Buckhorn Beginnings. Lori Foster

After she’d taken care of business, Honey washed her hands, splashed her face and took a long drink of water. She looked at herself in the round etched mirror over the sink and nearly screamed. She looked horrid. Her hair was tangled, her face pale, the bruise on her forehead providing her only color, and that in shades of gray and purple and green. God, she looked as sickly as she felt, and that was saying a lot!

       She glanced longingly at the shower, but then she heard Sawyer ask impatiently, “Everything okay?”

       It would take more time and effort than she could muster to make herself look any better. With a sigh, she edged her way to the door, holding on to the sink for support. She barely had the door open and he was there, tall, shirtless, overwhelmingly potent. Without a word he wrapped his arm around her and practically carried her back to the bed.

       He tucked her in, then asked, “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

       Her mouth watered. Now that she wasn’t so tired, she noticed other needs, and hot coffee sounded like just the thing to clear out the cobwebs and relieve her sore throat. “I’d kill for coffee.”

       “When you don’t have the strength to swat a fly? Never mind. Nothing so drastic is necessary. The coffee is already on. Morgan and Gabe are both early risers, so one of them has already seen to it because I smell it. Cream and sugar?”

       “Please.”

       He started to turn away, and she said, “Sawyer?”

       He looked at her over his shoulder. “Hmm?”

       “My things…”

       “They’re safe. Gabe and Casey got everything stored in the barn before the worst of the storm hit, but if you like, I’ll check on them after I’ve dressed.”

      After he’d dressed. The fact of his partial nudity flustered her again, and she felt herself blush. She’d simply never been treated to the likes of a man like him before. Her experiences were with more…subtle men. Sawyer without his shirt was more enticing, more overpowering, than most men would have been buck naked.

       She cleared her sore throat. “I’d really like my toothbrush. And…and I’d dearly love to shower and get the lake water off—”

       “I dunno.” He gave her a skeptical look and frowned. “Let’s see how you do after eating a little, okay? I don’t want you to push it. You still sound like a bullfrog, and I’m willing to bet you have a bit of a fever yet. But first things first. Let me get the coffee. It’ll make your throat feel better.”

       His peremptory manner set her on edge. Straightening her shoulders as much as she could while lying huddled beneath a layer of blankets, she groused, “It’s not up to you to decide what I can or can’t do.”

       He halted in midstride and slowly turned to face her. The intensity of his dark gaze almost made her squirm, but after a good night’s rest, she felt emotionally stronger, if not physically, and she couldn’t continue to let him baby her or dictate to her. Now was as good a time as any to assert herself.

       Tilting his head, he said, “Actually—I can.”

       “No—”

       He stalked forward, startling her with the suddenness of it. His bare feet didn’t make a sound on the polished flooring, but he might have been stomping for the expression on his face. Bracing one hand on the headboard and the other on the pillow by her cheek, he leaned down until their noses almost touched. Her head pressed into the pillow, but there was no place to retreat to, no way to pull back.

       His breath touched her as he studied her face. “You’re seriously ill, and I didn’t stay up all night checking on you just so you could turn stubborn this morning and set yourself on a decline.”

       She mustered her courage and frowned up at him. “I know I’m not a hundred percent well, but—”

       He made a rude sound at that statement. “It’s a wonder you even made it to the bathroom on your own. I can tell just looking at your flushed cheeks and lips that you still have a fever. What you need is plenty of rest and medicine and liquids.”

       She hated to sound vain, so the words came out in a rough, embarrassed whisper. “I smell like the lake.”

       At first his brows lowered and he stared at her. Then, almost against his will it seemed, he leaned closer and his nose nearly touched her throat beneath her ear. She sucked in a startled breath, frozen by his nearness, his heat, the sound of his breathing. He nuzzled gently for just a moment, then slowly leaned away again, and his gaze traveled down her throat to her chest and beyond, then came back to her face, and there was a new alertness to his expression, a sensual hardness to his features.

       She swallowed roughly and croaked, “Well?” trying to hide the effect he’d had on her, trying, and failing, to be as cavalier.

       His lips twitched, though his eyes still looked hot and far too intent. He touched her cheek, then let his hand fall away. “Not a single scent of lake, I promise. Quit worrying about it.”

       She couldn’t quit worrying, not when he stayed so close. And she knew a shower would revive her spirits, which she needed so she could think clearly. She tried a different tack. “I’m not used to going all day without a shower. I’ll feel better after I clean up.”

       He continued to loom over her, watching her face, then finally he sighed. “Somehow I doubt that, but then, what do I know? I’m just the doctor.” When she started to object, he added, “If you feel such a strong need to get bathed, fine. I’ll help you, and no, don’t start shaking your head at me. I’m not leaving you alone to drown yourself.”

       “You’re also not watching me bathe!”

       He started to grin, but rubbed his chin quickly instead. “No, of course not. The shower is out because I doubt you could stand that long. And as wobbly as you seem when you’re on your feet, I’m not taking the chance. But this afternoon, after I’ve seen a few patients, I’ll take you to the hall bath. We have a big tub you can soak in. By then I’ll have your clothes run through the washer, and you can wear your own things. We’ll manage, I think.”

       Worse and worse. “Sawyer, I don’t want you doing my laundry.”

       “There’s no one else, Honey. Morgan has to go into the office today, and Jordan is making a few housecalls. Casey has never quite learned the knack of doing laundry, though I’m working on him, and if I know Gabe, he’ll be off running around somewhere.”

       She stared at him, dumbfounded, then shook her head. “Let me clarify. I don’t want any of you doing my laundry.”

       “The clothes you came in are wet and muddy. By now, they probably do smell like the lake. Unless you want to continue living in Casey’s shirt, someone needs to do it, and you’re certainly not up to it.” She started to speak, and he held up a hand. “Give over, will you? I doubt doing a little laundry will kill me. If it did, I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

       She seemed to have no options at all. With a sigh, she said, “Thank you.”

       “You’re welcome.”

       His continued good humor made her feel like a nag. Trying to get back to a more neutral subject, she asked, “Do you see patients every day?”

       He straightened from the bed. “Don’t most doctors?”

       “I really don’t know.”

       “Well, they do. You can take my word on it. Illness has no respect for weekends or vacations. And since I’m the only doctor around for miles, I’ve gotten used to it.”

       Nervously pleating the edge of the blanket, she wondered if this might be her best chance to slip away. It was for certain if he didn’t want her up to shower, he wouldn’t want her up to leave on her own. “Do you have an office close by?”

       He crossed his arms over his chest. “Very close.”