A Sweetheart For The Single Dad (The Camdens Of Colorado Book 8) by Victoria Pade Page B

at her best—vulnerable, panicked, loopy, in a hospital gown with a tube stuck in her arm and an oxygen cannula up her nose. And most likely with the makeup she’d applied that morning worn away and her hair in who knew what kind of mess.
    While there he was, incredible looking even in a T-shirt and a pair of well-worn jeans. Jeans that he most definitely wore well, and an army-green T-shirt with the short sleeves stretched taut over noteworthy biceps and molded to muscular shoulders, chest and a very flat middle.
    In comparison she felt at a disadvantage.
    A male nurse came into the room to announce that the doctor had finally decided she could be released. The nurse went over her instructions with both Lindie and Sawyer before she signed the papers. Then Sawyer took them to keep track of and left the room while Lindie’s oxygen and intravenous tubes were removed so she could get dressed.
    Without a mirror in the room she still had no idea how she looked once she’d dressed in her own jeans, tennis shoes and a V-necked yellow T-shirt.
    She retrieved a brush from her purse and took her hair out of the pigtails she’d put it in that morning. Then she ran the brush through it and let it hang loose, hoping the rubber bands hadn’t left ugly ridges.
    But that was the best she could do—and really all she was up to doing—before she left the tiny cubicle of a room.
    Expecting to find Sawyer right outside, she was surprised that he wasn’t. She paused, looking up and down the corridor, but she still didn’t see him. Unsteady and disoriented, she wasn’t sure which way was the way out.
    The male nurse happened by, pointed and said, “He’s right around the corner.”
    Lindie thanked the nurse and walked on slightly wobbly legs in the direction he had indicated.
    It was an odd relief when she rounded the corner and there Sawyer was.
    His back was to her and as she headed for him she couldn’t help noticing yet again that the rear view was as good as the front, making her want to get closer to him the way she always did. But as she got nearer she realized that he was talking to four little girls she recognized—the Murphy sisters—and that there was a police officer nearby.
    “Lindie!” the youngest of the Murphy girls said when she spotted her approaching them all. “My gramma got sick!”
    Lindie could tell by the sober expressions that that didn’t mean anything good as she joined the group.
    “What happened?” she asked.
    Sawyer answered. “Their grandmother had a stroke. They think they’ve stabilized her but they’re moving her into intensive care.”
    And their grandmother was their guardian because Dad had passed away and Mom had gone to prison.
    “She’ll be okay, though,” Lindie said softly to Sawyer, hoping for something that sounded like encouragement.
    The arch of Sawyer’s eyebrows didn’t give it. “The doctors are taking good care of her.”
    “And the girls?” she said equally as softly.
    “Officer Brown here has called in social services. Their caseworker is on her way. Do you think you’re up to waiting with them?”
    Lindie didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
    They were asked to move out into the lobby then. The police officer stepped up as if to enforce a command and Angel, the oldest of the Murphy girls, took Clara’s hand. “Come on,” she said, leading her sisters toward the exit from the treatment rooms with the police officer tagging along.
    “We’ll be right there,” Lindie told them, hanging back to talk to Sawyer.
    “How bad is it?” she asked when the girls were out of earshot.
    “It isn’t good. Gramma hasn’t regained consciousness and she isn’t responding to pain stimuli. I’m just repeating what I was told. I’m not sure what that means except that they said it wasn’t a good sign.”
    “And she’s all they have?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    “Where will they go if she is?”
    “Foster care.”
    Lindie shook her head emphatically. It wasn’t in