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She would rather deliver another baby than be trapped in a cottage withTimothy.The reality of her horrendous day crashed in around her.
What on earth was she to do?
* * *
It would bean understatement to say the beauty before him surprised him. Astounded would have been more like it. He would never have expected such strength and determination from a gently bred young woman.
Except for Bea—but his sister had been the exception to practically every young woman he’d ever met.
But Emma was a puzzle. He tried to reconcile the juxtaposition of a woman who’d taken offense at helping him with his boot with a woman who would willingly deliver a baby.
And at the moment, she stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown horns from his head. Her perfect pink bow of lips had formed an erotic littleOto match her widened blue eyes, her already fair complexion paling further.
“I . . . I . . . I cannot stay here overnight withyou.”
He pointed to the darkening windows. “If you got lost during the day, I’d highly advise against traversing this storm in the dark of night. You’ll be much safer—and warmer—here. There might be wild animals.”
She crossed her arms under her bosom, drawing his eyes to the perky flesh peeping up from her bodice.
“I think I would rather take my chances with the animals than with you.” She frosted him with a glare.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But I rather thought we could scour the kitchen for something edible. I haven’t eaten since this morning other than some hardtack left over from my military days.”
She straightened, her arms dropping back to her sides.
Ah, there.That caught her attention.
“I thought you said you were a physician?”
“I am. But I was also in the military. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He grinned at her. “Much like being a prickly termagant and delivering a baby.”
“I amnota termagant!”
Oh, but she was making this much too easy.“So, you do admit to being prickly, then?” He prepared himself to dodge another flying object.
She dropped onto the sofa like a recalcitrant child. “One thing you definitely arenotis a gentleman.”
“Do you prefer to continue arguing over what we are or are not, or would you rather see if there’s anything here we can eat?”
“I did see some carrots, and apples in the stable.”
He almost jumped from his seat before he remembered his sprained ankle. “Did you bring them back?” As if to mock him, his stomach growled.
“Well . . . no. I didn’t think . . .”
“Of course you didn’t,” he muttered. The woman had no sense in her pretty head. He worried about the child she helped deliver. “Go back and get them.”
“I am not some underling you can order about, sir. I’ve done your bidding with your bag and your horse, not to mention your boot. If you want to eat, go fetch them yourself.”
His patience worn as thin as a whore’s nightgown, he clenched his teeth. “Iwouldif I could get my boot back on. But as you can surely see, my ankle is much too swollen.”
“Pity.” She studied the nails on her delicate hands. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have removed it in the first place. Using my . . . person as leverage, I might add.”
“I shall pray for your husband, as he surely has need of it.”
“I’m not married . . . yet. But my future husband has no need for your prayers. He’s a curate, soon to be a vicar.”
Timothy couldn’t imagine a man of God leg-shackled to this harpy. The man truly must be a saint. He braced himself and rose, hopping toward the kitchen as best he could to avoid putting weight on his injured ankle.
