Damnation.

Why didn't I take that stupid flu shot when I had a chance? Because I've always done all right without one, and I didn't expect to be rolling in snow any time soon.

(wheeeeze)

Cool hand on hot forehead. "Scribe? Wake up, honey."

"Nottasleep."

"Whatever you say, doll. It's time for your medicine."

"Jerrrrry." Was that me? Couldn't be, I don't whine.

"Don't argue with me, woman. We've got to get rid of this fever, then you'll be all right. Just swallow it, and I'll give you something to take the taste away."

I don't know what it is, don't want to know. It's gaggingly thick and bitter, but the coughing and wheezing are a little better since I started taking it yesterday.

After the first taste, I'd clamped my jaws shut and tried to refuse any more. Jerry sat patiently, tapping the bottle lightly with a spoon. I coughed, teeth clenched, till it felt like someone had been beating me across the ribs with a broomstick. Finally, resentfully, I let him tip another spoonful into my mouth. When I started to turn my head and spit out the acrid mess, he quickly clamped one big hand over my mouth, and stroked my throat with the other till I swallowed. Then he gave me a lump of sugar to take away the taste, and a glass of Seven-Up. "You need clear fluids right now. And it should help keep your stomach settled."

Again I manage to choke down two spoonfuls of the nasty stuff. This time he gives me a peppermint. I close my eyes, sucking it, feeling the soothing mint trickle down my raw throat.

I'd made my mad dash three days ago. I'd gotten sick within a couple of hours of taking my dive in the snow. I'll give him this: he didn't say I told you so. Oh, he looked it, but he didn't say it, and the concern far outweighed any smugness. I hear him sit back down. He's dragged a chair up beside the bed, and he sits reading while I fight the flu bug. The book is huge, a law textbook. I don't even ask.

The only sounds are the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the pages he turns, my own slightly ragged breathing.

Whatever it is they're giving me, it has a sedetive effect. I haven't slept deeply, but I seem to doze constantly. I only wake up when he helps me to the toilet, or sponge bathes me, or feeds me. I haven't protested any of it since the second day. I feel too weak to do anything more strenuous than keep breathing.

It must be evening again. The only reason I can tell is that he goes down to a single lamp when darkness falls.

The fire is roaring, the space heater is ticking with heat. I'm under two blankets, and I'm still freezing. Jerry's sitting there, barefoot, in baggy jean shorts and a t-shirt. How does he do it? He told me that the room was warm. He tells me I have a temperature. I don't know, I feel cold.

He won't let me pull up into a ball, damn it. Says it's bad for my respirtation. At night he sleeps half draped over me, so I can't roll up while he's unawares. Lally and Ron sit with me sometimes, when he's out getting wood, or checking his traps. They have instructions not to let me pull up in a ball, either, and they enforce them.

James doesn't sit with me. He offered once, I heard him. Jerry didn't say anything for a moment before saying he thought not. I was glad. James has eyes like stones.

Jerry is absorbed in his reading. I stealthily start to raise my knees. His eyes don't leave the page. "Stop it, Scribe."

I can't help it. Even though my muscles ache with the effort, I quickly tuck up my knees, grabbing them, bending my head down. Surely I can find some heat if I bundle myself around my core. I hear a sigh, and the sound of a book being shut and laid aside. A hand is laid on my neck. It's warm, and I throw my head back, pressing into the heat. "Let me take your temperature again."

The cool, alcohol flavored glass stick nudges under my tongue, an ice sliver. It makes my teeth want to chatter, but I manage not to. During one particularly violent shudder the day before, I'd almost cracked it. After a moment, he removes it, muttering dissatisfiedly. "Still too high." He strokes my hair. "Baby, you're gonna burn up if we don't break this fever."

"I'm freezing," I moan. He touched my cheek, and I shiver upward to his touch. The few times I've felt close to warm since my snow bath have been when he was in bed with me.

He hasn't made any advances since I got sick. His touch has been gentle, intimate, but not sexual. He's slept beside me, but not touching me. And I could feel his heat then. He seems to radiate, like a furnace, and I've become greedy for that warmth. "You need to stretch out again." I shake my head. "I'll make you if I have to," he warns. The look I give him is defiant, sly. "Oh, hell, girl. It's your own fault."

