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“Cam …”

“I’m here, love.” The warmth encircling her hand became a gentle squeeze.

Ah, finally, he’s home. And had he just said love? Deciding she’d been dreaming, she grinned or rather tried to. Augh, her tongue and teeth felt like they were coated in moss. “Thirsty.” She should get up and drink something.

Before she could open her eyes something wet and slimy smelling of lemons stroked her lips. Auuugh! She knocked it away and opened her eyes, blinking at the brilliant sunshine pouring through the curtained window. What the—?

There were no curtains in her bedroom.

Claire’s eyes flew open. As her gaze flew around the room, she struggled to sit. Oh my God, I’m in a hospital!

Cam’s strong arm came around her and the head of the bed started to rise. “Easy, lass. Ye’ve had a nasty bout of influenza, but ye’re doing just fine.”

Yes, she’d been sick as a dog. “But—” She waggled the clip attached to her right index finger, then, feeling something tug on her chest, peered down the front of her hospital gown. She was wired. She squinted at Cam. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair, normally neat and in a queue, hung loose and looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a month. “You need a shave.”

He ran a hand along his scruffy jaw. “I thought I might grow a beard.”

Ewww. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned. “I havena had a chance to shave.”

“How long have I been here?”

He adjusted her pillow, then pressed the nurse call button on the side rail. “Just a day and a wee bit, though I must tell ye, finding ye unconscious like I did scared the sh—stuffing out of me.”

Unconscious? Wow. “I’m sorry. I’ve had flu before and thought if I could just get some sleep …”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Dinna fash yerself, love, it’s over, although I’d greatly appreciate it if ye didna get it again.”

“Me, too.” And he’d called her love again. Knowing she shouldn’t dwell on the endearment, that he probably called every woman in his life “love,” she looked around the room again, this time seeing numerous bouquets lined up across a dresser. “Wow, the flowers are lovely. Who are they from?” There were so many it looked like someone had been planning her wake.

“The red roses are from Mrs. Grouse and the pink ones from Victor. Tracy sent the daisies.” He plucked the card from the huge display of yellow carnations on the end. “This one came in this morning, says ‘Get well soon. I need the money, the Cocky Rooster.’ ”

Her laugh sounded more like a croak. “That’s the pub down the street. Tracy must have told them I was in here. I eat there … well, I used to eat there two to three times a week. Their clams aren’t as good as those at the Union Oyster House, but they’re cheaper and I adore clams.”

“Humph. So why dinna ye eat there now?”

Because you’re here, and I enjoy watching you devour everything I put before you. Nope, not going there. “Because it’s Christmas and with my later hours it’s just easier to fix something at home rather than go out.”

His eyes narrowed. “Humph.”

“You say that a lot.”

“What?”

She imitated his humphing. “So who is the cute teddy bear from?” Huge and white with a big red bow around its neck, the bear grinned at her from behind the blooms.

“Me.” With the admission, a lovely blush colored his cheeks.

Surprised, she smiled. “You?”

“Good morning.”

Claire looked to her right and found a curvaceous brunette in navy scrubs, a stethoscope slung around her neck, her arms full of linens, smiling at them from the doorway.

“Good morning.” And it most certainly was. Cam had given her a teddy bear, of all things.

“I’m Suzy. I’ll be taking care of you today. How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.” Although she doubtless looked like hell.

“You look a lot better.” The nurse grinned at Cam, then dropped the linens on the chair he’d been sitting in. Checking Claire’s IV, she asked, “Do you think you can handle some fluids this morning?”

Claire nodded. “I think so.”

“Great. I’ll order a tray. If the clear fluids stay down, we’ll pull the IV and give you some real food.” She then stuck a scope in Claire’s ear, a minute later announced that a normal temperature, took her blood pressure, and then bent down. “Your output is great. I think we can pull the Foley as well.”

Augh! She had a catheter? She twitched her bottom. Yup. And Cam had been sitting next to … Ewwwww. God, how embarrassing.

“Cam, could you please excuse us for a few minutes? Go down to the cafeteria and grab a cup of coffee or something.”

“Are ye sure ye’ll be all right?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Do you know where the cafeteria is?” Did he even know what a cafeteria was?

“Aye. As ye lust then.” Looking none too pleased, he headed for the door.

The minute he disappeared, Claire asked, “Can we get rid of this catheter?”

“Sure, if you think you’re strong enough to make it to the bathroom.”

“I am.” She’d crawl on her hands and knees if she had to. Anything to get the tubes out and her nasty self into the shower.

As Suzy closed the door, she said, “I love his accent. I could listen to him all day.”

“Me, too.”

Suzy flatted the bed. “How long have you two been together?”

“A few weeks.” Which sounded better than eight days.

“And you’re already engaged?”

“Uhmm …” So that’s how Cam had managed to stay at her bedside. He’d lied. “We’re not officially engaged. We just live together.”

“That’s quick, but it’s obvious he cares for you. He growls like a bear every time anyone comes near you with something new in their hands that he hasn’t seen before. But once satisfied, all is well and he does turn on the charm. He’s had the entire staff in a lather since you came in.” She sighed a bit wistfully. “It’s not often you see someone that cute, buff, and straight walking around single. Where did you find him?”

“He found me. Just sort of popped into my life one day.”

“Lucky girl.”

The jury was still out on that.

Three hours later—her catheter out, well showered, and her clear liquids consumed and still hanging in—Claire drummed her fingers on her overbed table. Where the heck was he?

Having nothing better to do and needing a distraction—she’d begun imagining every kind of horror Cam could have gotten himself into—she turned on the TV and caught the tail end of the weather forecast. The guy in the bowtie pointed to an ominous white circle over Canada and then at another coming up the east coast. “These lows,” he told her, “have the potential for becoming the storm of the century.”

Oh great. So much for her hopes for any customers this weekend.

The man had the audacity to grin. “Better get the wood and candles laid in, folks. We could be facing up to two and a half feet of snow by Friday.”

“Augh!” She wanted to cuff him … and Cam. Where the hell could he be for this—

“Second Hand Rose” suddenly rang out from somewhere deep inside her bedside table.

Praying the caller was Cam, fearing that it might be and he was in some kind of trouble, she pawed through the dresser, found her purse and flipped open her cell phone. “Hello?”

“Claire?”

“Cam! Where the hell are you? You left here three hours ago.”

“Aye.”

He heaved a sigh as someone near him shouted and a door slammed, echoing in the background as if he were in an underground tunnel.

“Cam, where are you?”

“The man said Ipswich Central.”

Picturing MTA stops and drawing a blank on any Ipswich Central, she asked, “Ipswich central what?”

“Ipswich Central Police Station?”

“What?”

He heaved a monumental sigh. “Love, would ye happen to ken the number of that barrister, Mr. Brindle?”