Lost and Found

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 exposed skin on her forehead uncovered 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 stopped 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 from the bed across the room met his startled green ones. Heat skittered across his skin in a delicious tingle when her gaze met his.

Several pillows were propped behind her when 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."