“The bear and duck didn’t work,” she said uncomfortably, lacing her fingers together in front of her and pushing away the unsettling comparison. She felt awful; she simply hadn’t considered how much pain he might be in, especially if he moved without thinking.
He rubbed his face, then let his breath out in a sigh. “It’s okay. How long was I asleep?”
“About two and a half hours.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I guess the drive took more out of me than I expected.”
“I imagine so, since you just got out of the hospital,” she said, keeping her tone neutral though she personally thought he needed his head examined for pushing himself that hard. The long nap didn’t seem to have done him much good; his color was still an awful shade between gray and dead white. “The reason I woke you up is, you need to eat, even if it’s just a little, and you can’t let yourself get dehydrated. Then there’s the practical stuff: can you make it up the stairs to the guest bedroom—”
He looked chagrined, as if just now considering the matter, but shook his head.
“I didn’t think so. That means you’re going to be sleeping on the couch, though I guess I could make a pallet on the floor if you’d rather be able to stretch out, but in my opinion you wouldn’t be able to get up and down by yourself.”
“I can,” he muttered. “But I’d rather not.”
“Got it.” Oddly, she did understand what he meant. If he had to, he would. If necessary, he would crawl up the stairs, or do whatever circumstances called for, but that gritty determination would cost him in pain. “In that case, I need to show you where the bathroom is, which I figure you need by now. And if you don’t, then you’re definitely dehydrated and I’m going to start pouring liquids down your throat.”
“I do,” he said. “Need the bathroom, that is.”
“Then let’s get you there.” She frowned, thinking. “I wonder where I can rent a wheelchair.”
“No,” he half-snapped. “I’m walking. I’ve had enough of wheelchairs. The only way I’ll get my strength back is by pushing myself.”
She started to argue with him about how ill advised that was but bit back the words. Stubbornness went hand in hand with gritty determination, and if she told him he was stupid to try doing something, he’d probably half-kill himself to prove her wrong. Instead she asked, “Are you healed enough yet? How long has it been since you were shot?”
“About a month.” He wiped the sweat from his forehand, sweat caused by the exertion of fending off a one-legged giraffe and then sitting up.
“Not that I know anything about gunshot wounds, but yeah, it does seem you’d be in better shape by now.”
He snorted. “The open-heart surgery was worse than getting shot.”
She blew out a breath. “That would certainly explain it. They saw your sternum in half, right?”
His mouth quirked in a kind of ghastly humor. “That was almost the least of it, but yeah, I don’t guess the bone has completely knitted back. Then I got pneumonia. The docs didn’t want to let me go, but I’d been in one place too long. Mac and I decided it was time to move.” As he spoke, he began the struggle to get to his feet. Bo moved to one side to try to help him but the angle was awkward and she moved to the end of the sofa, where she could at least get her left arm hooked under his right armpit and help lever him upward.
“Mac” was obviously Axel, and the pneumonia on top of open-heart surgery definitely explained why he was so weak. “Are you still on any medications?”
“No antibiotics, my lungs are clear.” He was finally standing upright, though he was breathing hard and swaying back and forth.
Something about the phrasing caught her attention. Chief of police was an administrative position, not a real one, but she had still picked up on some things from Jesse. “That’s good about the antibiotics, but what about other prescriptions?”
His red-lidded blue eyes sparked with irritation. “If you mean dope for pain, why not ask outright?”
If he thought she’d back down, he was about to embark on a learning curve. “Okay. Are you supposed to be taking any dope for pain?”
“Forget it. I’m not taking any more of that sh—crap. It makes me woozy.”
“So?” A thought occurred, and suspicion gnawed at her. She narrowed her gaze. “Unless you think you have to be alert because this location isn’t as secure as Axel said, though why I’d believe anything he said is a question for the ages.”
He said tersely, “I have to get around by myself now. There aren’t any nurses or orderlies to get me up if I fall. So if it’s okay with you, I’d rather be steady on my feet.”
Her suspicion faded because that was completely logical, not to mention he’d probably been increasingly annoyed by his physical condition and dependence on others. “I wouldn’t call this steady,” she pointed out.
“Steadier than I would be if my head were floating off.”
That was true, but also alarming. With her shoulder jammed under his arm and her left arm around his waist while she used the right one to grasp his belt, she led him past the kitchen toward the bathroom in the back. He gripped her right shoulder with one hand, his weight bearing down on her as he shuffled his feet forward. Thank goodness the downstairs bath wasn’t a large one, even though it was a full bath with a shower/tub enclosure. He could easily reach things on which to brace himself: the vanity, the toilet, the doorknob. She guided him in, braced his hip against the vanity, and said, “I’ll be in yelling distance if you need me.”