Lori Foster - Buckhorn Beginnings - Sawyer

He moved the lantern to the dresser top and turned it down very low, leaving just enough light so she wouldn’t wake disoriented in the strange room. Outside, the storm still raged with brilliant bursts of light and loud rumbling thunder.

He picked up the flashlight and damp quilts and went out, leaving the door open a crack. Honey rolled slowly to her side and stacked her hands beneath her cheek. His bed was so comfortable, the blankets so soft and cozy. And it smelled like him, all masculine and rich and sexy. Her eyes drifted shut, and she sighed. Sleep would be wonderful, but she really didn’t dare. As soon as the storm let up, she had to think about what to do.

Sawyer was a nice man. His whole family was nice; she couldn’t put them at risk, couldn’t take advantage of their generosity and their trusting nature. She supposed she could call a cab to take her into town and buy another used car there. The one she’d been driving didn’t have much value anyway, hardly worth repairing.

But her stuff. They’d unloaded everything into the barn, Gabe said. She hadn’t even noticed a barn, and if she found it, could she retrieve everything without alerting them to her intentions? She had no doubt they’d feel honor bound to detain her, thanks to her illness.

She just didn’t know what to do. Since she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, she figured she had plenty of time to come up with a plan.

TWENTYMINUTESLATER Sawyer peeked in on her—again. He couldn’t quite seem to pull his gaze away for more than a few minutes, and his thoughts wouldn’t budge from her at all. She was in his bed—and he knew it, on every level imaginable.

It had taken her less than two minutes to fall deeply asleep, and since then, he’d been checking her every few minutes, drawn by the sight of her cuddled so naturally, so trustingly in his bed. He leaned in the door frame, watching her sleep, enthralled by the way the gentle lantern light played over the curves and hollows of her body.

“She doin’ okay?”

Sawyer quickly pulled the door shut as he turned to face Jordan. “She’s asleep, and her breathing sounds just a little easier. But she’s still really sick. I think she needs some rest more than anything else. She’s plain wore out.”

“If you want, we can all spell you a turn on waking her up through the night.”

“No.”

Jordan’s eyes narrowed. “Sawyer, it’s dumb for you to do it alone. We could—”

“I’m the doctor, Jordan, so I’ll do it.” He was determined to get his brother’s mind off altruistic motives and away from the room. “The rest of you don’t need to worry. It’s under control.”

Jordan studied him a long minute before finally shrugging. “Suit yourself. But I swear, you’re acting damn strange.”

Sawyer didn’t refute that. His behavior did seem odd, considering his brother didn’t know why he was so insistent. But when Jordan walked away, Sawyer again opened the door where she slept. Nope, he didn’t want his brothers seeing her like this.

The little lady slept on her stomach, and she kept kicking her covers off; the jersey had ridden to her waist.

Damn, but she had a nice backside. Soft, white, perfectly rounded. The kind of backside that would fit a man’s hands just right. His palms tingled at the thought, and his fingers flexed the tiniest bit.

With a small appreciative smile, Sawyer once again covered her. At least her fever must be lower, or she’d still be chilled deep inside. The fact she felt comfortable enough not to need the blankets proved the medicine was doing its job. Still, he touched her forehead, smoothed her hair away, then forced himself to leave the room.

When he walked out this time he ran into Morgan.

“We need to talk.”

Sawyer eyed his brother’s dark countenance. He’d have been worried, except Morgan pretty much always looked that way. “If you’re going to offer your help, don’t bother. I’m more than able to—”

“Nope. I figure if you want to hover all night over the little darling, that’s your business. But I want to show you something.”

For the first time, Sawyer noticed Morgan was gripping a woman’s purse in his fist. “Our guest’s?”

“Yep. I decided I didn’t like all this secretive business, and being she’s staying here, I was fully justified—”

“You snooped, didn’t you?”

Morgan tried to look affronted and failed. “Just took a peek at her wallet for I.D. I’m a sheriff, and I had just cause with all this talk of someone hunting her and such.”

“And?” Sawyer had to admit to his own overwhelming curiosity. He wondered if the name would match the woman. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“You won’t believe this, but it’s Honey Malone.” Morgan chuckled. “Damn, she sounds just like a female mobster, doesn’t she?”

It took Sawyer two seconds before he burst out laughing. Honey. No wonder she thought he knew her name. He was still grinning when Morgan poked him.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Ah, but it is! Especially when you know the joke.”

“But you’re not going to share it?”

Sawyer shook his head. “Nope. At least, not until I’ve shared it with Miss Malone.”

Since he had the arrogant habit of refusing ever to let anyone rile him, Morgan merely shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you should also know I braved this hellish rain to run out to the car radio and run a check on her. Nothing, from either side of the law. No priors, no complaints, no signed statements. If someone is trying to hurt her, the police don’t know a damn thing about it.”

Sawyer worked that thought over in his mind, then shook his head. “That could mean several things.”

“Yeah, like she’s making it all up.” Morgan hesitated, but as he turned to walk away, he added, “Or she’s more rattled than you first thought and is delusional. But either way, Sawyer, be on your guard, okay?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“No.” Morgan pointed at him and chuckled. “But you are acting like a man out to stake a claim. Don’t let your gonads overrule your common sense.”

Sawyer glared, but Morgan hadn’t waited around to see it. Ridiculous. So he was attracted to her, so what? He was human, and he’d been attracted to plenty of women in his day. Not quite this attracted, not quite this…consumed. But it didn’t matter. He had no intentions of getting involved any more than necessary to get her well. She was a patient, and he’d treat her as such. Period.

But even as he thought it, he opened the door again, drawn by some inexplicable need to be near her.

Damn, but she looked sweet resting there in his bed. Incredibly sweet and vulnerable.

And once again, she’d kicked the blanket away.

HONEYWOKE slowly and struggled to orient herself to the sensation of being in strange surroundings. Carefully, she queried her senses, aware of birds chirping in near rapture, the steady drone of water dripping outside and a soft snore. Yet she was awake.

Her throat felt terrible, and she swallowed with difficulty, then managed to get her heavy eyes to open a tiny bit. As soon as she did, she closed them again against a sharp pain in her head. She held her breath until the pain ebbed, easing away in small degrees.

Her body felt weighted down, warm and leaden, and a buzzing filled her head. It took a lot of effort to gather her wits and recall where she was and why.

She was on her stomach, a normal position for her, and this time she opened her eyes more carefully, only a slit, and let them adjust to the dim light filtering into the room. As her eyes focused on the edge of a blanket, pulled to her chin, she shifted, but her legs didn’t want to move. Confused, she peered cautiously around the room. The rain, only a light drizzle now, left glittering tracks along the wall of windows, blurring the image of the lake beyond and the fog rising from it. The gutters must have been overloaded because they dripped steadily, the sound offering a lulling, soporific effect. The day was gray, but it was definitely morning, and the birds seemed to be wallowing in the freshness of it, singing their little hearts out.