A tightness in your chest? My throat is sore. She needed to be in bed getting some care. On top of a likely concussion, he suspected an upper respiratory infection, if not pneumonia.
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In the next instant, she was there. His smile was filled with incredible pride. Summer scents were heavy in the air, drifting to him as he layered another replacement board on the fence and hammered it in. A warm, humid breeze stirred his hair, bringing with it the promise of a harsh evening storm. Not knowing what to expect, Sawyer turned in the direction Casey pointed his hammer and disbelief filled him as a rusted sedan, moving at breakneck speed, came barreling down the gravel road bordering their property.
The turn at the bottom, hugging the Kentucky hills, was sharp; the car would never make it. Sheer momentum sent the car airborne for a few feet before it hit the grassy ground with a loud thump and was propelled forward several more feet to slide hood first into a narrow cove of the lake.
The front end was submerged, hissing and bubbling, while the trunk and back wheels still rested on solid land, leaving the car at a crazy tilt. Both Sawyer and Casey stood frozen for several seconds, stunned by what had happened, before ungluing their feet and rushing to the edge of the small cove.
His breath caught and held. In a heartbeat, he took in all her features, scanning her from head to toes. As a doctor, he looked for signs of injury, but as a man, he appreciated how incredibly, utterly feminine she was. He guessed her to be in her mid-twenties. Young, a tiny woman, but definitely full grown. The window was thankfully open, giving him easy access to her, but water rapidly washed into the car, almost covering her shins. Tell him to meet us out front.
The woman was out cold, her head slumped over the steering wheel, her body limp. The backseat of the car was filled with taped cardboard boxes and luggage, some of which had tumbled forward, landing awkwardly against her. A few open crates had dumped, and items—bric-a-brac, books and framed photos—were strewn about. Sawyer reached for her delicate wrist and was rewarded to feel a strong pulse.
Her skin was velvety smooth, warm to the touch. He carefully placed her hand back in her lap, keeping it away from the icy cold water. If the car had surged a little deeper into the lake, he never would have managed it. More water flooded in. The woman moaned and turned her head, pushing away from the steering wheel, then dropping forward again. Her easy, unconscious movements assured Sawyer she had no spinal or neck injuries. After moving the fallen objects away from her, he carefully checked her slender arms, slipping his fingers over her warm flesh, gently flexing each elbow, wrist and shoulder.
He drew his hands over her jeans-clad legs beneath the water, but again found no injuries. Her lips parted and she groaned, a rasping, almost breathless sound of pain. Frowning, Sawyer examined the swelling bump on her head. But that was a good hour away, and most people in Buckhorn chose him over the hospital anyway, unless the situation was truly severe. And even then, it was generally his call. But first things first; he needed to get her out of the car and away from the debilitating effects of the cold water and hot sun.
He owned fifty acres, thick with trees and scrub bushes and wildflowers. The lake, long and narrow like a river, bordered the back of his property for a long stretch of shore. A crooked smile tipped up one side of his mouth. Thanks to the lady, the repairs to the fence were now more necessary than ever. Sawyer carefully slid one arm beneath her legs, the other behind the small of her back.
Her head tipped toward him, landing softly on his bare, sweaty shoulder. Her hair was a deep honey-blond with lighter sun streaks framing her face. It smelled of sunshine and woman, and he instinctively breathed in the scent, letting it fill his lungs. Her hair was long enough to drag across the car seat as he lifted her out. He easily shook that observation from his mind. Even with her clothes soaked, the woman weighed next to nothing, but still it was an effort to climb the small embankment out of the lake without jarring her further.
Once they were all on the grassy embankment, Casey ran off to follow the rest of his instructions, but was back in a flash with the shirt, which he helped Sawyer arrange around her shoulders. Sawyer kept her pressed close to his chest, preserving her privacy and saving his son from major embarrassment. No unnecessary bumps, okay? Sawyer stopped, holding her securely in his arms. He stared down at her face, waiting for her to regain complete awareness, strangely anticipating her reaction. Deep, deep blue, staring into him, only inches away.
He could feel the steady drumming of her heartbeat, and the way her body now stiffened the tiniest bit. He felt a wave of tingling awareness shudder through his body, from his chest all the way to his thighs. His reaction to her was out of proportion, considering the circumstances and his usual demeanor. Holding this particular woman was somehow altogether different. So often, he put aside his tendencies as a man in deference to those of a doctor; being a doctor was such an enormous part of him.
But now he found it difficult to separate the two. The doctor was present, concerned for her health and determined to give her the best of his care.
But the man was also there, acutely aware of her femininity and unaccountably responding to it in a very basic way. For a moment while they stared at each other, it was so silent, he imagined he could hear her thoughts. Then she slugged him. Though she had no strength at all and her awkward blow barely grazed him, he was so taken by surprise he nearly dropped her.
While Casey stood there gawking, making no effort to help, Sawyer struggled to maintain his hold and his balance with a squirming woman in his arms. 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. 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.
She appeared somewhat disoriented, possibly from the blow to her head. Sawyer smiled, then continued in calm, even tones. Your car landed in our lake and we fished you out. You were unconscious. That or try to hit my boy again. Dad just wants to help you. All her attention seemed to be on staying upright.
He gently tightened his hold, keeping her close and hindering her futile movements. Me and my brothers. As I said, you landed in my lake. Not without a tow truck and some major repairs.
Sawyer quickly lowered her to her knees, still supporting her from behind. Sawyer turned back to the woman and continued in his soft, soothing tone. 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. There you go. Real slow, now. I can get you more comfortable in a jiffy. Sawyer frowned. He chided himself. His first priority was determining how badly she might be hurt. He tried a different tack. You can use the phone, call someone to give you a hand. Sawyer loosened his hold to lift her arms above her head, supporting her and making it easier for her to breathe.
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In the next instant she was there. His smile was filled with incredible pride. Summer scents were heavy in the air, drifting to him as he layered another replacement board on the fence and hammered it in. A warm, humid breeze stirred his hair, bringing with it the promise of a harsh evening storm. Not knowing what to expect, Sawyer turned in the direction Casey pointed his hammer and disbelief filled his as a rusted sedan, moving at breakneck speed, came barreling down the gravel road bordering their property. The turn at the bottom, hugging the Kentucky hills, was sharp; the car would never make it. Sheer momentum sent the car airborne for a few feet before it hit the grassy ground with a loud thump and was propelled forward several more feet to slide hood first into a narrow cover of the lake.
Beschreibung bei Amazon Lori Foster is an American author of fiction novels. Born in , she also goes by the name L. Foster when penning her urban fantasy series. She was first published in
No depth, too superficial. Shelve A Buckhorn Baby. If the series has an order, add a number or other descriptor in saqyer after the series title eg. A Buckhorn Bachelor by Lori Foster. Want to Read Currently Reading Read.