The Buckhorn Brothers Box Set: SawyerMorganGabeJordan

by Lori Foster

  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 dis-array. 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.

  “Holler if you need anything,” he said gently. “The family room is close enough so one of us will hear you.”

  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.

  * * *

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER 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.

  * * *

  HONEY WOKE 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.

  Frowning, she looked away from the windows, and her gaze passed over Sawyer, then snapped back. She almost gasped at the numbing pain that quick eye movement caused.

  Then she did moan as the sight of him registered.

  Wearing nothing more than unsnapped jeans, he lounged in a padded wicker chair pulled close at an angle to the foot of the bed. His long legs were stretched out, his bare feet propped on the edge of the mattress near her waist pinning her blankets in place. No wonder her legs didn’t want to move. They couldn’t, not with his big feet keeping her blankets taut.

  She remembered him waking her several times throughout the night, his touch gentle, his voice low and husky as he insistently coaxed her to respond to him, to answer his questions. Her skin warmed with the memory of his large hands on her body, smoothing over her, resettling her blankets, lifting her so she could take a drink or swallow another pill.

  She warmed even more as she allowed her eyes to drink in the sight of him. Oh, she was awake now. Wide awake. Sawyer had that effect on her, especially when he was more naked than not, available to her scrutiny. He was a strong man, confident, even arrogant in his abilities. But there was an innate gentleness in his touch, and an unwavering serenity in his dark eyes.

  The muscles of his chest and shoulders were exaggerated by the long shadows. She felt cool in the rainy, predawn morning, yet he looked warm and comfortable
in nothing more than his jeans. His abdomen, hard and flat, had a very enticing line of downy black hair bisecting it, dipping into those low-fitting jeans. Her heart rate accelerated, her fingers instinctively curling into the sheets as she thought about touching him there, feeling how soft that hair might be and how hard the muscles beneath it were.

  One of his elbows was propped on the arm of the chair, offering a fist as a headrest. His other arm dangled off the side of the chair, his hand open, his fingers slack. He was deeply asleep, and even in his relaxed state his body looked hard and lean and too virile for a sane woman to ignore. He appeared exhausted, and no wonder after caring for her all night. She studied his whisker-roughened face a moment, then gave in to temptation and visually explored his body again. A soft sigh escaped her.

  She needed a drink. She needed the bathroom. But she could be happy just lying there looking at him for a long, long time.

  “G’mornin’.”

  With a guilty start, her attention darted back to his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his thick black lashes at half-mast, his dark gaze glittering at her. Honey closed her own eyes for a moment, trying to get her bearings. His voice had been low, sleepy, sexy.

  Ahem. “Good morning.” The words, which she’d meant to be crisp, sounded like a faint, rusty impersonation.

  Sawyer tilted his head. “Throat still sore?”

  She nodded, peeking a glance at him and quickly looking away again. “You’re, ah, pinning my blankets down.”

  She heard the amusement in his tone when he murmured, “Yeah, I know.”

  Then he dragged his feet off the bed and stood and stretched—right there in front of her, putting on an impressive display of flexing muscle and sinew and masculine perfection. Without even thinking about it, she rolled to her back to watch him, keeping her blankets high.