With his arm supporting me, we made it around the car and to the porch. My shivers increased to spasmodic and he still easily managed to unlock the door without dropping me. I figured unlocking the door as a dog made this kind of move child's play.

The quiet house told me Peter and Rachel must have gone out after all, and I was glad. I would rather not have an audience to whatever had decided to plague me. I slipped from Clay’s helpful embrace and started to tug off the flannel on my way to the shower.

“Clay c-can you get my towel?” I asked, dropping the shirt on the carpet outside the bathroom.

Had I felt better, I might have worried about how that sounded. But, really, I just wanted to stop shivering.

He moved past me and strode to the bedroom. His coveralls caught my eye again. I had to remember to ask him about those later.

I closed the door, struggled out of my t-shirt, and lost my balance as it cleared my head. I bumped into the sink. The chilly porcelain along with the cool air prickled my skin and caused more gooseflesh. Curling the fingers of one hand on the sink for support, I lowered myself to sit on the toilet seat.

Tired and cold, I weakly kicked off my shoes then began to remove my socks. Without meaning too, I started whimpering like a little kid. I needed to warm up. Shivering sucked. The more clothes I took off, the worse it grew. It messed with my finger coordination.

I stood and tried to manipulate the button on my jeans but couldn’t get it. I’d just begun to debate if a hot shower was worth the effort when Clay tapped on the door.

“J-just a s-sec,” I said in a panic. “I’m not ready, y-yet.” I desperately yanked at the button and it sprang free a moment before Clay opened the door.

“Hey!” I crossed my arms over my chest even though I still wore my bra. Sick and outraged, I glared at him for a moment. It cost too much energy to maintain.

He tossed the towel on the toilet lid and moved past me without a glance. Nudging the shower curtain back slightly, he turned on the water. I wanted to groan and smack my forehead. I hadn’t thought to turn it on so it would warm up.

He turned from the shower, bent, and had my pants unzipped and around my feet before I could move. I stared down at him in complete shock.

“Clay, g-get out!” Had I not stuttered, it would have been an impressive shriek. Instead, it came across weak, and he ignored it. Embarrassment flooded me. “Really, I c-can do the rest.”

He stayed crouched, kept his eyes averted, and indicated I should step out of the pants. Of course, he wouldn’t listen to me when I sounded ready to have a seizure. I looked down at his turned head so close to my belly, and wanted to push him over. But my legs quivered, and I knew I’d just end up falling over, too. Obstinate man.

Sacrificing my pride and my coverage, I placed a hand on his shoulder to steady myself and stepped out of the pants.

“N-now out, Clay,” I said, crossing my arms again.

He picked up my pants and stood. Then, still turned away, he shook his head.

“The h-hell you s-say!” Oh, if my grandma had heard that, I would have gotten an earful; and then she would have laughed because I’d learned it from her at a tender age.

Clay reached around me and set the pants on the towel. His sleeve brushed my waist, and his hair tickled my arm. When he straightened, he pulled back the curtain and held out a hand for me. Steam started to fill the air as I stared at him belligerently. Did he really think I’d undress all the way in front of him?

He continued to look at the wall, patiently waiting for me. The shivers grew worse, and I debated my stubbornness. With his hair pulled back, I could clearly see his eyes and knew he wasn’t peeking. Yet, I didn’t understand why he continued with his own pigheadedness and wouldn’t just leave to let me do the rest.

As if he’d read my mind, he nodded his head toward the shower and tapped the tub with his booted foot.

I looked down at the high ledge. The shivers prevented any coordinated movement. If not for Clay’s support, I would have fallen when stepping out of my pants. Suddenly, he made sense.

“You’re s-staying until I’m in? So I don’t fall?” I guessed.

He shrugged, and I knew I’d guessed right.

With a defeated sigh, I uncrossed my arms and clasped his hand. The showerhead angled toward the front of the tub so I could step in without getting my remaining clothes wet. He closed the curtain behind me, and I waited to hear the click of the door.

Once I knew left, I finished undressing. I tossed my things on the bathroom floor and stepped into the hot spray.

It felt so good that I stayed there, just standing under the spray for several long minutes. My only movement was a slight side-to-side rocking motion to keep all of me as warm as possible. The shivers lessened but didn’t disappear. I began to worry they weren’t really due to the cold. My energy continued to drain , and my headache progressed to a steady thump. When I heard the click of the door again, I knew I’d pushed it.

“Clay?”

I heard a grunt, but peeked around the curtain to be sure. He held out a towel with his eyes closed. I turned off the water and grabbed the towel.

It took a moment to wrap the towel securely around me. Covered, I peeked out again. Clay faced the door but had a hand extended to help me. Clasping it again, I stepped from the shower. I was warmer but more exhausted than when I’d gotten in.

I hustled as best I could to my room. Clay remained outside the door as I threw on the warmest pajamas I owned and did my best to blot the water that dripped from my hair. My arms quickly grew too tired, and all the heat I’d gained from the shower left me. Giving up, I tossed the towel to the floor, crawled between the covers, and curled into a ball. I couldn’t even rub my feet together to try to generate more heat.

Clay walked in and turned off the lights. I listened to the familiar rustle of clothes. Instead of the usual bounce of him jumping up on the end of the bed, he peeled back the covers, and the bed dipped as he slid in next to me.

I didn’t bother to pretend I wasn’t interested in what he offered. Heat radiated from him, chasing the chill from the sheets.

“I really hope you’re wearing shorts or something,” I said with a slight slur. I stuck my cold feet right on his legs and shimmied over to his side to huddle against his warmth. Boy, was he warm. It didn’t matter, though. The shaking didn’t stop, but I was too exhausted to worry about it.

Sighing, I immediately fell asleep.

Bright light filled the room when I peeled my eyes open, still barely conscious. I lay against Clay, basking in his warmth. My headache had faded from a steady thump to an annoying dull ache. I felt drained and very tired.

I tilted my head and met Clay’s observant gaze. Worry glazed the chocolate brown depths. I tried to swallow, but the muscles didn’t want to work.

“I’m thirsty,” I rasped.

He gently moved me and got out of bed. I closed my eyes; I didn’t want him to prove me wrong about the shorts. After a few seconds of silence, I forced my eyes back open. He stood next to the bed, holding out a full glass of water.

Shakily, I leveraged myself up on an elbow and grasped the glass. The cool water felt good going down. I drank it all and handed him the empty glass. He watched me curl up with my pillow.

I closed my eyes.

The next time I woke, I checked my alarm clock. The red digits showed two in the afternoon. Turning my head on the pillow, I happily noted the absence of weakness and pain. Whatever I’d done to cause my sudden illness, over sixteen hours of sleep appeared to have helped.

Gingerly, so as not to bring my symptoms back, I boosted myself into a sitting position. Clay no longer lay beside me. I glanced at my closed bedroom door. He must have gotten bored watching me sleep. I didn’t blame him.