by B C Yancey
The gash on her forehead ran from her right hairline to her left eyebrow, nearly covering the entire expanse. It had been large and deep, taking well over thirty stitches to keep it closed.
She'd no doubt end up with a scar, but Doc had tried to keep the stitches small so that it wouldn't be disfiguring.
As far as Doc had been able to tell, it didn't look as though she'd fractured her skull, so Doc was hopeful she'd recover, but he'd warned Sawyer to prepare for the possibility she might not make it through the night.
Sawyer couldn't resist reaching out a hand and touching her hair where it lay against the white pillowcase. It was slightly damp from the washing Doc had given it earlier to make sure all the blood he'd seen hadn't come from other wounds as well.
It was dark brown; nearly as dark as his, but in the lamplight, it had a reddish glow to it that made it appear more of a deep auburn.
As far as hair was concerned, it was the prettiest shade of brown he'd ever seen. Her eyebrows were nearly black and arched gracefully over her closed eyes.
Staring at her closed eyelids, he couldn't help but wonder what color her eyes were. Full, dark lashes fanned against her cheeks and reminded him of his mother's favorite black lace fan she'd broken one day after paddling him for misbehaving.
Bruises covered the left side of her face; the swelling made her cheekbone more pronounced than that of the right. She'd split her lip deeply enough that four stitches were needed.
There were several less severe scrapes and bruises on her collarbone and arms down to where the bandage covered her left arm. Doc managed to set the bones relatively easily and assured him it should heal without any noticeable damage.
"Who are you?" Sawyer murmured, dipping the rag in the basin and wringing it out again before wiping it gently across her cheeks. Would she live long enough to answer his question?
Fierce pain and liquid fire flowed freely throughout Lillian's body; the intensity of it left her breathless and dizzy. She struggled to open her eyes, gasping as pain relentlessly lanced through her. Tears leaked down her temples when the action proved futile.
A cold cloth trailed down her cheeks, offering little relief from the fire that seemed to fill her veins.
"Shhh, rest," a deep voice implored. But the pain and fire were so severe she couldn't find relief. In a feeble attempt to cool herself, she moved her legs against the blankets. However, the motion only made it worse.
"You're safe now, just rest." The voice entreated, placing a cool hand against her cheek.
Lillian turned her head, seeking more of the cooling comfort the hand offered and groaned in pain when stars flashed before her closed eyelids. She moaned, trying to force the right words from her lips, but to no avail.
The mattress shifted slightly, and the wet cloth returned to her feverish skin, leaving a trail of damp coldness that didn't last long enough to take the unbearable heat away. She tried to push the blanket off of her again, but couldn't find the strength to lift her arm.
In distress, she whimpered weakly, "Too...hot."
A calloused but gentle hand replaced the wet rag against her face. Suddenly, the edge of the bed dipped then rose quickly after a weight lifted from it in haste.
Sawyer cursed as he threw the cloth at the basin and heard a wet splat when it hit the floor instead. She was burning up, and the damn rag was no better than trying to extinguish a blazing inferno by spitting on it.
For the past four days, her fever had been fluctuating, fooling them into thinking it was about to break only to rage in the next hour. Through it all, she remained delusional and unconscious. To make matters worse, Doc had been over just that afternoon saying it was unlikely she'd make it.
Sawyer had wanted to throw the man out, firmly believing that if she were going to die, it would have happened already. He rubbed a finger across his lips then ran the hand through his hair, worried that the idea that sprang to mind was foolhardy and might jeopardize her health even more.
Deciding it was worth the risk, he sprang into action. Doc might frown upon what he was about to do, but Sawyer could give a rat's ass. Throwing the blanket off her, he gently gathered her in his arms and marched out of the room. His long strides quickly ate up the distance as he made his way through the kitchen toward the barn.
Once outside, the chilly autumn night breeze caressed his face, assuring him that what he was about to do might work. She moaned in pain with every move he made, and he grimaced as though he'd hurt his own body.
