Borrowed Bride by Patricia Coughlin

was capable of doing anything at the moment. “It’s just a little cut.”
    Gaby winced as he carefully lifted his left hand, which he had automatically pressed to the gash to stop the bleeding, exposing the injury. With the pressure removed, the blood immediately gushed freely.
    â€œThat is not just a little cut,” she said. “It looks nasty, Connor, and deep. Lord, I’ve never seen so much blood.”
    â€œThis is nothing,” he insisted, glancing around and reaching for the rag he’d used earlier. “You want to see blood? You ought to—”
    â€œNo,” she snapped, snatching the rag from him before he could wrap it around his hand. “That’s filthy. I’ll run inside and get you a clean towel.” She took a step and stopped. “That is, I would run if I had shoes. You’ll probably bleed to death before I make it there and back,” she added, glancing from Connor to the long, stone-covered driveway that lay between them and the cabin. Blood covered both his hands now, making his good hand so slippery it was hard to exert enough pressure on the cut to staunch the flow.
    â€œOh, what the hell,” she muttered as she grasped the bottom edge of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. She held it flat in front of him, but Connor barely noticed. As dazed as he was, he had no trouble focusing on the sight of Gaby wearing only the bra he’d bought with her in mind.
    â€œGive me your hand,” she ordered.
    â€œGaby, I’m not going to ruin your—”
    â€œGive it to me,” she repeated. Loudly.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    He placed his hand on top of her shirt, and in a couple of seconds she had it securely wrapped.
    â€œThere,” she said, tucking the end under. “Hold it against your chest, and I’ll help you inside.”
    â€œIf you don’t mind, I’d rather sit here for a while and—” And look at you , he’d been about to say when she cut him off.
    â€œYou’re being stupid again. That cut needs to be cleaned and bandaged in order to stop the bleeding...and you should probably lay down afterward. You look pale.”
    â€œI feel fine.”
    â€œReally, hotshot?” She stepped back and regarded him with smug impatience. “Then let’s see you stand up. Come on.”
    He quickly got to his feet with his hand still cradled against his chest and was about to flash her a triumphant grin when a wave of light-headedness backwashed so he felt it all the way to his stomach. He instinctively slapped his uninjured hand onto the table to steady himself. Damn.
    Connor met her told-you-so gaze and shrugged. “So I got up a little too quickly. What does that prove?”
    â€œIt proves,” she drawled, reaching out to take his arm and placing it around her neck so that her shoulder was braced under his left arm, “that you’re a stubborn, bullheaded...man who doesn’t know what’s good for him. Come on, lean on me.”
    â€œCan’t,” he muttered even as she pushed him forward. He was amazed at how the combination of sun, hangover and sudden loss of blood made a challenge of the simple act of standing erect and putting one foot in front of the other. “My extra weight on you will only make the stones hurt your feet more.”
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” she told him through clenched teeth, making it sound as if she was the one in pain. Connor straightened so that he wasn’t leaning on her even a little bit.
    â€œNot likely,” he said, breathing hard, concentrating on reaching the steps, which seemed a million miles away. The initial shock must have worn off, because all of a sudden his hand was throbbing like crazy. “I worry about you all the time, Gabrielle. I have to. Don’t you know that?”
    â€œI don’t know any such thing. In fact, it’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”
    â€œOh, yeah?