he worried about her, but sometimes he smothered her with that worry and his over-solicitous care. She wouldn't spoil this time with him by succumbing to a little cold. But she just couldn't bear to think about eating eggs right now.
He regarded her with worried eyes for a few seconds longer, and then patted the top of her head. "All right, Milady, tea and toast it is. Go find your own chair and I'll prepare the best breakfast toast you've ever had." He busied himself putting the teakettle on to boil, retrieving eggs from the refrigerator, taking the bread out of the breadbox.
Della watched him with amused affection, elbow on the table and chin resting on her upward turned palm, as he puttered about the large kitchen, alternately whistling 'Moonlight Serenade' and muttering to himself when he couldn't find what utensil he needed. The expression of amused affection became a smile. "I love you," she said.
He turned away from the stove where he was stirring the beaten eggs into a fluffy scramble. "I love you, too."
"If we were married would you make me breakfast every morning?"
The stunning question clutched at his heart. "Every morning for the rest of my life," he vowed, taking a step toward her. "Della – "
She held up her hand. "I'm just gathering information," she told him. "Don't scorch the eggs."
He returned his attention to the task at hand, so she couldn't see the deflated dejection of his psyche reflected in his eyes. "Is there any more information I can provide at this time, Miss Street?"
"Not at the moment, Counselor. Let me mull that last bit over for a while."
"You drive me nuts, Della. You know that, don't you?" The teakettle whistled, the eggs were fluffy perfection, and the toast was golden brown, simultaneously. He buttered the toast, drizzled honey on it, cut it into triangles, poured hot water over a tea infuser into a large cup, spooned the eggs onto a plate, and managed to carry everything from the stove to the table in one trip.
She picked up the cup and blew on the steaming tea. "Thank you, darling. That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. You drive me nuts, too."
He rolled his eyes. "Now I've started something, haven't I?"
"On the contrary, I'm quite flattered."
He watched her delicately nibble at her honey toast while he toyed with his eggs in silence. She drank two cups of tea and ate every triangle of toast. He took her plate to the sink along with his, where he threw out cold, rubbery eggs as she frowned at him.
"Do I have to take you home to see Chris Sadler?" She raised inquisitive eyebrows in a mild threat.
He leaned back against the sink, crossed one leg over the other, his arms hugging his massive chest. He had two choices. He could let it go that she had heartlessly toyed with his wish to marry her and spend the rest of the week in bliss, or he could let her know just how deeply her words had wounded him and spend the week avoiding her recriminating looks. He chose bliss.
He shrugged. "I should have had toast with you. We'll have stew and bread and butter for lunch to make up for breakfast."
She stood and moved toward him. He opened his arms to her and held her close. How could he love her so much and be so annoyed with her at the same time? Maybe that was what true love was, that no matter how annoyed and frustrated she made him, he never stopped loving her and couldn't imagine what life would be like without her.
"What is the plan for the day? Can we go outside and survey our kingdom?"
He smiled and stroked her cheek. "No, we can't go outside because it's cold, the wind is blowing and there is a light drizzle falling. I'm not taking any chances with you. So we're staying inside. We can explore the house and go over the plans for the remodel, or play cards, or listen to the radio, or read, or…"
"That one," she said decisively. "Read to me."
He kissed her soundly. "I think Martin stocked the shelves with books. You pick one out and get comfortable on the couch. I'll start the stew and be there as quickly as I can."
"Don't be long. I'll miss you terribly."
Perry watched her retreat from the kitchen, her feminine curves disguised but not completely hidden in the dungarees and oversized shirt. How could he not love this woman? The mystery was why this woman loved him, what she saw in him that was worthy of her love. She brought out the best in him, his gruffness and impatience cured in her presence. Sometimes, when he woke up without her, he would have a moment of panic that she wasn't real, that he merely dreamed her, that his entire life these past few years was a dream. But then he would call her, or she would walk into the office with that smile, that dazzling smile, and he would sigh in relief.
He made short work of browning the stew meat, making the bouillon stock, peeling the potatoes and carrots, chopping onions and garlic, and putting it all in a large pot to simmer. After straightening up the kitchen and putting everything away, he stirred the stew one more time and then headed to the living room with a cup of tea and honey for her and a cup of coffee for him.
Della was on the couch, huddled in her new favorite accessory, the crocheted throw, staring out the window at the blustery winter weather. She smiled beatifically and he nearly stumbled over his feet. Even with no make-up and her hair scraped back with a headband, she was beyond beautiful to him. She held her hand out to him, and he passed the mug of tea to her, which she sipped from gratefully. He sat down next to her and gazed out the window with her.
