Nine Lives by Sharon Sala

stepping all over Wilson’s feet.
    A couple who happened to be Cat’s neighbors were coming into the building as Wilson was struggling with her and the door. When they saw she was ill, they quickly offered to help. The man held the door for Wilson as the woman ran ahead to get an elevator. They rode up to the sixth floor together, chattering rapidly about their concern for their neighbor while admitting that they hardly knew her.
    The man took the key from Wilson’s pocket and opened Cat’s door. Wilson walked in with Cat braced against him, still weaving and moaning. The man leaned in, shook his head at Cat’s condition, then laid the key on the hall table and left.
    Wilson sighed with relief. They were home. Now all he had to do was get her into bed. He picked her up, eyed the layout of the rooms, then headed for the hallway to the left. The first door he came to was closed, but the second one on the right was ajar. He toed it open, grunting with satisfaction when he saw a bed.
    Cat began to rouse as he laid her down, and when she recognized her surroundings, began unzipping her pants, clearly forgetting she wasn’t alone.
    Wilson didn’t know whether to help her or get the hell out of the room before she got naked, but the decision was taken out of his hands when she tried to get up, staggered and almost fell.
    â€œHere,” he said, and guided her back to the bed. “Sit down and let me help.”
    She didn’t bother to argue when her boots came off, and when he pulled her sweater off over her head, she lifted her arms like a baby.
    â€œOh, God,” she moaned. “Am I going to die?”
    He started to smile, but she’d already faced that question twice in her life and survived, so he supposed, from her standpoint, it was a fair question.
    â€œYou’re not going to die. You’re just sick, but I don’t think it’s food poisoning, because you have a hell of a fever.”
    He opened the closet and took a flannel nightgown off a hook as Cat motioned toward the bathroom.
    â€œPills in the medicine cabinet.”
    â€œI’ll get them in a minute,” he said, and then pulled the nightgown over her head, letting it fall loosely down to her waist. “Can you get the rest of your clothes off by yourself?”
    Cat looked down, confused by the nightgown bunched around her lap.
    â€œWhat clothes?”
    â€œNever mind,” he said gently. “I’ll help.”
    He slid his hands beneath the gown, undid the clasp on her bra and then pulled it off without touching her. As soon as he had it off, he held out the sleeves of the gown.
    â€œSlide your arms inside,” he said.
    She did as he asked, then fell backwards onto the bed with a groan. Her voice was so weak Wilson barely heard her whisper.
    â€œOh Lord, oh Lord…make this go away.”
    Wilson felt sorry for her. Being this helpless was probably twice as difficult to accept for a woman as strong and independent as Cat Dupree.
    â€œScoot up a little,” he said, and then maneuvered Cat’s head onto her pillow. As soon as he had the covers down and her settled in the middle of the bed, he pulled the hem of the nightgown down, then reached up beneath it and pulled off her jeans and panties.
    â€œHey,” Cat murmured, and took another helpless swing at him when she felt the panties coming off.
    â€œIt’s all right. You’re still decent,” Wilson said as he dodged the blow and quickly pulled the covers over her.
    She exhaled on a shaky sigh as he tucked her in.
    She was trembling and feverish. It worried him that he hadn’t taken her to the hospital. What if she was desperately ill and he was only making it worse?
    He didn’t know what to do next, then remembered the pills she’d mentioned. He ran into the bathroom, got a bottle of pain and fever relief tablets and a glass of water, then hurried back. Once she’d downed the pills, he got a