"In here," he said, and then dropped his head back onto the pillow.

She didn't know what she expected, but this weak and pale man laid out on his bed was not it. A sudden overwhelming need to cuddle him hit. But he was too big to lift, so she settled for a caress instead.

Her hand swept across his forehead, and then down the curve of his cheek. He was wearing old gray sweats, and the heat in the house had to be in the eighties, yet he shook with a chill.

"You have a fever and a chill. Get under the covers," she ordered. "Where's Joey?"

Joseph moaned as he crawled back between the sheets. "In his room playing, I think."

"I'll be right back," she said. But Joey wasn't in his room playing. He was dressed, but curled up in the middle of his bed, his face flushed, his thumb in his mouth with Thumper clutched tightly against his chest.

"Oh, honey," she said softly. "Are you sick, too?" She frowned, testing the hot, dry skin on his forehead.

"I sick," Joey repeated weakly.

"Don't worry," Molly said. "I'll take care of you." She stood up, uncertain of what to do first. And then she made a decision. "I'll be right back," she said. "Just lie still and hug Thumper so that he doesn't get sick, too, okay?"

Joey nodded and closed his eyes. Molly's heart jerked. He was too quiet and listless for her peace of mind. The Joey she knew stayed wired.

She hurried back into Joseph's room. "Joseph...sweetheart..."

He opened his eyes and tried not to groan. "What?" he muttered.

"Joey's sick, too. Did you guys eat anything last night that might have caused this? What did you have?"

It was the word "eat" that did it. Joseph rolled out of bed and into the bathroom just in time to keep from embarra.s.sing himself.

Molly sighed and headed for the phone while Joseph washed his face and then dropped back into bed.

"Cora, I won't be in today," she said. "In fact, I'm not sure when I can make it. My two guys are sick, really sick. I don't know with what, but it's for certain that they can't be alone. I'll call you later, okay? Oh...and if you need extra help, you have my permission to call any of the temps in. It's about that time of year anyway."

She hung up, certain that Cora and Harry could do what was necessary to keep her business going. After all, she told herself, if the boss can't take a few days off, what good is it being the boss?

She had one more call to make, and glanced down at her watch as she made the call. Her old friend Dr. Marr was going to have to make another house call.

"Was it something they ate or something going around?" Molly asked.

Dr. Marr grinned. "Going around," he said. "Chicken pox. A real good case of them, too."

Molly gaped. Grown men didn't get chicken pox, did they? "Joseph, too?"

"Joseph, too. And, excuse my French, but his will probably make him sick as h.e.l.l. Childhood diseases usually hit adults pretty hard." The doctor scratched his head and squinted his eyes as he considered their best course of action. "So, what's the scoop? Do I call an ambulance for the both of them, or leave it in your hands?"

"I'm staying," she said. "What do I do?"

The doctor nodded. He'd expected as much. He began to reel off a list of instructions that sent Molly scurrying for paper to write them all down.

"And don't hesitate to call if you can't handle them," he added.

She nodded as she let him out, and then shut the door. For a moment she let herself wilt. Chicken pox! She suspected that of the two, the father was going to be the biggest handful. And she was right.

"What the h.e.l.l do you mean...chicken pox? I can't have chicken pox. Only kids have chicken pox." Joseph's grumble coincided with a toss of the bedclothes away from his body.

Molly hid a slight smile, pulled a light sheet back up across his chest, and laid the cool cloth across Joseph's forehead, letting him complain about the inevitable.

"Well, you do. Both of you. And Dr. Marr said to stay quiet, drink lots of fluids, and above all...don't scratch."

"h.e.l.l," Joseph said weakly as he dug at a spot on his neck. Molly moved his hand, handed him the wet cloth, and went across the hall to get Joey out of his clothes and into pajamas. She had a feeling that the next few days were going to be long ones.

"Molly...call the office for me," Joseph called from across the hall. "Tell Marjorie I won't be in-and whatever you do, don't tell her why. I'll never hear the end of it. Chicken pox, for G.o.d's sake. Why couldn't I have just broken a leg or something? Tell her I'm...tell her we..." He groaned, coughed, and cursed.

Molly ignored his grumbles while she was tucking Joey back into bed. He, at least for the time being, was willing to sleep through his fever.

Moments later she was on the phone to her shop, explaining the situation to Cora and Harry, giving them instructions as to the orders they'd need to make for the week and Joseph's phone number just in case they needed further advice.

As she hung up, she rolled her eyes, trying to think of what she was going to say to Marjorie Weeks that would sound plausible and still not give Joseph's circ.u.mstances away.

"No use putting it off," she told herself, and made the call.