He tugs the covers loose, flips them up briefly, and slips in next to me. Pulling the quilts back up around our shoulders, he takes hold of my arms, then pressed my legs with his. I'm weak, and it doesn't take much effort to shove them straight. Then he hooks his leg over them to hold me in place, and settles his head beside mine on the pillow. "Just be still, and you'll warm up."

I feel blessed warmth seep into my chill where his flesh touches mine. I try to stay still, like he said. But it isn't enough, it isn't fast enough, and I'm ravenous for warmth. I take hold of his arms in turn, and tug him toward me. I squirm, trying to press my body in closer. I feel more of the delicious heat as I press my breasts against his chest. I'm wearing an old, thin cottorn t-shirt of his, and that's all. Any of the gowns belonging to the other women were too small, regular clothes were too binding, and my honeymoon gown tangled around my legs when I thrashed in my doze.

Jerry grunts. His grip on my arms loosens into a caress. I shove closer, pressing against his neck, warming my face against him. I squirm, trying to push myself through him. I want to get inside, be completely surrounded.

He puts his arms around me. I push both of my legs between his and hook back, trapping his bottom leg and pulling the lower part of my body tigh against him. He groans. "Girl, are you in your right mind? Do you know what you're doin'?"

What am I doing? I need warmth. His body is heavenly hot, I'm making him hotter. I drag at him, rolling him half on top of me. "You're cold, darlin'?" I nod. "All right then. You don't need to fuck in the state you're in. This is the medicine and the fever workin', I know that, much as I'd like to think it's me. But I can help you warm up." He places a soft kiss on my cheek. "Just relax and let me sex you up some."

His hands start to move over me. They leave a warm trail everywhere they explore. At the same time he's rubbing, massaging, working out aching knots. He parts my legs, settling in the crook of my groin, and begins to push our pelvises together, slowly and gently. I feel the rub of the the very soft old material of his shorts. A liquid heat kindles there, and spreads.

He talks to me, he whispers. "Is that okay, baby? Does that help? Does it feel good? I want to make you feel good." I haven't felt anything for a long while except the cold, and an aching deep in my bones. His hands go behind me, pressing my back, kneading out pain as he presses me even tighter.

A deep part of me is marveling at his charity. I must be a real mess by now, reeking of medicine and peppermint. When I'm tired, shadows take up residence under my eyes. I must look bruised by now. My hair would be tangled from scrubbing on the pillows, except that he patiently combed it out this morning. I must look like death on a cracker, but still he holds me and moves against me.

I think it's charity till I feel the hard bulge under his fly. It nudges me firmly, and the heat rises through my belly in steaming waves. I realize with vague astonishment that I'm haveing an orgasm. It's not like the other ones, it's slow and gentle. And it lasts a long time.

I look up into Jerry's face, and he's watching me with a look of equal measures of lust and tenderness. "Okay, darlin'?"

I make a mewling sound and flex my fingers against his back, tucking my head. He gives three short, hard pushes, moving me on the bed, and shivers himself, eyes closed. He says thickly, "Damn, girl. You're the only woman I ever let make me come in my pants."

The next wave that washes over me is cool instead of cold, and that's all right, somehow. I feel suddenly damp, as if I've been sprayed with a fine mist.

Jerry moves off of me, and I give a stretch that makes my sinews creak.

He wipes his hand across my forehead, then rubs his fingers together experimentally. He leans over and places a slow, thoughtful kiss on my forehead. I can see a spreading wet patch on his fly. He gets the thermometer again and tucks it under my tongue, stroking my forehead some more while he waits. Then he takes it out and holds it up to the lamp, studying it.

He slumps a little, chin dropping to chest, and then lays it aside. He pulls down one of the quilts, and I don't try to pull up into the fetal position. I feel loose, pleasantly warm, and very sleepy. He nods. "Fever broke."

As I drift off to sleep, I hear him in the shower, whistling.