SAWYER

by Lori Foster

  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 mid stride 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 to 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 talking 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 house-calls. 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."

  "Oh?" She tried to sound only mildly interested.

  "You're not going anywhere, Honey."

  Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  "Don't look so shocked. I could see you plotting and planning."

  "But...how?" She'd kept her expression carefully hidden. At least, she thought she had.

  "I can read you."

  "You don't even know me!"

  He looked disgruntled by that fact. "Yeah, well, for whatever reason, I know you well enough already to see how your mind works. What'd you think to do? Hitchhike into town when we were all away from the house?"

  She hadn't, simply because she hadn't thought that far ahead yet. But it might not have been a bad idea. She'd be able to tell by the license plates if the driver was local or not, ridding the risk of being picked up by the people who were after her.

  When she remained quiet, he shook his head and muttered, "Women." He went out the door without another word, and Honey let him. She had a lot to think about. This might be her only chance to save Sawyer and his family from getting involved. She'd left in the first place to protect her sister. The last thing she wanted to do was get someone else in trouble.

  Especially such an incredible man as Sawyer.

  ~ 4 ~

  SAWYER TAPPED on the door and then walked in. Honey was in the bed, her head turned to the window. She seemed very pensive, but she glanced at him as he entered. He saw her face perk up at the sight of the tray he carried.

  Grinning, he asked, "So you're hungry?"

  She slid higher in the bed. "Actually...yes. What have you got there?"

  He set the tray holding the coffee and other dishes on the dresser and carried another to her, opening the small legs on the tray so it fit over her lap. "Gabe had just pulled some cinnamon rolls from the oven, so they're still hot. I thought you might like some."

  "Gabe cooks?"

  Sawyer handed her the coffee, then watched to make sure it was to her liking. Judging by the look of rapture on her face as she sipped, it was just right. "We all cook. As my mom is fond of saying, she didn't raise no dummies. If a man can't cook, especially in a household devoid of women, he goes hungry."

  She'd finished half the cup of coffee right off so he refilled her cup, adding more sugar and cream, then gave her a plate with a roll on it. The icing had oozed over the side of the roll, and she quickly scooped up a fingerful, then moaned in pleasure as she licked her finger clean.

  Sawyer stilled, watching her and suffering erotic images that leaped into his tired, overtaxed brain. His reactions to her were getting way
out of hand. Of course, they'd been out of hand since he'd first seen her. And last night, when she kept kicking the covers away, he'd almost gone nuts. Pinning them down with his feet had been a form of desperate self-preservation.

  He hadn't had such a volatile reaction to a woman in too many years to count. No, he'd never been entirely celibate, but he had always been detached. Now, with this woman who remained more a stranger than otherwise, he already felt far too involved.

  He cleared his throat, enthralled by the appreciative way she savored the roll. "Good?"

  "Mmm. Very. Give my regards to the chef."

  She sounded so sincere, he almost laughed. "It's just a package that you bake. But Gabe really can do some great cooking when he's in the mood. Usually everyone around here grabs a snack first thing in the morning, then around eight they hit Ceily's diner and get breakfast."

  "If they can cook, why not eat here?"

  He liked it that she was more talkative today, and apparently more at ease. "Well, let's see. Gabe goes to town because that's what he always does. He sort of just hangs out."

  Her brows raised. "All the time?"

  With a shrug, he admitted, "That's Gabe. He's a handyman extraordinaire – his title, not mine – so he's never without cash. Someone's always calling on him to fix something, and there's really nothing he can't fix." Including her car, though Sawyer hadn't asked him to fix it. Not yet. "He keeps busy when he wants. And when he doesn't, he's at the lake, lolling in the sun like a big fish."

  Gabe stuck his head in the door to say, "I resent that I bask, I do not loll. That makes me sound lazy."

  Sawyer saw Honey gulp the bite in her mouth and almost choke as she glanced up at his brother. As a concession to their guest, Gabe had pulled on frayed jean shorts rather than walking around in his underwear. He hoped Jordan and Morgan remembered to do the same. They each had more than enough female companionship, but never overnight at the house, so they were unused to waking with a woman in residence.

  Gabe hadn't shaved yet, and though he had on a shirt, it wasn't buttoned so his chest was mostly bare. Sawyer shook his head at his disreputable appearance. "You are lazy, Gabe."

  Gabe smiled at Honey. "He's just jealous because he has so much responsibility." Then to Sawyer, "Now, if I was truly lazy, would I plan on fixing the leak in your office sink this morning?"

  Sawyer hesitated, pleased, then took a sip of coffee before nodding. "Yeah, you would, considering you can't go to the lake because it's raining."

  "Not true. The best fishing is done in the rain."

  He couldn't debate that. "Are you really going to fix the sink?"

  "Sure. You said it's leaking under the cabinet?"

  Sawyer started to explain the exact location of the leak, but Honey interrupted, asking, "Where is his office?"

  Gabe hitched his head toward the end of the hallway. "At the back of the house. He and my dad built it on there after he got his degree and opened up his own practice. 'Course, I helped because Sawyer is downright pathetic with a hammer. He can put in tiny stitches, but he has a hell of a time hitting a nail or cutting a board straight."

  Honey carefully set down her last bite of roll. "Your dad?"

  "Yep. He's not a military man, like Sawyer's dad was, but he is a pretty good handyman, just not as good as me."

  Standing, Sawyer headed toward Gabe, forcing him to back out of the doorway. He could see the questions and the confusion on Honey's face, but it was far too early for him to go into long explanations on his family history. "Go on and let her drink her coffee in peace."

  Gabe put on an innocent face, but laughter shone in his eyes. "I wasn't bothering her!"

  "You were flirting."

  "Not that she noticed." He grinned shamefully. "She was too busy watching you."

