Page 57 of Her Bachelor Cowboy Billionaire

“I’ll go see if Athena has any broth.” He lowered his head until her lips were beneath his and he kissed her. Then he headed out the door.

When he returned, he had a bed tray with the broth, crackers, and a glass of milk. “Just eat what you want. Don’t feel you have to finish anything. It’s a lot of food for your tummy right now.”

He bent over and slowly, gently kissed her. This was a lover’s kiss, not carnal, but full of love. She felt it to her very toes. When she felt him pulling away, she followed him, unwilling to let the kiss end. “With a kiss like that, I’d say we should get married as soon as possible.”

Roark smiled. “We’ll get a marriage license when you’re well and then we can get married whenever we want, up to one-hundred and eighty days from when we get it.”

She lifted a brow and crossed her arms over the blankets covering her chest, making her stitches pull. She lowered her left arm back to the bed. “You know an awful lot about getting married in Montana.”

He grinned and waggled his brows. “I looked it up as soon as I knew you were coming. I wanted to be prepared.”

She laughed, then winced. “Oh, oh. That hurts. Don’t make me laugh. Please. I beg of you.”

“Honey, I don’t do it on purpose. For some reason, you just find me funny. I don’t know whether to be pleased or insulted.”

She waved her right hand. “Pleased. My mother said if you can laugh once every day when you’re married, you’ll have a happy marriage. That’s not to say we won’t have arguments, I’m sure we will. We’re both…independent people. There’s something I want you to know.”

“What is it?”

He looked scared. His brows lifted a little in the middle, and his eyes narrowed slightly. He tilted his head just a smidge.

“It’s not bad news. I just want you to know I’m not marrying you for your money. I make enough money to live comfortably. I’m actually quite a successful author.”

His head jerked back liked he’d been slapped. “But you write romance novels.”

She sighed. “If I didn’t get this response from just about everyone, I’d be insulted. Romance novels are the highest earning genre of fiction and are thirty-three percent of all books sold in mass market paperback.”

He raised his hands, palms out. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t. Most people operate under the same prejudices that you do. Women who are lacking a love life are the only ones who read romance novels, or they are old or not well educated, or they have any number of other prejudices. All of which are untrue. But I’m not about to tell you all the numbers when you can look them up for yourself, and I’m too tired to argue.”

“You need to get some rest.”

“Lie with me until I go to sleep. Please?”

He raised his eyebrows and then relaxed them and smiled. “I’d love to lie down with you.” Roark took off his shoes and laid on her left side so her injury was between them and he was less likely to hurt her by accident. He placed an arm over the top of her pillow so she could cuddle into his side. Then, when she had and seemed comfortable, he brought his arm down and around her.

She sniffed. “Mmm. You smell good. This is nice. Why can’t we always be like this? Why do we have to fight?”

* * *

Roark stoodand looked down at the woman he was about to marry. Dark lashes lay against her pale, too pale, skin. She’d lost all color, and he worried about her.

He’d check her wound every day, and if she was feeling particularly modest, he’d have Athena check on her.

He brought one of the Queen Anne chairs from his room next to her bed, grabbed a book—one of her novels—belonging to Athena, and got comfortable.

She was on her right side, then turned onto her back and moaned, but didn’t wake.

Athena came in with a small thermal pot of coffee and a cup. “Thought you might need this.”

“Thanks. I do.” He looked up at her. “Do we have a thermometer that you don’t have to touch her to take her temperature?”

“We do. I’ll get it and be right back.” She left and returned a few minutes later with what looked like a ray gun. “Here you go. Just aim it at her forehead from about six inches away.”

He did. The reading was 101 degrees. She had a low grade temperature. “I think she’s got an infection. Call the doctor while I get the bandages off.” He stopped. “Wait. She’s very modest. You take her clothes off and remove the bandages so we can look at the wound. I think we have enough stuff here to redo her bandages, but if not, we’ll send someone to get some more. I’ll call the doctor.”

“That would be me, since I know what to look for and the men don’t.”