Marjorie answered on the third ring. "Red Earth Designs," she said.

"Marjorie...it's me...Molly," Molly said. She could imagine the freezing expression on the woman's face. For the life of her, she'd yet to please Marjorie, and this news wasn't going to help matters any. "Joseph asked me to tell you that he won't be in for a few days."

"A few days!" Marjorie couldn't keep the shock out of her voice. "But he has that consultation tomorrow...and a meeting with the Summers project the day after that. What'll I tell them?"

Molly sighed. "I don't know. Put them off, reschedule...do whatever it takes. He just won't be..."

From the corner of her eye, Molly saw a long shadow in the hallway and knew that one of her patients was out of pocket. Before she thought to cover the phone, she yelled aloud. "Joseph! Take that off and get back into bed." She'd seen him struggling with a jacket, trying to get his arm aligned with the sleeve.

Marjorie gasped. She'd already learned her lesson about interfering. But the very idea, carrying on like that with a small child in the house. What were they thinking? Couldn't they wait until she was off the phone?

Marjorie hung up in disgust.

Molly heard the sharp click in her ear and knew that what she'd said was probably being misconstrued. But she didn't have time to worry about that. From the look on his face, she knew she had to get Joseph back in bed before he dropped. If he fell, she'd never get him up off the floor.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she asked.

Joseph groaned. "I'm cold. I was getting my jacket."

"You don't put on more clothes in bed. You put on more covers," Molly muttered. "Come on, sweetheart, lie down. I'll get another quilt."

"She's calling me sweet names and I'm too sick to care," Joseph grumbled, more to himself than to her. But she heard him all the same and patted his back as she led him back to bed.

"It'll be okay," she said. "I'll say them again when you're well. For now, please get back in bed."

He complied.

"Molly...my juice is all gone."

She groaned, rolled off the daybed in Joseph's office, and staggered down the hallway toward the kitchen. Thanks to Joseph's bellow, Joey was bound to wake, and then she'd never get that nap she needed so badly.

She poured a fresh gla.s.s of juice, swiping at a limp curl as she made a run for his room before he yelled again.

"Here you go," she said, trying to keep her voice down and not alert the child across the hall.

"Thanks," Joseph said, and absently picked at a scab on the end of his nose as he took the gla.s.s from her hand.

"Don't scratch," she said without feeling. She'd said it so many times the past few days, it had become an automatic order that came with no thought.

He sighed as he downed the juice, giving her a mournful look for thanks.

"If you itch too badly, I can always fix you an oatmeal bath," she offered, knowing full well that threat would be what it took to stop his marauding fingers.

"No!" he said, eyed her with something akin to venom, and dared her to argue.

She gave him a weary smirk and c.o.c.ked an eyebrow as she left, just to remind him who was really in charge.

It was all she'd been able to do not to laugh aloud at the look on his face when she'd first suggested the baths. Explaining the medicinal effects of the oatmeal's starch on hot, itchy skin didn't help the fact that he'd been expected to sit in it while she sluiced him with the thin, soupy mix. Explaining that he couldn't do it himself because he couldn't reach all the places didn't help. What had finally done the trick was reminding him of the time he'd rescued her from the tub and the embarra.s.sment she'd had to endure. She'd fixed his bath, but he'd taken it alone.

Joey, unlike his father, had taken to the idea with glee. He'd been fussy and demanding, just like Joseph, until she'd given him the bath. The relief from itching had been almost instantaneous. He'd liked it enough that whenever he was bored or cranky, the first thing he'd beg for was an "oatsmeal baff."

Molly suspected that she'd used more oatmeal in the last few days than the Forty-fifth Infantry used on summer maneuvers at Fort Sill.

Tiptoeing quietly down the hall, she returned the gla.s.ses to the kitchen and then prayed that she'd have at least another hour of rest before Joey awoke from his nap.

Her head had barely touched the pillow when she heard him whimper.

"Want Momma," he said. And when Molly didn't appear instantly in the doorway, he began to cry.

She was down the hall in a flash. If he cried, he'd itch. And if he itched, he'd want another "oatsmeal baff," and she knew that her back would surely break if she had to lean over the tub again and wrestle a wiggly, itchy, nearly three-year old again.

"I'm coming," she called, and tried not to remember that it had been days since she'd had a full night's sleep. "Molly's coming, Joey. Don't cry."

Marjorie was incensed. Her boss's business was going to be in jeopardy if she didn't have some answers soon. She'd made every excuse she knew, but none had been satisfactory enough to ward off the most persistent of his clients.

She made a decision. She'd pick up that phone and call him and she'd do it now. There was no sense having to relay every message through that Eden woman.