  That sounded intriguing – not that he intended to dwell on it or to do anything about it. Likely she watched him because he was the one most responsible for her. "I'll be at the office after I've showered and gotten dressed."

  "All right I'll go get my tools together."

  Sawyer stepped back into the room and shut the door, then leaned against it. Just as Gabe had mentioned, Honey watched him, her blue eyes wide and wary. He nodded at her unfinished roll. "You done?"

  "Oh." She glanced down at the plate as if just remembering it was there. "Yes." She wiped her fingers on the napkin he'd provided and patted her mouth. "Thank you. That was delicious. I hadn't realized I was so hungry."

  Eating less than one cinnamon roll qualified as hungry? He grunted. "More coffee?"

  "Yes, please."

  Her continued formality and good manners tickled him. Here she was, bundled up in his bed, naked except for his son's jersey, and with every other word she said please. She still sounded like a rusty nail on concrete, but she didn't look as tense as she had last night. Probably the need for sleep had been more dire than anything else. As he refilled her cup, emptying the carafe, he said, "I have spare toothbrushes in my office. If you'd like, I can give you one. I'd go get yours, but I'm not sure which box it's in."

  "I'm not sure, either."

  "Okay, then. I'll fetch you one in a bit." He finished his own coffee while leaning on the dresser, looking at her. "Before I start getting ready for my day, you want to tell me who you are?"

  She went so still, it alarmed him. He set down his empty cup and folded his arms over his chest. "Well?"

  "I think," she muttered, not quite meeting his gaze, "that it'll be simpler all around if I don't involve you."

  "You don't trust me?"

  "Trust a man I've known one day?"

  "Why not? I haven't done anything to hurt you, have I?"

  "No. It's not that It's just...Sawyer, I can't stay here. I don't want to endanger you or your son or your brothers."

  That was so ludicrous he laughed. And her lack of trust, regardless of the time limits, unreasonably annoyed him. "So you think one little scrawny woman is better able to defend herself than four men and a strapping fifteen-year-old?"

  Her mouth firmed at his sarcasm. "I don't intend to get into a physical battle."

  "No? You're going to just keep running from whatever the hell it is you're running from?"

  "That's none of your business," she insisted.

  His jaw clenched. "Maybe not, but it would sure simplify the hell out of things if you stopped being so secretive."

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. Sawyer felt like a bully. Just because she'd sat up and eaten a little didn't mean she was up to much more than that. He sighed in disgust – at himself and her – then pushed away from the dresser to remove the tray from her lap.

  She glanced at him nervously. "I ... I don't mean to make this more difficult."

  He kept his back to her, not wanting her to see his frown. "I realize that. But you're going to have to tell me something sooner or later."

  A heavy hesitation filled the air. Then he heard her draw in her breath. "No, I don't. My plans don't concern you."

  Everything in him fought against the truth of her words. "You landed in my lake."

  "And I offered to pay for the damages."

  He turned to face her, his muscles tense. "Forget the damn damages. I'm not worried about that."

  She looked sad and resolute. "But payment for the damages is all I owe you. I didn't ask to be brought here. I didn't ask for your help."

  "You got it anyway." He stalked close again, unable to keep the distance between them. "No respectable man would leave a sick, frightened woman alone in a rainstorm. Especially a woman who was panicked and damn near delusional."

  "I wasn't—"

  "You slugged my son. You were afraid of me."

  She winced again, then worried her bottom lip between her teeth. His heart nearly melted, and that angered him more than anything else. He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hands in his. "Honey, you can trust me. You can trust us." She didn't quite meet his gaze, staring instead at his throat. "The
best thing now is to tell me what's going on so I know what to expect."

  She looked haunted as her gaze met his, but she also looked strong, and he wasn't surprised when she whispered, "Or I can leave."

  They stared at each other, a struggle of wills, and with a soft oath Sawyer stood and paced away. Maybe he was pushing too fast. She needed time to reason things through. He'd wear her down, little by little. And if that didn't work, he'd have Morgan start an investigation – whether she liked it or not.

  One thing was certain. He wasn't letting her out of his sight until he knew it was safe.

  With his back to her, his hands braced on the dresser, he said, "Not yet."

  "You can't keep me here against my will."

  "Wanna bet?" He felt like a bastard, but his gut instinct surged him to keep her close regardless of her insistence. "Morgan is the town sheriff, and he heard everything you said. If nothing else, he'd want to keep you around for questioning. I'm willing to give you some time. But until you're ready to explain, you're not going anywhere."

  He could feel her staring at his back, feel the heat of her anger. She wasn't nearly so frail as he'd first thought, and she had more gumption than the damn old mule Jordan kept out in the pasture.

  Despite the raspiness of her voice, he heard her disdain when she muttered, "And you wanted me to trust you."

  His hand fisted on the dresser, but he refused to take the bait. He pulled open a drawer and got out a pair of shorts, saying over his shoulder, "I need to shower and get dressed before patients start showing up. Why don't you just go on back to sleep for a spell? Maybe things'll look a little different this afternoon."

  He saw her reflection in the mirror, the way her eyes were already closing, shutting him out. He wanted to say something more, but he couldn't. So instead he walked away, and he closed the door behind him very softly.

  SHE SLEPT the better part of the day. After taking more medicine and cleaning up as much as she could using the toothbrush he provided and the masculine-scented soap in the bathroom, she simply konked out. One minute she'd been disgruntled because he was rushing her back to bed, and the next she was sound asleep. Sawyer roused her once to take more ibuprofen and sip more water, but she barely stirred enough to follow his directions. He held her head up with one hand, aware of the silkiness of her heavy hair and the dreamy look in her sleepy eyes. She smiled at him, too groggy to remember her anger.