The Bridal Contract

“Sit down and let me see what’s hurt,” he said gruffly as he eased her back toward the sofa. “As soon as we see how bad the storm is between here and Coulter City, we’ll go to the hospital.”

Fay managed to pull from his grip, thankful it was her good arm he’d caught. “I don’t need a hospital.”

“The hell you don’t,” he growled. “You’re white as a sheet and movin’ like you’re a hundred years old. An’ you gotta knot the size of a goose egg in your hair.”

That last remark was accompanied by the feel of his big fingers lightly grazing her hair, and the shower of tingles that produced was alarming.

“I’m fine, just a little stiff,” she said, trying to sound steadier than she felt. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with a hot shower and an ice pack.”

Chase’s answer to that was to bend down and pick her up again. Her pained intake of breath made him go still for a moment before he turned to walk to the hall stairs.

“I reckon a fast shower and some dry clothes wouldn’t hurt,” he allowed, “but the hospital’s a must once the storm passes.”

Frustration sent little nettles through her, the perfect accompaniment to the aching protest her body was making. At least the trip up the stairs was more tolerable than she’d anticipated—and a whole lot easier than going up them under her own power—but she hated being treated like an invalid.

Since the house was almost dark from the late afternoon storm, Chase paused at the top of the stairs to switch on the hall lights before he strode on to the master bedroom. It was her bedroom, and of course he knew where it was, thanks to Margie’s desperation all those months ago. He walked straight to the bathroom and flipped on the light in there.

Fay could hardly wait for him to put her down and leave. Once he did, she’d lock the door and have a good long soak in the tub. Short of breaking down the door, Chase would have to go away. Eventually. He sat her down, then bent to take off her boots.

She bit her lip at the added pain that caused, though it was obvious Chase had tried to be gentle.

“Okay, thanks,” she said when he’d set her boots aside.

Chase straightened and glared down at her. For the first time, Fay allowed herself to look directly into his face and meet his blue gaze.

Chase Rafferty was a man’s man, big, wide-shouldered, his lean, thick-muscled build made powerful by hard work. It was a long way for her to look up and it hurt to do it now. She tried not to notice for the millionth time that he wasn’t classically handsome, that his kind of handsomeness was the rugged, enduring kind. The man would still be making heads turn and hearts skip at ninety, and she was glad she’d lost interest.

“I can take care of things from here,” she told him. “The worst of the storm should pass soon, maybe before I’m even done in here, so you can go on home.”

It wasn’t a subtle hint to clear out ASAP, and Chase’s response wasn’t subtle, either.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere till I take you to town. There’s too much lightning for anything but a quick shower, so let’s do something about those clothes. You’re soaked through.”

He started to lean down again, but she held up a shaky hand to ward him off.

“I can undress myself,” she insisted, in no mood to allow that. She was neither feeble nor helpless. “Wait outside the door if you must, but leave.”

Chase was still leaning down, so she added, “And check the weather. For all we know, that funnel cloud touched down and is on its way here.”

“You’ve still got lights,” he pointed out, but he straightened, finally getting the message that she could take care of herself. “I’ll be close if you get into trouble.”

Guilt over her bad manners was the only thing that kept her from being more rude than she’d already been. That and the fact that he was finally going away.

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he mocked, though his blue eyes were burning sternly into hers, as if he was trying to discern how capable she really was of taking care of herself once she was alone.

He must have decided she could handle things herself, because he moved to the door. He turned to pull it shut on his way out before he paused.

“Don’t lock this.” The emphasis was on don’t, and she felt her last nerve snap.

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house,” she said hotly, and what passed for a faint smile sneaked over his stern mouth before he closed the door.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.