"Almost there, honey, just hold on." Carefully, he lowered her into the colder water of the trough. Gently holding her bandaged arm out of the water, he rested it on the rolled lip of the trough and prayed his crazy idea would work.
Cupping his hands, he brought the water up to her chest and bathed her flushed neck and cheeks. Terrible desperation seized him and propelled his ministrations.
It was akin to the last night he'd held his wife in his arms, the night Jane bled to death while trying to give birth to their first and only child. He shrank from the memory and swallowed the bile burning his throat caused by the image.
He didn't know how long he knelt there bathing the woman, unsure of what else he could do to bring her fever down.
When at last, her teeth started chattering, he lifted her into his arms. The water quickly drenched his clothes as he hurried back to the house and into her room. Grabbing an extra nearby quilt, he sat with her in his lap, wrapping the blanket around her shivering body as he tried to dry and warm her.
The night passed in a never-ending blur of taking her to the trough when she grew too warm, then back to the room to warm her back up. With each trip he made, a prayer escaped his lips that he wouldn't kill her in his effort to save her.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Mrs. Richardson gasped at the scene before her as she entered the room. Quilts littered the floor along with bed linens and kitchen towels. Sawyer perched precariously on a chair with his upper body draped on the bed next to the slumbering woman. His hand rested on top of hers where it lay by her hip.
Quietly, Mrs. Richardson leaned down and placed a hand to the woman's cheeks and the narrow strip of skin on her forehead not covered by the bandage. Her eyes closed as she exhaled in relief.
Sawyer sat up, startled by the sound, his eyes darting anxiously to the woman in the bed. He couldn't hold back a groan of discomfort when his back protested the abrupt movement after being stuck in his previous position for so long.
"Her fever has broken, Sawyer," Mrs. Richardson whispered touching his shoulder.
He rubbed his eyes tiredly and nodded, "It broke a little before dawn."
Standing from his chair, he stretched and bent to pick up a blanket on the floor, "I'll clean up the mess I've made when I get back from town, Abigail. I need to pick up a few more things for the children." He took the damp blanket and laid it over the footboard of the bed to dry.
Abigail clucked her tongue and gave him a pointed look, "What you need, Sawyer, is some rest—in a bed lying down!" She planted her hands on her ample hips as her eyes traveled the entire length of his tall frame and scolded, "You look exhausted."
"Are you trying to compromise me, Abigail?" He teased, winking roguishly.
A startled gasp escaped her as her cheeks turned a bright red. "Oh! I ought to box your ears, Sawyer!" she scolded, laughing softly. "Why, I'm old enough to be your mother, you rascal!"
Sawyer chuckled and left, his tired body slowly trudging up the stairs to his room where he changed into a clean shirt and scrubbed his face with some cold water. Feeling a little more awake than he had just moments ago, he finished buttoning his favorite green shirt as he quietly made his way across the hall.
Pushing Paul and Kitty's door open a little wider, he smiled when he saw them sprawled across the mattress, still sleeping soundly.
He tucked his shirt into his trousers as he made his way down the stairs and strode to the sickroom, "Paul and Kitty are still sleeping-" He sto
pped short at the doorway as the words froze on his tongue. His heart leaped against his ribs in furious rhythm as he stood there speechless.
The prettiest brown eyes he'd ever seen met his startled green ones from the bed across the room. Heat skittered across his skin in a delicious tingle when her gaze met his.
There were several pillows propped behind her as Abigail sat in the chair he had vacated earlier, helping her sip water from a glass she held.
Upon seeing him standing at the door, Abigail said brightly, "Look who's awake!"
Sawyer cleared his throat and took a hesitant step into the room, "Howdy ma'am." His mouth had suddenly gone dry. Clearing his throat again, he stammered, "I... I wondered when I'd officially get to meet you."
The woman watched him unabashedly as he walked further into the room.
He swallowed, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt and held out his hand. He quickly lowered it back to his side and said gruffly, "My name's Sawyer Weston." He paused, having lost his train of thought.
