Buckhorn Beginnings: Sawyer. Lori Foster

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СКАЧАТЬ “Did you rob a bank? Are you a wanted felon?”

       “No.”

       “If I take you in, will someone recognize you?”

       “No.”

       The shirt he’d draped around her was now tangled at her waist. He tried not to look, but after all, he was human, a male human, and his gaze went to her breasts.

       She noticed.

       Warm color flooded her cheeks, and he rushed to reassure her. “It’s all right. Why don’t we readjust the shirt I gave you just a bit?”

       She didn’t fight him when he loosened his hold enough to let her legs slip to the ground. She leaned against him while he pulled the shirt up around her, slipping her arms through the sleeves. It was an old faded blue chambray shirt, the sleeves cut short, the top button missing. He’d often used it for work because it was soft and ragged. She should have looked ridiculous in it, wearing it like a robe. Instead, she looked adorable, the shirt in stark contrast to her fragile femininity. The hem hung down to her knees, and it almost wrapped around her twice. Sawyer shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track once again.

       “Better?”

       “Yes.” She hesitated, clutching the shirt, then whispered, “Thank you.”

       He watched her face for signs of discomfort as they took the last few steps to the truck. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

       “No, I’m just—”

       He interrupted her lie. “Well, lucky for you, I really am a doctor, and for the moment you can keep your name, and why you’re so frightened, to yourself. All I want to do right now is help.”

       Her gaze flicked to his, then away. Sawyer opened the door of the idling truck and helped her inside. He slid in next to her, then laid his palm against her forehead in a gentle touch. “You’re running a fever. How long have you been sick?”

       Casey put the truck in gear with a rough start that made her wince. He mumbled an apology, then kept the gears smooth after that.

       With one hand covering her eyes, she said, “It’s…just a cold.”

       He snorted. Her voice was so raspy, he could barely understand her. “What are your symptoms?”

       She shook her head.

       “Dizzy?”

       “A little.”

       “Headache? A tightness in your chest?”

       “Yes.”

       Sawyer touched her throat, checking for swollen glands and finding them. “Does this hurt?”

       She tried to shrug, but it didn’t have the negligent effect she’d probably hoped for. “Some. My throat is sore.”

       “Trouble breathing?”

       She gave a choked half laugh at his persistence. “A little.”

       “So of course you decided to go for a drive.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he said, “Look at me,” then gently lifted each eyelid, continuing his examination. She needed to be in bed getting some care. On top of a likely concussion, he suspected an upper respiratory infection, if not pneumonia. Almost on cue, she gave another hoarse, raw cough. “How long have you had that?”

       She turned bleary, suspicious eyes his way. “You’re a real doctor?”

       “Wanna see my bag? All docs have one, you know.”

       Casey piped up with, “He really is. In fact, he’s the only doctor Buckhorn has. Some of the women around here pretend to be sick just to see him.” He smiled at her. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

       “Casey, watch the road.” The last thing he needed was his son filling her ears with nonsense, even if the nonsense was true. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the local women’s antics nearly as much as his brothers or son did. Sawyer treated it all as a lark, because he had no intention of getting involved with any of the women, and they knew it.

       He had a respected position in the community and refused to take advantage of their offers. Driving out of the area was always difficult, not to mention time-consuming. He’d had a few long-distance, purely sexual relationships when the fever of lust got to him and he had to have relief. He was a healthy man in every way, and he didn’t begrudge himself the occasional weakness due to his sex. But those encounters were never very satisfying, and he sometimes felt it was more trouble than it was worth.

       She turned to him, her blue eyes huge again, and worried. She nervously licked at her dry lips. Sawyer felt that damn lick clear down to his gut, and it made him furious, made him wonder if another out-of-town trip wasn’t in order. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less. And at the moment, she looked pale, on the verge of throwing up, and her mood was more surly than not.

       So why was he playing at being a primitive, reacting solely on male instincts he hadn’t even known he had?

       Her worried frown prompted one of his own. “You had a lot of stuff stowed in your backseat. Moving?”

       She bit her lip, and her fingers toyed with the tattered edge of the shirt he’d given her, telling him she didn’t want to answer his questions. After another bout of coughing where she pressed a fist to her chest and he waited patiently, she whispered, “How do you know my name?”

       He lifted one brow. “I don’t.”

       “But…” It was her turn to narrow her eyes, and the blue seemed even more intense in her annoyance, shaded by her thick lashes, accompanied by her flushed cheeks. Then the annoyance turned to pain and she winced, rubbing at her temples.

       Compassion filled him. Finding out the truth could wait. For now, she needed his control. There was no faking a fever, or that croupy cough. “You’re confused. And no wonder, given how sick you are and that knock on the head you got when your car dove into the lake.”

       “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll pay for the damage to your fence.”

       Sawyer didn’t reply to that. For some reason, it made him angry. Even the little talking they’d done had weakened her; she was now leaning on him, her eyes closed. But she was concerned for his damn fence? She should have been concerned about her soft hide.

       Casey successfully pulled the truck into the yard beneath a huge elm. Gabe sprinted off the porch where he’d been impatiently waiting, and even before Casey killed the engine, Gabe had the truck door open. “What the hell’s going on?” Then his eyes widened on the woman, and he whistled.

       Sawyer leaned down to her ear. “My baby brother, Gabe,” he said by way of introduction. She nodded, but kept silent.

       To Gabe, he answered, “A little accident with the lady’s car and the lake.”

       “Casey told me the lake got in her way.” Gabe looked her over slowly, his expression inscrutable. “What’s wrong with her? And why aren’t you taking her to the hospital?”

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