"So, you like the house?"
"That's a silly question, Counselor. I love the house. I love you. I love this day. We're alone together and you're going to read Anatomy of a Murder to me, and we're going to have stew for lunch, and I'm going to beat you rather embarrassingly at cards…" she sighed contentedly.
"Are you serious, darling? Anatomy of a Murder?"
"I'm completely serious. It's a good book."
"I have no doubt that it is, but sweetheart, Anatomy of a Murder?"
"I hear it's being made into a movie."
"That's nice, honey. Really, Anatomy of a Murder?"
Her lips were trembling with a barely contained smile. She handed the book to him. He stared at the dust jacket.
"It's actually Anatomy of a Murder. I say it again; I will never figure you out, Della Street." He opened the book to the first page while she settled against him.
Della often thought Perry had missed his calling and should be an actor. She thought about it mostly when she was bone tired during a case and he would pace the floor, talking out his own thoughts, or practicing his summation, when he needed her to listen but not speak. His voice, that expressively deep, spine-tingling, powerful voice, would take hold of her and she envisioned him projected twelve feet tall on a movie screen, his piercing blue eyes staring out from under ferociously knitted brows. His devastatingly handsome face, impressive physique, and commanding presence would make him an instant leading man, of that she was certain. The fantasy never lasted beyond a few seconds, however, because along with leading man status came beautiful leading ladies, and there was no way she could stand for him to touch another woman, not even in the make-believe world of Hollywood. No, those long-fingered hands would touch no woman but her, those finely shaped lips would kiss no lips but hers, those gorgeous blue eyes would look lovingly into no eyes but hers.
He read aloud for two hours, pausing only to stir the stew every couple of chapters or when she needed to go to the bathroom because she'd had three big cups of tea, don't you know. When he resettled himself after attending to their lunch again and she had made one more trip to the bathroom, she climbed into his lap and laid her head on his shoulder, unceremoniously shoving the book to the floor.
"I was hoping you'd do this eventually, baby," he told her. "This is what was next on my list of things to do today before you chose reading."
"I like it when we're away from the office," she said with a yawn. "You're relaxed and silly."
"I am not, and never have been, silly. Except about you."
Her fingers played with the collar of his shirt, slipping beneath to caress his neck. "Why do you love me?"
"I was thinking the same thing this morning. Only it was why do you love me?"
"I asked first."
"Ah, but I'm the boss."
"Stop pulling rank. Jeez-o-pete, I let you get away with it once, and now you expect it to work all the time."
He grinned. "I love that. How you verbally taunt me." And it tickles me no end when you say 'jeez-o-pete', he added silently.
"What else?"
"You're smart. And a smart-aleck. I can talk to you and you always understand, always have an opinion."
"Go on."
"You're efficient and capable and loyal."
"A secretary is efficient and capable. A dog is loyal. Why do you love me?"
He chuckled. "My darling, I can't pick out individually what I love about you because I love everything…everything you are. You're my whole world, Della. I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't with me."
She surreptitiously wiped at a tear. "Is that the best you can do?"
He laughed heartily from his soul and hugged her.
"Don't you want to know why I love you?"
He brushed gentle lips across her forehead. Still warm. "I really don't need to know why," he said quietly. "I just need to know that you do."
She was silent for a long time. "That's why," she finally said.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Della ate a bowl of Perry's delicious stew and two pieces of bread, and he was pleased. She still sounded a bit wheezy when she laughed, but she wasn't sneezing, and her coughing was minimal. She told him her throat felt 'tickly' sometimes so she coughed to 'scratch' the tickle. Her chest was tight, but she insisted it was because of the sneezing and coughing from yesterday. Her head congestion was tolerable and she refused to allow him to go into town for a bottle of aspirin. He plied her with honey tea until she said her back teeth were swimming, but she sounded so much better and was so much more alert while drinking it that he figured there was no such thing as too much and forced yet another cup on her. They cleaned the kitchen together and he showed her all the things Martin had bought for them, and her eyes shone like a child's on Christmas morning.
As the day moved into evening, Della made good on her promise to embarrass him at cards, and he read a few more chapters from Anatomy of a Murder, until it was time for dinner, which he planned to be spaghetti and salad since they had had such a hearty lunch. He turned on the portable radio and they sang the chorus of every popular song off-key on purpose while Perry diced and cooked down the tomatoes, expertly adding spices until he declared the concoction officially spaghetti sauce. Della tossed a salad and left him to boil the pasta while she prepared the table.