This wasn't at all how he'd imagined their first meeting. What on earth was wrong with him? Blinking, he croaked, "You can call me Sawyer, or Weston for that matter, seems most folks call me either one."
He smiled awkwardly; wanting to die of mortification as a blush heated his whiskered cheeks. He could have kicked himself for his rambling on. He needed to get out of the room as fast as possible before he made a complete idiot of himself.
Lillian couldn't tear her eyes away from him as she replied hoarsely, "Lillian..."
He was startling in his masculinity; unlike any other man she'd seen before. His hair was beautifully dark and long, reaching past his shoulders in thick locks.
Her fingers twitched against the covers as the desire to run them through the strands grew steadily stronger. She clenched the quilt as tightly as she could in her weakened grip and ignored the irrational desire.
She'd never met a man so intimidating in both stature and sheer size, not to mention the striking nature of his features. He was massive in his proportions, muscles bulging under the fabric that caressed and contained them.
Lillian was positive that had she met him on the street, she would have been reduced to a simpering fool or turned and walked the other direction.
His face was not what she would usually have considered good-looking. He was far too fierce to be labeled with such a weak word. An enigmatic quality to him demanded your attention. His overall attractiveness terrified her and thrilled her at the same time.
When he appeared in the doorway, Lillian had thought she was still delirious with fever, for surely there was never a man alive in the world that defined 'Man' as well as he did. She could stare at him for hours he was so magnificently made.
Mrs. Richardson cleared her throat, "Here you go, dear."
Lillian tore her eyes away and grasped the glass with a desperation that caused water to slosh over the edge. Mrs. Richardson clucked her tongue and helped hold the glass of water to her parched lips as she dabbed at the water slowly soaking the quilt.
Carefully taking another sip, Lillian cleared her throat and said with more strength, "I'm Lillian Reid."
Delighted surprise rolled through Sawyer at the pleasant sound of her voice—further proof that he needed to leave the room as soon as possible. Licking lips that were abnormally dry, he stepped closer to the bed and forced his eyes to meet Abigail's gaze, "Do you need anything from town?"
Abigail raised her eyebrows at his odd behavior, "Liniment would be nice if there's some in stock. Also, if you'd stop in at Doc's and let him know Lillian is awake, I'd appreciate it."
"Miss Lillian...Abigail," Sawyer murmured, nodding to both women before he made a hasty exit. Once in the kitchen, he grabbed his hat and slammed it on his head, exhaling deeply as he stepped outside.
He took a deep breath and leaned against the door, closing his eyes as he shook his head and muttered a curse. He was in trouble.
Later that afternoon, Mrs. Richardson was in the kitchen cleaning up after the noon meal when Kitty quietly left her chair at the table and tiptoed to the back room to see the sick woman. Paulie had told her the woman had woken up this morning, and she wanted to see for herself that the lady hadn't died.
Kneeling on the bed by the woman's hip, Kitty peered closely at her face, smiling when she opened her eyes.
"Hello. What's your name?" Kitty asked, reaching out to touch the lady's hair where it rested on the pillow, "Your hair's pretty."
Lillian smiled weakly, "My name's Lillian...what's yours?" She shifted carefully in the bed, grimacing when the movement caused pain to ripple through her body and stars to explode before her eyes.
"My name's Kitty," she said softly, looking at Lillian.
Lillian watched Kitty study her, "It's nice to meet you, Kitty." Hoping the excruciating throbbing in her head would lessen, Lillian, closed her eyes, causing tears to escape into her hairline.
Kitty's soft little hand reached up gently and brushed the tears away, "Do you hurt, Lily?" She bit her lip and wrinkled her brow.
In answer, Lillian gave a strangled scream as her eyes rolled back in her head.
Kitty watched in horrified silence as Lillian's whole body tensed. In the next second, her back arched, and she began shaking. Kitty scrambled off the bed and into burst tears as she screamed in panic, "Papa! Papa!"
