“Next time I want the IV,” he told his dad.

The bed dipped under his father’s weight. “Brenda told me what happened last night.”

Walt tried not to moan. Such an undignified sound from son to father.

“We’ve invited the Adams many times in the past few years. They’ve never shown up.”

“They think I’m responsible for Vivian’s death.”

“That’s preposterous. They lost their child, needed to blame the universe.”

The light from the window wasn’t as blinding when Walt turned his eyes on his dad. He’d gathered a couple more wrinkles in the past year. A few more gray strands in his hair. The civility in his father’s tone was new. “You’re usually riding my ass, Dad. Reminding me of my place. What’s up?”

Walter huffed, placed both palms on his knees. “I’m not getting younger.”

Walt waited for the riding to begin.

It didn’t.

“I don’t see you nearly enough. Don’t even know where you are half the time.”

“I live in California.”

“I’m talking about the trips out of the country.”

“A lot of parents don’t know where their adult children are. You’re not unique there.”

His dad moved from the bed, opened the blinds all the way. Surprisingly, the sun didn’t burn and Walt noted that his head no longer spun. He glanced into the empty glass, still felt the nasty taste on his tongue.

“What father doesn’t want their child to live close?”

“It’s hard to be close when all we do is argue over my choices when I’m here.”

“I-I know. I’m trying.” His dad met his gaze and held it.

This was good. The timing was strange, but the result was decent. “Where is Dakota?”

The grin that spread over his father’s face was more genuine that he’d seen in years. “She and your sister went to town to pick up a prescription.”

“Is she sick?”

Walter glanced at the ceiling. “Let me see if I can remember her words. ‘Dr. Eddy,’ she said, ‘since your son is sleeping off last night’s bender, and I can’t ask him, you’re going to have to write me a script.’ ” His dad was laughing.

“A script for what?”

“Seems your girlfriend woke with cystitis.”

Walt felt his shoulders drop. Urinary tract infections were common, and nothing to worry about. Still, blame rested on his shoulders. The term honeymoon cystitis was coined from patients who were overly sexually active. Considering how many times he and Dakota managed to get naked over the past couple of days, he wasn’t shocked.

“I like her.”

“We’re just dating, Dad.”

“Still like her. Did you help her buy the gift?”

Walt rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Gift?”

“I’ll take that as a no.” He moved toward the door. “She gave me a stethoscope dating back to the Civil War. Thoughtful.”

Walt found himself smiling. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What the hell was in that?” He nodded toward the empty green glass.

“I’ll e-mail you the ingredients. Nice to know it still works.”

Chapter Eleven

Dakota reached over her keyboard and picked up the phone. She tucked the receiver between her shoulder and her chin. “Hey.”

“Do you always answer the phone that way?”

She finished the sentence she’d been writing and leaned back in her chair. “Doctor . . . so nice of you to call.”

He’d called her twice since their return from Colorado and it had only been three days. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much. Lots of water, antibiotics. I’m good.”

“Perfect.” He sounded rested, more than when he’d called after his shift the night before. “Can I convince you to take a break?”

Dakota glanced at the blinking cursor on her screen. The word count was already over ten thousand. The opening scene of her new book had played in her head like a tape, and now it was crafted on the page and flowing like river water after a storm.

“I’m talking food, not the microwaveable kind,” Walt suggested.

“Do you cook?”

“No. Well, pasta, but that’s not what I had in mind.”

She lowered her voice. “What do you have in mind, Doc?”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“Wait . . . you live farther away than that.”

“I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.”

She clicked a few keys, saved her file, and turned off her computer. “So forceful. I think that’s sexy.”

He laughed. “You know, if this book gig doesn’t work out you’d be a shoo-in for a phone sex operator.”

“I would, would I? What do you know about phone sex?”

There was a pause and Dakota offered a throaty laugh.

“Thirty minutes.”

She showered, dusted enough makeup on to be presentable, and blew her hair dry. When she opened the door to Walt twenty-five minutes later, she wore a teddy and a smile.

The smell of food in bags caught her attention right before Walt moved into the house, slammed the door behind him, and devoured her. They were lips and arms, removing clothes and reaching for the other as she dragged him to her bedroom.