Della discovered candles and candle holders in the dining room buffet, as well as woven placemats, which she used to set the coffee table in the living room. She actually built a fire, and was standing before it being terribly proud of herself when Perry entered the room with plates of spaghetti covered with freshly grated parmesan cheese. He eyed her approvingly, alluring even in her dungarees and mannish shirt. It just wasn't possible to love a woman more than he loved her. And it wasn't possible that there was a more beautiful woman in the world.
He wasn't as pleased with her appetite at dinner. She ate half of her serving of spaghetti, almost none of her salad, and sipped tentatively at her Chianti. Her breathing was noticeably shallower, and he could plainly hear the wheezing. But that was how whatever was ailing her acted: she was generally fine during the day, and at night she sounded worse. In the morning, after she moved around, it cleared up and she would be 'somewhere between terrible and terrific'. When it was apparent she was just going to push the rest of her spaghetti around the plate, he banished her to a bath while he cleaned up the dinner mess. There were shadows forming under eyes that flashed him a grateful look of relief.
"Thank you for dinner, honey," she said. "It was delicious. My head is getting stuffy again. I think I'll take a shower because I'd fall asleep in the tub."
Perry stacked their plates and tried not to look worried. "If you're still in the shower when I'm done I'll scrub your back."
She laughed and it was almost a bark. He whipped his head around toward the sound, but she seemed unconcerned with it. He followed her down the hallway and watched her climb wearily partway up the stairs before heading into the kitchen. The kitchen clean-up he performed probably wasn't the best, but he didn't want to be away from her for very long, especially when he didn't hear the shower turn on. Maybe she was waiting for him to come up and join her. That made him smile.
His left foot just hit the midpoint landing when he heard her sneeze. A double. She sneezed again, another double. Then a single sneeze and a choking cough. He grabbed the banister and pulled himself up the remaining eight stairs in two strides, bursting into the bedroom to find her dressed in only the oxford cloth shirt and socks, the dungarees lying on the floor at her feet. Della was hugging a bedpost, her hand splayed across her chest, applying counter pressure while she coughed. The cough was slightly wetter than previously, signaling that her congestion might be moving to her chest. She waved him away as she gave one last cough and drew in a difficult, wheezing breath.
"Well, I didn't like that," she said.
He crossed to her in two long strides, took her in his arms, picked her up, and hugged her. "I didn't like it, either," he admitted into her hair. "Why aren't you in the shower?"
"I was waiting for you," she told him with a wan smile as he set her back down on the floor.
He took her hand and led her from the bedroom and down the hall into the second bathroom. The front bathroom contained a large tub, but this bathroom boasted a spacious stand up shower. He turned on the water and tested the temperature several times to ensure it wasn't scalding, then made quick work of the buttons on her shirt. He left her to remove her undergarments herself because Martin hadn't stocked this bathroom with towels. When he returned from fetching a couple of clean towels from the front bathroom, she was standing gloriously nude outside the shower, her head bent against the door, inhaling the steam permeating the room. He gently took her arm and pulled her away from the door, opened it, and helped her inside the shower stall.
"Don't get your hair wet," he cautioned.
She tilted her head back and let the jetting water pound down on her chest. "Aren't you coming in with me?"
He shook his head. "You need this. If I got in there with you, we might do more harm than good."
She smiled at him mischievously. "On the other hand…"
Perry shook his head again, amazed how she could be sick and frisky at the same time. "There is no other hand, darling. Just stand in the steam and when I think you've had enough, I'll come get you." He closed the shower door firmly and backed out of the room, closing the door to the bathroom behind him as well.
In the bedroom he searched through her suitcase for a nightgown, because the lingerie they had purchased on the way here was decidedly impractical for someone fighting a cold, and he wasn't about to let her sleep in the buff as she had the previous night after he'd chased her up the stairs following their tryst on the couch. Finally, at the bottom of her suitcase he found a gown. Grabbing it and the pink terry cloth robe she had brought, he then looked everywhere for a pair of slippers. She must not have packed any. He sighed. The heavy socks she'd worn today would have to do. He shut the closet door and laid her things on the bed while he turned down the covers. Then he remembered the crocheted throw was still draped over the back of the couch and ran downstairs to get it, which was a good thing because all the lights were still on. After turning off everything and making sure the fireplace screen was drawn, he flew back up the stairs.
