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He shook his head with... was that guilt? “I’m the one who should be sorry, babygirl. I should have given you a room after the Friendsgiving. And that’s another tally in your naughty girl book. You are no longer allowed to put yourself down. You are not trouble.”

His stern tone made her heart skip, and not out of fear. She liked it. A lot. Too much. She couldn’t get used to Chance as aDaddy. He was only going to be her Daddy while she was at the ranch.

It would be hard enough to leave as it was. The thought of being alone and on the run terrified her. Even though she had been sick, these had been the best three days of her life.

“Hey, babygirl. What’s that sad face about?”

“Nothing.” The narrowing of his eyes proved he didn’t believe her. Time for a new topic of conversation. She patted the mattress. “How long?”

He held her gaze, studying her. Thankfully, he decided to let it go. “The same number of days as when you asked an hour ago. Your fever was so high you were having seizures, babygirl. I’m not doing anything to risk you having a relapse. Doc Bradford said bed for seven days, and seven days is what we’re gonna do.”

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. There had to be things he'd rather be doing. Things he wasn’t doing because of her. There were a million things more important than her. She shook her head and pointed to him. “Busy.”

“Don't you worry about that, little gypsy.”

It was about more than just him. Ruby, the ranch’s housekeeper and the best cook Joy had ever known, had to be tired of making extra meals to send up to her. This time, she pointed to the tray of empty dishes on the counter in the kitchenette. Ruby would soon be up to collect them. “Too busy.”

Chance smirked. “That just shows you don't know Ruby. She's worried about you. And happy to do anything that will help you get better.”

She shook her head again. He didn’t understand. Sure, people were catering to her every need and doing the work Chance would normally handle. But that was because of him. He was the boss. He didn't even have to say to jump around here. People jumped without even asking how high. “For you,” she whispered. Even though that hurt, she still rasped, “Not me.”

She shouldn't have said that. Not because it wasn't true, but because it made him smile. He looked stunning when he smiled.

“How about you, gypsy? Will you stay in bed and get better for me? Will you do whatever I say?”

She would have laughed if she didn't know it would hurt so much. She shook her head, no. But inside, her heart was screaming, “Yes. Anything.”

“You might wanna think about changin’ your tune, little girl. You're rackin’ up quite a few tallies in your naughty girl book. There's gonna be quite a price for you to pay once you're feeling better.”

Since she couldn't stomp her feet, she did the next best thing. Slapping her covers, she pointed toward his dratted book. “No list. No punish.” She probably pushed it over the edge into melodrama when, clutching her throat with both hands, she stuck out her bottom lip and whispered, “Sick.”

“Did you have a Daddy takin’ care of you back in Nameless?”

The abrupt shift in topic startled her.

She wasn’t going there. Not in a million years. The last person she wanted to think about right now was Eddie. Sure, she’d convinced herself he was her Daddy. But now that she had a glimpse of what a real Daddy was like, she realized how wrong she’d been.

What if she told him about Eddie? Would he believe her? No one in their right mind would stay with someone who treated them like Eddie had treated her. She had been such a fool.

She shook her head again. “No Daddy.” That might not be the whole truth, but it would have to do. Tears stung her eyes, another sure sign of a flare-up. She never cried, not ever. But flare-ups of her rheumatic fever always made her more emotional.

She shifted her gaze toward the window so he wouldn't be able to see her face.

He ran his finger down her cheek and gently caught her chin, turning her back to face him. “I didn't mean to pry, babygirl. If I ask you somethin’ you don’t want to talk about, we won’t talk about it. Before you get tired, can I ask you about your rheumatic fever?”

Relieved he wasn't angry, she nodded.

“Thank you, darlin’. When did you catch rheumatic fever?”

She shrugged. Holding up five fingers, she croaked out, “Strep. In school.”

He nodded. “I see. From what I’ve read, that’s a common way for it to start. When you got sick, didn’t your parents take you to the doctor?”

She shook her head. This not being able to talk was for the birds. If she kept shaking her head, she was going to make herself seasick.

She needed to explain it was in the middle of the fall harvest, and her mom and pop were busy. By the time they finished gathering the crops, her throat felt better. Instead, she had to settle for explaining all that by saying, “No need.”

His scowl indicated she wasn’t explaining anything well. “Of course, there was a need. You developed rheumatic fever. How sick did you get?” When she pinched her thumb and pointer finger together and held them up to him, he snorted in disbelief.