To the guest reviewer who dislikes my story, read another story if this isn't your thing it won't hurt my feelings. I would like to point out to you Hank has never hit Emma with a belt so no he isn't abusive & I welcome a wide range of readers but I don't welcome those who want to be hateful about a fictional western story and parts of that story that has never happened *If reviewers become too rude with their reviews they will be deleted and/or blocked
Emma checked out her new room alone. It was basically the same as Mr. Lawson room but there was no doubt in Emma's mind his was the nicer of the two. That wasn't to say she was ungrateful or that the room wasn't suitable, she would just miss sleeping in the same room as him.
She noticed that all her things were put away nicely; Hank must have had one of the ladies do it for her. It was nice because that left her with just relaxing. She climbed into her bed and lay down. She wasn't tired but her body was sore and aching a little. She hid a couch in the crook of her elbow, deciding it would just be best if she went back to sleep. She would be better in the morning.
Awaking with a gut retching pain, Emma sprang from her bed and proceeded to throw up everything she had eaten the last few days. Tears fell from her face as she finished and she sweated so profusely it was hard to tell where the sweat was and what tears were. Her stomach tightened from the inside like putting knots in a rope. She breathed deeply and rinsed her mouth out with the glass of water that was in the room from yesterday, splashing the rest onto her face and on the back of her neck.
She wobbled like a drunken man as she walked to her father's room. Was it this far away just yesterday afternoon? She tried to grab onto anything but her hand found nothing before she found herself on the ground, crawling like a toddler. Cold flashed through her body and out of the top of her head and left her ears burning.
Curling up and dying sounded like a pretty good idea right now. The hallway spun in almost a complete circle, rocking like a ship on the high seas as it came in and out of focus.
'Just make it to Hank,' she told herself mentally. That was her last thought before everything went dark.
"Emmmma…" she heard an echo say. "Emma…Are you waking up? Come on, wake up, dear. Your father's waiting for you to open your eyes." Emma flickered her eyes before they finally stayed open. She was at the clinic in a room mostly of white. It smelled heavily of medicines.
"Wh-what happened, Dr. Quinn?" Emma asked her voice weak.
"It seems you were severely affected by a stomach virus. Usually they're dormant for a few weeks before you feel anything so you most likely arrived with the infection already in your system, although, I'm not completely sure if that's what it is."
"I'm sorry," Emma croaked. Dr. Mike patted her hand.
"There is nothing for you to feel sorry for. You were sick; it wasn't your fault. You most likely weren't fed properly to get your accentual nutrients. That lowered your immune system and made you susceptible to it. I was able to break your fever while you were unconscious."
"Oh," Emma said simply.
"Hank has been very worried about you, Emma," the doctor added.
"I didn't mean for Mr. Lawson to worry."
"It's only natural for him to worry. To be completely honest, it was a very real possibility you weren't going to wake up. Everyone was extremely worried for you, especially Brian and Hank."
Emma thought for a moment before she finally spoke.
"Am I gonna die, Dr. Quinn?"
"Oh, no, dear, you aren't going to die. You will be absolutely fine. I will do everything in my power to get you well again," the shocked doctor promised.
Emma nodded, unsure whether to believe the woman or not.
"Hank is waiting to see you. I'll get you some soup and I'll go get him; I'm sure he'll be up soon," Dr. Mike said as she left the room. True to her word, the saloon owner appeared momentarily. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles; Emma guessed it was from lack of sleep.
"Hello, Mr. Lawson," Emma said unsure of herself. He sighed and sat next to Emma.
"Hey, girl, you doin' better?" he asked with a softness Emma was not used to. Emma nodded.
"What happened?"
"I found ya just outside my door and that's when I took you to Michaela. You looked like you were dead. The doc said you were pretty sick."
"She told me."
"Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he demanded gently.
"I didn't feel sick. I swear I didn't until I got into bed. I thought I would be better by morning," she admitted sheepishly. Hank sighed.
"It's ok, it doesn't matter now because you're gonna get better but…" He paused. "Just don't ever do that to me again," he urged.
"Yes, sir." Emma didn't really know how she could prevent it but she could tell without Hank saying as much, he worried about her, maybe even cared for her. Emma didn't want to get too ahead of herself though.
"Good," he said as he moved her hair away from her face, cupping it so it fit into his hand in a loving gesture.
He remembered how scared he really was when he thought she was dead outside his door.
He had just woken up and instantly he felt something was wrong. He dressed quickly, trying to shake the feeling but he just couldn't. Opening the door to his room, he discovered a lump of clothes and a mess of blonde hair, the cause of the dreaded feeling. Emma was white as snow and laid in an uncomfortable looking position so close to his door he feared he might step on her if he had not been paying attention.
His heart sank as he realized she was barely breathing.
"Emma!" he called out as he scooped her up in his arms, her skin as cold as December. She felt so light in his arms. She could be dead. His daughter could be dead…
Hank shook his head of the uncomfortable memory and let go of Emma who had started to dows off again.
"You go on back to sleep and I'm gonna talk to Dr. Mike to see when we can get ya out of here," he said and helped Emma pull the covers back over herself. He brushed the hair away from her face for the last time before leaving the room.
Please Review!
