The Buckhorn Brothers Box Set: Sawyer\Morgan\Gabe\Jordan (2 page)

Out of sheer self-preservation, he lowered her bare feet to the ground—then had to catch her again as she swayed and almost crumpled. She would have fallen if both he and Casey hadn’t grabbed hold of some part of her, but she still made the feeble effort to shrug them both away.

“No!” she said in a rough, whispering croak, as if her panicked voice could do no better.

“Hey, now,” Sawyer crooned, trying the tone he’d often heard his brother Jordan use when talking to a sick or frightened animal. “You’re okay.”

She tried to swing at him again, he ducked back, and she whirled in a clumsy circle, stopping when her small fist made contact with Casey’s shoulder. Casey jumped a good foot, unhurt but startled, then rubbed his arm.

Enough was enough.

Sawyer wrapped his arms around her from behind, both supporting and restraining her. “Shh. It’s okay,” he said, over and over again. She appeared somewhat disoriented, possibly from the blow to her head. “Settle down now before you hurt yourself.”

His words only prompted more struggles, but her movements were ineffectual.

“Lady,” he whispered very softly, “you’re terrorizing my son.”

With a gasp, she glanced up at Casey, who looked young and very strong, maybe bursting with curiosity, but in no way terrorized.

Sawyer smiled, then continued in calm, even tones. “Listen to me now, okay? Your car landed in our lake and we fished you out. You were unconscious. It’s probable you have a concussion, on top of whatever else ails you.”

“Let me go.”

Her body shook from head to toe, a mixture of shock and illness, Sawyer decided, feeling that her skin was definitely too hot. “If I let you go you’ll fall flat on your face. That or try to hit my boy again.”

If anything, she panicked more, shaking her head wildly. “No…”

After glaring at Sawyer, Casey held both arms out to his sides. “Hey, lady, I’m not hurt. I’m fine.” His neck turned red, but his voice was as calm and soothing as his father’s. “Really. Dad just wants to help you.”

“Who are you?”

She wasn’t talking to Casey now. All her attention seemed to be on staying upright. Even with Sawyer’s help, she was wobbly. He gently tightened his hold, keeping her close and hindering her futile movements. “Sawyer Hudson, ma’am. I’m the man who owns this property. Me and my brothers. As I said, you landed in my lake. But I’m also a doctor and I’m going to help you.” He waited for a name, for a reciprocal introduction, but none was forthcoming.

“Just…just let me go.”

Slowly, still maintaining his careful hold on her, he turned them both until they faced the lake. “You see your car? It’s not going anywhere, honey. Not without a tow truck and some major repairs.”

She gasped, and her entire body went rigid. “You know my name.”

He didn’t understand her, but he understood shock. “Not yet, but I will soon. Now…” He paused as her face washed clean of color and she pressed one hand to her mouth. Sawyer quickly lowered her to her knees, still supporting her from behind. “You going to be sick?”

“Oh, God.”

“Now just take a few deep breaths. That’s it.” To Casey, he said, “Go get the water,” and his son took off at a sprint, his long legs eating up the ground.

Sawyer turned back to the woman and continued in his soft, soothing tone. “You feel sick because of the blow to your head. It’s all right.” At least, he thought that was the cause. She also felt feverish, and that couldn’t be attributed to a concussion. After a moment of watching her gulp down deep breaths, he asked, “Any better?”

She nodded. Her long fair hair hung nearly to the ground, hiding her face like a silky, tangled curtain. He wrapped it around his hand and pulled it away so he could see her clearly. Her eyes were closed, her mouth pinched. Casey rushed up with the water bottle, and Sawyer held it to her lips. “Take a few sips. There you go. Real slow, now.” He watched her struggling for control and wished for some way to lessen the nausea for her. “Let’s get you out of this hot sun, okay? I can get you more comfortable in a jiffy.”

“I need my car.”

Didn’t she remember crashing into the water? Sawyer frowned. “Let me take you to my house, get you dried off and give your belly a chance to settle. I’ll have one of my brothers pull your car out and see about having it towed to the garage to be cleaned…”

“No!”

Getting somewhat exasperated, Sawyer leaned around until he could meet her gaze. Her lush bottom lip trembled, something he couldn’t help but make note of. He chided himself. “No, what?”

