was as if she wanted to be his beag amháin. Just until she was well, that is. Then she would take over her life again. Rightly or wrongly, Cheyenne kept the wall up between help and misery. The wall, in this case, was her door. She wondered why he didn’t just unlock it unless he didn’t have her extra key ring with him.
“Cheyenne, beag amháin ,” his voice taking on that coaxing tone, “you’re too ill to stay in bed without going to a doctor.” She wanted to be his little one right now. When he said his next statement, she almost caved. “Open the door, darling, let me take care of my baby.” Still, she resisted.
“You’re going to make me go to the doctor and I can’t. I just can’t. You’re angry with me. It’s more than I can deal with right now.” Her raspy voice was all but gone.
“Okay, listen, just let me in and we’ll figure this out. I promise I won’t force you to go to the doctor’s office.” Silence.
* * *
When she didn’t respond, frustration and Quinn’s restrained irritation was heard in his next tone and his words commanded her to answer.
“Cheyenne, open this door, or I’ll bust the lock, paddle your ass and then take you in because either way, you’re going to get help. Do it now, Cheyenne. Anois .”
After another moment, Quinn realized his fear for her health and safety was causing him to lose his composure, and, most probably, the neighbors were ready to dial 911. So he reined in his emotions and schooled his face to show concern sans the anxiety and fear.
He changed his voice to cajoling but kept enough firmness to retain his authority. “ Piscín, let me in, I want to help you. Come on, sweetheart, open the door for me.”
He could hear her breakdown on the other side of the apartment door, crying pitifully, and it was all he could do not to act on his first threat and break down the barrier.
Knowing nothing was working so far, he decided to beg, “Come on, baby, please let me take care of you. You’re too sick to be in there alone. I love you too much to leave you so ill.”
That did it. He could hear the latch disengage. Cheyenne opened the door crying. One look at her swollen eyes, drawn face, and then hearing her wheezing breath sounds was all it took for him to swoop her up in his arms.
“Damn, beag amháin , you’re burning up. Hold on, honey. You’re going to be just fine. I need to get some clothes for you. I’m here. I’ll take good care of you. Lay here just a moment while I grab some things.”
He began throwing items in a bag he found in her closet telling her firmly to lie down until he was done gathering her things. When she started to get up and protest, Quinn tried to calm her.
“Lie down. I have this. I have you. Hold on just a few more minutes.” He started dialing.
“I just need to sleep. Will you stay with me?”
“Yep, I’m staying with you, but you need medicine first.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” she argued as she went into a fit of coughing and wheezing.
He was in no mood to be argued with, and while he attempted to speak softly and gently to her, his actions were anything but soft and gentle. They talked about urgency and purpose. He needed to get her to a doctor and treated. Fearful of how sick she might really be and angry that she would allow it to get this far, he didn’t allow her to refuse the help that he arranged.
With a few more fussy outbursts that he lovingly ignored, Quinn got Carter Taylor, a friend, a member of the club and a physician by trade, on the phone. After some hushed conversation, Carter said he would be back in town later that evening, and if she didn’t get medical care by then, he agreed to come over and see Cheyenne.
Quinn made another call and gathered the too exhausted to resist Cheyenne up to take her to his family physician. That kind gentleman had been hearing the complaints and curing the illnesses of the O’Connors for more years than Quinn was alive, one more moody family
“Cheyenne, beag amháin ,” his voice taking on that coaxing tone, “you’re too ill to stay in bed without going to a doctor.” She wanted to be his little one right now. When he said his next statement, she almost caved. “Open the door, darling, let me take care of my baby.” Still, she resisted.
“You’re going to make me go to the doctor and I can’t. I just can’t. You’re angry with me. It’s more than I can deal with right now.” Her raspy voice was all but gone.
“Okay, listen, just let me in and we’ll figure this out. I promise I won’t force you to go to the doctor’s office.” Silence.
* * *
When she didn’t respond, frustration and Quinn’s restrained irritation was heard in his next tone and his words commanded her to answer.
“Cheyenne, open this door, or I’ll bust the lock, paddle your ass and then take you in because either way, you’re going to get help. Do it now, Cheyenne. Anois .”
After another moment, Quinn realized his fear for her health and safety was causing him to lose his composure, and, most probably, the neighbors were ready to dial 911. So he reined in his emotions and schooled his face to show concern sans the anxiety and fear.
He changed his voice to cajoling but kept enough firmness to retain his authority. “ Piscín, let me in, I want to help you. Come on, sweetheart, open the door for me.”
He could hear her breakdown on the other side of the apartment door, crying pitifully, and it was all he could do not to act on his first threat and break down the barrier.
Knowing nothing was working so far, he decided to beg, “Come on, baby, please let me take care of you. You’re too sick to be in there alone. I love you too much to leave you so ill.”
That did it. He could hear the latch disengage. Cheyenne opened the door crying. One look at her swollen eyes, drawn face, and then hearing her wheezing breath sounds was all it took for him to swoop her up in his arms.
“Damn, beag amháin , you’re burning up. Hold on, honey. You’re going to be just fine. I need to get some clothes for you. I’m here. I’ll take good care of you. Lay here just a moment while I grab some things.”
He began throwing items in a bag he found in her closet telling her firmly to lie down until he was done gathering her things. When she started to get up and protest, Quinn tried to calm her.
“Lie down. I have this. I have you. Hold on just a few more minutes.” He started dialing.
“I just need to sleep. Will you stay with me?”
“Yep, I’m staying with you, but you need medicine first.”
“I don’t need a doctor,” she argued as she went into a fit of coughing and wheezing.
He was in no mood to be argued with, and while he attempted to speak softly and gently to her, his actions were anything but soft and gentle. They talked about urgency and purpose. He needed to get her to a doctor and treated. Fearful of how sick she might really be and angry that she would allow it to get this far, he didn’t allow her to refuse the help that he arranged.
With a few more fussy outbursts that he lovingly ignored, Quinn got Carter Taylor, a friend, a member of the club and a physician by trade, on the phone. After some hushed conversation, Carter said he would be back in town later that evening, and if she didn’t get medical care by then, he agreed to come over and see Cheyenne.
Quinn made another call and gathered the too exhausted to resist Cheyenne up to take her to his family physician. That kind gentleman had been hearing the complaints and curing the illnesses of the O’Connors for more years than Quinn was alive, one more moody family
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