Thundering footsteps echoed overhead moments later and came crashing down the stairs accompanied by muttered curses. There was a brief commotion in the hall before Mrs. Richardson and Sawyer ran through the doorway.
Paul followed shortly after, skidding to a stop before bumping into Mrs. Richardson, who stood in front of him.
Abigail quickly grabbed up Kitty, soothing the heaving sobs that wracked her little body. "Paul, come with me up to your room. I need you to watch your sister while I go get Doc Brennan."
She turned to Paul, placing a hand on his shoulder as he anxiously looked at the scene on the bed. "It's all right, Paul. Come along," She ordered, hurrying from the room with a wailing Kitty in her arms and Paul dragging his feet behind her.
Standing helplessly in the room, not knowing what to do or what was happening to Lillian, Sawyer's heart hammered against his ribs. He'd been trying to rest after his sleepless night and had barely managed to throw a shirt on before running downstairs.
His shirt hung open to his waist, exposing his bare chest. Luckily, he'd slept with his trousers on instead of completely undressing down to his drawers as he'd wanted to.
Worried Lillian would fall to the floor as she convulsed, he pushed the bed against the wall and barricaded her other side with his body by laying down behind her. He kept her on her side, afraid he would hurt her if he tried to hold her still, bracing her against him when her convulsions threatened her further injury by hitting the wall.
After what felt like a miserable eternity, her body relaxed against him. But the sudden stillness terrified him almost as much as her convulsions had. He sat up and turned her onto her back as he placed a hand to her throat to check for her pulse while he lowered his head to her chest to make sure she was still breathing.
Worried her fever had returned and brought the convulsions on, he felt her cheeks and forehead where the bandage had been worked free, breathing a sigh of relief when her skin felt normal, if not slightly warm from her exertions.
He took her hand in his and gripped it tightly, willing her eyes to open and look at him. "Wake up, honey, let me see those pretty brown eyes," he whispered hoarsely.
She moaned softly, her eyelids fluttering as her hand in his squeezed his fingers lightly.
Sawyer held his breath, watching her struggle to regain consciousness, "Please open your eyes, darlin'."
Heavy lids struggled to lift, to reveal the man who spoke to her. His honeyed voice soothed like a warm embrace around her lethargic and sore body. He was familiar, but she couldn't remember his name as he pleaded with her to look at him. Struggling to obey, Lillian slowly o
pened her eyes.
When his calloused hand caressed her cheek, her eyes closed as a sigh escaped her lips. Her mind was foggy and her limbs heavy and weak as she croaked, "What happened?"
Sawyer's voice sounded rough to his ears as he said, "I don't know. You were having convulsions of some kind." He smoothed strands of sweat-dampened hair off her forehead, "How do you feel?"
Struggling to stay awake, Lillian mumbled, "Tired...and everything hurts."
He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, and his fingers left a heated trail in their wake. If she were a cat, she would have purred in contentment as his hands smoothed over her skin, soothing her.
"Doc will be here any minute, I hope." He struggled to keep his voice calm. His heart was beating furiously in his chest. The fear of losing her scared him more than he cared to acknowledge. "He should have something that will help with the pain. He was planning on coming over sometime after finishing his noon rounds today, anyway."
With any luck, Abigail would meet him close by, instead of having to track him down. He touched her cheek, "Lillian, you need to stay awake, darlin'."
She lifted a weak hand to push him away, but he grasped it and held her hand securely in his.
Sawyer couldn't resist letting his free hand caress her jaw, his thumb brushing against her chapped lower lip as he softly pleaded, "I know you're tired, honey, but you can't sleep. Not till Doc gets here and says you can." He gripped her hand tightly, "Look at me, so I know you heard me."
"Too bright..." She gave a slight shake of her head and refused to open her eyes, "It hurts."
Thinking quickly, he grabbed the quilt off the foot of the bed and strode purposefully over to the window, throwing the blanket over the rod and casting the room into darkness.
Light from the front room softly crept in, helping his eyes adjust and allowed him to make his way back to the bed where he resumed his seat beside her.
