Buckhorn Beginnings: Sawyer. Lori Foster

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       “Now, back to business.” He unloaded his arms next to the bed on the nightstand, turning up the lantern so that the soft glow of light spread out, leaving heavy shadows in all the corners of the room. “The town is so small, we lose electricity with nearly every storm. It’s not something we get too excited over. By morning the lights will be on.”

      Morning?

       He shook the thermometer, and again stuck it in her mouth. “Leave it there this time.”

       Oh, boy. He was done with stalling, now operating in total efficiency status. Well, fine. She didn’t want to talk to him away. Talking took energy, which she didn’t have, and hurt her raw throat and made her stomach jumpier than it already was. She honestly didn’t know how much longer she could stay awake. Lethargy pulled at her, making her numb.

       He approached again, sitting beside her on the bed. He was so warm, heat seemed to pour off him. He gave her a stern look. “I’m going to listen to your lungs. Just breathe normally through your nose, okay?”

       She nodded, and he opened the neckline of the jersey and slipped his hand beneath. He didn’t look at her, staring at the far wall instead as if in deep concentration. But his wrist was hot, a burning touch against her sensitive skin, contrasting sharply with the icy coldness of the stethoscope.

       She forgot to breathe, forgot everything but looking at his profile, at his too-long, too-thick lashes, his straight nose, his dark hair falling over his brow in appealing disarray. The lantern light lent a halo to that dark hair and turned his skin into burnished bronze. His jaw was firm, his mouth sexy—

       “Normal breaths, honey.”

       Oh, yeah. She sucked in a lungful of air, accidentally filling her head with his delicious scent. She immediately suffered a coughing fit. Sawyer quickly retrieved the thermometer and looked at it with the flashlight. “Almost a hundred and two.” He frowned. “Can you sit forward just a second?”

       Without waiting for her reply, he leaned her forward, propping her with his body, practically holding her in an embrace against that wide, strong chest. His arms were long and muscled, his body hard and so wonderfully warm. She wanted to snuggle into him but forced herself to hold perfectly still.

       Again, he seemed oblivious to the intimacy of the situation.

       She was far, far from oblivious.

       He lifted the jersey to listen to her lungs through her back. Honey merely closed her eyes, too mortified to do much else. After a long moment, he made a sound of satisfaction.

       He carefully leaned her back and recovered her with the quilt. “You’ve definitely got bronchitis, and if you’d gone on another day or two, you’d have likely ended up with pneumonia. On top of that, I’d be willing to bet you have a concussion.” He gently touched a bruised spot on her forehead with one finger. “You hit the steering wheel hard when the car dove into the lake. I suppose I can only be grateful you were wearing your seat belt.”

       He sounded a bit censuring, but she nodded, so exhausted she no longer cared.

       “Are you allergic to any medications?”

       “No.”

       “Can you swallow a pill okay?”

       Again she nodded, words too difficult.

       He started to say something else, then looked at her face and hesitated. He sighed. “Honey, I know this is hard for you. Being in a strange house with all these strange men wandering about, but—”

       “Your brothers are a bit overwhelming,” she rasped in her thick voice, “but I wouldn’t exactly call them strange.”

       He smiled. “Well, I would.” He raised his voice and shouted toward the door, “I’d call them strange and obnoxious and overbearing and rude!”

       Honey heard one of the brothers—she thought it was Gabe—shout back, “I know a lot of women who’d object to the obnoxious part!” and a hum of low masculine laughter followed.

       Sawyer chuckled. “They mean well. But like me, they’re concerned.”

       He patted her knee beneath the quilt, then handed her the tea. “You can swallow your pills with this. It’s barely warm now.”

       Honey frowned at the palm full of pills he produced. After all, she didn’t really know him, and yet she was supposed to trust him. Even knowing she had no choice, she still hesitated.

       Patiently, he explained, “Antibiotics and something for the pain. You’ll also need to swallow some cough medicine.”

       “Wonderful.” She threw all the pills down in one gulp, then swallowed almost the entire cup of tea, leaving just enough to chase away the nasty taste of the cough liquid he insisted she take next. Whoever had made the tea went heavy on the sugar—which suited her just fine.

       Sawyer took the cup from her and set it aside, then eyed her closely. “The door next to the closet is a half bath. Do you need to go?”

       Why didn’t she simply expire of embarrassment? She was certainly due. “No,” she croaked, then thought to add, “thank you.”

       He didn’t look as if he quite believed her, but was reluctant to force the issue. “Well, if you do, just let me know so I can help you. I don’t want you to get up and fall again.”

      Yeah, right. Not in this lifetime. That was definitely a chore she would handle on her own—or die trying. “I’m fine, really. I’m just so tired.”

       Sawyer stood and began pulling the quilts off her. They were damp, so she didn’t protest, but almost immediately she began to shiver. Seconds later he recovered her with fresh blankets from the closet. He laid two of them over her, tucking her in until she felt so cozy her body nearly shut down.

       “Go on to sleep. I’ll come back in a couple of hours to check on you—because of the concussion,” he added, when she blinked up at him. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’ll have to wake you every hour or two just to make certain you’re okay. All you’ll have to do is open those big blue eyes and say hi, all right?”

       “All right.” She didn’t really like the idea, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink now, worrying about when he’d come in, if she’d be snoring, if she’d even make sense. Usually she slept like the dead, and very little could disturb her, but since this had started she’d been so worried, and she’d had to be on her guard at all times.

       At least now she could rest in peace and quiet for a while, and that was more than she’d had recently.

       Sawyer tucked a curl of hair behind her ear and smoothed his big thumb over her cheek. The spontaneous, casual touches disconcerted her. They weren’t what she was used to and she didn’t quite know what to think of them. He acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to pet her, which probably meant it was merely his way and had no intimate connotations attached. He was, after all, a doctor.

       Still, his touch felt very intimate to Honey. Like a lover’s caress.

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