She wouldn’t look at him, still doing her best to shy away. “No, don’t have it towed.”

“Okay.” She appeared ready to drop, her face now flushed, her lips pale. He didn’t want to push her, to add to her confusion. His first priority was determining how badly she might be hurt.

He tried a different tack. “How about coming to my house and getting dry? You can use the phone, call someone to give you a hand.”

He watched her nostrils flare as she sucked in a slow, labored breath—then started coughing. Sawyer loosened his hold to lift her arms above her head, supporting her and making it easier for her to breathe. Once she’d calmed, he wrapped her close again, giving her his warmth as she continued to shiver.

She swallowed hard and asked, “Why? Why would you want to help me? I don’t believe you.”

Leaning back on his heels, he realized she was truly terrified. Not just of the situation, of being with total strangers and being hurt and sick, but of him specifically. It floored him, and doubled his curiosity. He was a doctor, respected throughout the community, known for his calm and understanding demeanor. Women never feared him, they came to him for help.

Looking over her head to Casey, seeing the mirrored confusion on his son’s face, Sawyer tried to decide what to do next. She helped to make up his mind.

“If…if you let me go, I’ll give you money.”

He hesitated only two seconds before saying, “Casey, go start the truck.” Whatever else ailed her, she was terrified and alone and hurt. The mystery of her fear could be solved later.

She stiffened again and her eyes squeezed tight. He heard her whisper,
“No.”

Determined now, he lifted her to her feet and started her forward, moving at a slow, easy pace so she wouldn’t stumble. “’Fraid so. You’re in no condition to be on your own.”

“What are you going to do?”

A better question was what did she
think
he was going to do. But he didn’t ask it, choosing instead to give her an option. “My house or the hospital, take your pick. But I’m not leaving you here alone.”

She took two more dragging steps, then held her head. Her body slumped against his in defeat. “Your…your house.”

Surprised, but also unaccountably pleased, he again lifted her in his arms. “So you’re going to trust me just a bit after all?”

Her head bumped his chin as she shook it. “Never.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Lesser of two evils, huh? Now you know I gotta wonder why the hospital is off-limits.” She winced with each step he took, so he talked very softly just to distract her. “Did you rob a bank? Are you a wanted felon?”

“No.”

“If I take you in, will someone recognize you?”

“No.”

The shirt he’d draped around her was now tangled at her waist. He tried not to look, but after all, he was human, a male human, and his gaze went to her breasts.

She noticed.

Warm color flooded her cheeks, and he rushed to reassure her. “It’s all right. Why don’t we readjust the shirt I gave you just a bit?”

She didn’t fight him when he loosened his hold enough to let her legs slip to the ground. She leaned against him while he pulled the shirt up around her, slipping her arms through the sleeves. It was an old faded blue chambray shirt, the sleeves cut short, the top button missing. He’d often used it for work because it was soft and ragged. She should have looked ridiculous in it, wearing it like a robe. Instead, she looked adorable, the shirt in stark contrast to her fragile femininity. The hem hung down to her knees, and it almost wrapped around her twice. Sawyer shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track once again.

“Better?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, clutching the shirt, then whispered, “Thank you.”

He watched her face for signs of discomfort as they took the last few steps to the truck. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m just—”

He interrupted her lie. “Well, lucky for you, I really am a doctor, and for the moment you can keep your name, and why you’re so frightened, to yourself. All I want to do right now is help.”

Her gaze flicked to his, then away. Sawyer opened the door of the idling truck and helped her inside. He slid in next to her, then laid his palm against her forehead in a gentle touch. “You’re running a fever. How long have you been sick?”

Casey put the truck in gear with a rough start that made her wince. He mumbled an apology, then kept the gears smooth after that.

With one hand covering her eyes, she said, “It’s…just a cold.”

He snorted. Her voice was so raspy, he could barely understand her. “What are your symptoms?”

She shook her head.

“Dizzy?”

“A little.”

“Headache? A tightness in your chest?”

“Yes.”

Sawyer touched her throat, checking for swollen glands and finding them. “Does this hurt?”

She tried to shrug, but it didn’t have the negligent effect she’d probably hoped for. “Some. My throat is sore.”

“Trouble breathing?”

She gave a choked half laugh at his persistence. “Alittle.”