"Why...she might not even be telling him I called," Marjorie told herself. She dialed and waited, frowning as she imagined the orgy she'd interrupt.

When the phone rang, Joseph and Joey were in bed together, listening while Molly read them a story. She dropped the book in her lap, stuck her thumb in the crease to hold her place, and reached for the phone.

Joey frowned, but Joseph wisely saw fit to distract him, knowing that it wouldn't take much at this late date to set Joey off. Frankly, he knew just how his son felt. He'd never been so out of sorts with the world in his entire life, and he was a grown man. He could imagine how frustrated Joey must feel, not fully understanding why he itched, and why he couldn't play outside.

"h.e.l.lo," Molly said, and then mouthed to Joseph that it was his secretary. "Hi, Marjorie. Yes, Joseph's right here. I'll put him on."

Joseph glared. He knew that it would be at least two more days before enough scabs disappeared that he could make his way into society without revealing what he'd endured. Now he was going to have to think up excuses as to why he still wouldn't be coming to work.

"Hi, Marjorie, it's me. What's up?"

He rolled his eyes as he listened to her tirade of complaints. "Well, just reschedule. That's all we can do. No...I won't be in tomorrow. I still..." Joey jumped right in the middle of his lap just as the word left his mouth.

"Oh my G.o.d," he gasped, rolled his son off his lap. "I've just been gelded."

In spite of her sympathy for his pain, Molly laughed aloud. It was impossible not to. Joey pouted at being ousted from his father's bed, and Marjorie Weeks turned three shades of red before she hung up the phone, ignoring the fact that she hadn't finished her complaints.

She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. They were actually doing it while she was talking to him on the phone. She buried her face in her hands and contemplated searching for another job. There was no way she'd ever be able to look Joseph Rossi in the face again, not after all this.

Joseph groaned, and then frowned at the look on Molly's face. "Don't laugh. You'll be the first one to suffer if this never works again." He lifted the covers just to check and make sure everything was still in place. "Thank G.o.d," he muttered. "I'm still all there. Joey..." He motioned for his son to crawl back in beside him. "Come here, son. Only this time, for pete's sake, sit still, okay?"

Joey nodded, crawled back into place, and stuck his thumb in his mouth for a.s.surance that at least something in his world still fit.

"Now...where was I?" Molly asked.

"The wolf was at the door," Joseph reminded her, very straight-faced. "He was huffing and puffing and..."

"Bowwed the house down," Joey shrieked and clapped.

Molly smiled. Like two peas in a pod, the Rossi men stared expectantly. Dark hair, black, dancing eyes, dimples, spots and all, they were hers. As weary as she was, she was blessed.

"Right," she said, "...and blew the house down."

She turned the page.

Ten.

Marjorie Weeks had had enough. She was taking her concerns to the root of the problem. She'd left her last message, given her last excuse, and lied for the last time to Joseph's clients. She was going to talk to him face to face, and if that meant her job, so be it.

She stabbed the ON b.u.t.ton on the answering machine with a perfectly manicured nail, as if daring it not to answer calls while she was gone, locked the office door, and headed for the parking lot. The wind was blowing, spitting snow and sleet into her face as she unlocked her car. But it didn't deter her from her plan. She would see for herself what was going on inside the Rossi house or know the reason why.

It didn't take her long to find Joseph's house, but it did take her awhile to get up the nerve to park and go inside. She'd circled the block more than five times, and each time, she convinced herself that no matter what orgy she might interrupt, she was woman enough to bear it.

And then she remembered Molly shouting for Joseph to take off his clothes and get back into bed, and how Joseph had shouted and then groaned something about being emasculated, and she got red-faced just thinking about it.

Marjorie's ex-husband also received his fair share of unspoken curses as she continued to drive around the neighborhood, killing time until she got up the nerve to go to the house. She kept reminding herself that if he'd kept his britches zipped and his brain in gear, she would never have had to endure this latest bit of personal humiliation.

But self-pity was not Marjorie's strong suit, and she'd finally talked herself into a combative frame of mind. With a thrust of her chin and determination in her stride, she headed for the front door of Joseph's house with a "woe unto any who get in my way" expression.

Molly stared at herself in the mirror over the bathroom sink and tried to remember when she'd last put on makeup. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes instead of the powdered shadows she usually applied above. The only color on her face was a bit of something red that she suspected was strawberry jam from the sticky kiss Joey had given her minutes earlier.

It had been seven days-and seven sleepless nights-since Dr. Marr had diagnosed chicken pox. The Rossi men were nearly well. Molly, however, was a mess and running on empty.