He knocked on the bathroom door, which was a bit ridiculous, and entered the small room, her nightclothes draped over one arm. Steam billowed out at him and he immediately began to sweat. She was humming and he was relieved. He opened the shower door and she turned a dazzling smile on him.
"Having second thoughts, Mr. Mason?"
"I rarely have second thoughts about anything, Miss Street, and now is no exception. Time to get out. I have your jammies."
"Where did you pick up a word like 'jammies'?" She let him turn off the water and pull her from the steamy stall and into the fluffy towel. He wrapped it around her and picked up another to dry her hair, which had become damp from the steam.
"The same place I picked up 'comfy' and 'snuggly'."
She dropped her head to his chest, impeding his efforts with her hair. "I'm such a bad influence on your vocabulary," she lamented.
"I disagree. Your influence has made my vocabulary eminently more understandable and real."
"I'll concede the point. But only because you used the word 'eminently'. A word like that more than makes up for a word like 'jammies'."
"It's nice to know that even with a cold you're still impossible." He massaged her head with the towel, making slow circles, then vigorously rubbed the mass of curls.
"That feels wonderful," she said. "Don't ever stop."
He chuckled. "You sound a lot better. Not nearly as congested."
"It's a miracle. I'm well."
He dropped the smaller towel to the floor and redirected his attention to drying her long, slender limbs and her lush, womanly curves. She swayed a bit in concert with his ministrations, occasionally making contented little noises in her throat. He kissed her nose. "There. All dry."
"You do spoil me, darling."
"It's my favorite thing to do."
"You are exceptionally good at it."
"You know what they say: anything worth doing is worth doing well. Arms up," he said, and dropped the nightie over her head.
She shimmied a bit to settle the gown around her and he nearly gasped with raw lust. If she knew what she did to him, even with something as innocent as putting on a night gown, she would think him terminally lecherous. He held out the robe and tied it securely at her waist. She placed her hand on his shoulder to steady herself as he knelt to put her socks back on after she confirmed that she had indeed forgotten to pack slippers, and when he stood again she slid her arms around his torso in a quick hug.
He looked down at her and smiled tenderly, moving damp ringlets from her forehead with one hand. "Do I carry you to the bedroom, Milady?"
Della shook her head. "I walk. It's your turn for a shower. I'll warm the bed for you." She grinned up at him. "Unless you want me to wait here and dry you off when you're done."
He bent and kissed her firmly. "No, I had better dry myself off. I'm determined not to be…affectionate with you tonight. You need your rest."
She frowned. "What if the cure for the common cold happens to be…affection? You can't withhold the very thing that will make me well. We owe it to the medical community to explore every treatment at our disposal."
Perry laughed and patted her bottom. "Trot along, temptress. Work on your argument while you warm up the bed and then we'll see what the judge says."
"How can you be opposing counsel and judge?"
"Because I'm the boss."
"I should never have allowed you to be the boss in that argument. It's gone to your head. We were getting along just fine with me being the boss. If you insist upon being the boss it creates a whole new working dynamic and – "
He laughed, interrupting her facetious tirade. "One argument at a time, baby. I'll be there in five minutes."
Perry was back in the bedroom in six minutes, and found it lit by the candles abandoned in the living room. She had placed them on the copy of Anatomy of a Murder since there was no furniture in the room aside from the bed. "Della, why did you go downstairs after the candles? You probably got chilled."
She peeked out from beneath the quilt at him. "Not a chance. I was like The Flash. Down, up, in the bed. My feet barely touched the floor."
He shook his head while he finished buttoning his pajama top, trying not to laugh. "I can see now that forcing you to drink seven cups of tea with honey was not the best idea I've ever had. You are positively manic."
"And I can see that the judge has rendered his decision since you're wearing your jammies."
He pulled back the covers and lowered his large frame to the mattress. "I hardly think these sinfully expensive silk pajamas my lady love gave me can be properly described as 'jammies'."
She grabbed his arm and pulled herself close to him. "Mmmm," she purred. "They feel good."
He realized she was not wearing her gown, only the socks he had put on her. "Della," he began, rolling over and pinning her to the mattress. She looked up at him with eyes that sparkled with love in the candlelight, her face flushed with desire, the rosy blush extending down her neck and to her perfect breasts. Her breathing was shallow, but didn't sound nearly as wheezy as earlier. He wanted her. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted her, their verbal back and forth a catalyst to his prodigious desire.
"Let me spoil you," she whispered, taking his face in her hands and kissing him, her tongue insistent against his stubborn lips.