“So of course you decided to go for a drive.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he said, “Look at me,” then gently lifted each eyelid, continuing his examination. She needed to be in bed getting some care. On top of a likely concussion, he suspected an upper respiratory infection, if not pneumonia. Almost on cue, she gave another hoarse, raw cough. “How long have you had that?”

She turned bleary, suspicious eyes his way. “You’re a real doctor?”

“Wanna see my bag? All docs have one, you know.”

Casey piped up with, “He really is. In fact, he’s the only doctor Buckhorn has. Some of the women around here pretend to be sick just to see him.” He smiled at her. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Casey, watch the road.” The last thing he needed was his son filling her ears with nonsense, even if the nonsense was true. He had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the local women’s antics nearly as much as his brothers or son did. Sawyer treated it all as a lark, because he had no intention of getting involved with any of the women, and they knew it.

He had a respected position in the community and refused to take advantage of their offers. Driving out of the area was always difficult, not to mention time-consuming. He’d had a few long-distance, purely sexual relationships when the fever of lust got to him and he had to have relief. He was a healthy man in every way, and he didn’t begrudge himself the occasional weakness due to his sex. But those encounters were never very satisfying, and he sometimes felt it was more trouble than it was worth.

She turned to him, her blue eyes huge again, and worried. She nervously licked at her dry lips. Sawyer felt that damn lick clear down to his gut, and it made him furious, made him wonder if another out-of-town trip wasn’t in order. She was a woman, nothing more, nothing less. And at the moment, she looked pale, on the verge of throwing up, and her mood was more surly than not.

So why was he playing at being a primitive, reacting solely on male instincts he hadn’t even known he had?

Her worried frown prompted one of his own. “You had a lot of stuff stowed in your back seat. Moving?”

She bit her lip, and her fingers toyed with the tattered edge of the shirt he’d given her, telling him she didn’t want to answer his questions. After another bout of coughing where she pressed a fist to her chest and he waited patiently, she whispered, “How do you know my name?”

He lifted one brow. “I don’t.”

“But…” It was her turn to narrow her eyes, and the blue seemed even more intense in her annoyance, shaded by her thick lashes, accompanied by her flushed cheeks. Then the annoyance turned to pain and she winced, rubbing at her temples.

Compassion filled him. Finding out the truth could wait. For now, she needed his control. There was no faking a fever, or that croupy cough. “You’re confused. And no wonder, given how sick you are and that knock on the head you got when your car dove into the lake.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I’ll pay for the damage to your fence.”

Sawyer didn’t reply to that. For some reason, it made him angry. Even the little talking they’d done had weakened her; she was now leaning on him, her eyes closed. But she was concerned for his damn fence? She should have been concerned about her soft hide.

Casey successfully pulled the truck into the yard beneath a huge elm. Gabe sprinted off the porch where he’d been impatiently waiting, and even before Casey killed the engine, Gabe had the truck door open. “What the hell’s going on?” Then his eyes widened on the woman, and he whistled.

Sawyer leaned down to her ear. “My baby brother, Gabe,” he said by way of introduction. She nodded, but kept silent.

To Gabe, he answered, “A little accident with the lady’s car and the lake.”

“Casey told me the lake got in her way.” Gabe looked her over slowly, his expression inscrutable. “What’s wrong with her? And why aren’t you taking her to the hospital?”

“Because she doesn’t want to go.” Sawyer looked down at the woman’s bent head. She was shying away from Gabe, which was a phenomenon all in itself. Gabe was the most popular bachelor in Buckhorn. He smiled, and the women went all mushy and adoring, a fact Sawyer and his brothers taunted him with daily and an accolade Gabe accepted with masculine grace.

Of course Gabe wasn’t exactly smiling now, too concerned to do so. And the woman wasn’t even looking his way. She’d taken one peek at him, then scooted closer to Sawyer, touching him from shoulder to hip.

In almost one movement he lifted her into his lap and stepped out of the truck. He didn’t question his motives; he was a doctor and his first instinct was always to care for the injured or sick. She didn’t fight him. Instead, she tucked her face close to his throat and held on. Sawyer swallowed hard, moved by some insidious emotion he couldn’t name, but knew damn good and well he’d rather not be feeling. Gruffly, he ordered, “Casey, get a bed ready and fetch my bag.”