Borrowed Bride by Patricia Coughlin Page B

came across the basket.
    A notepad. That was it. He quickly moved to the desk in the corner, pulled open the bottom drawer and reached for the small open wicker basket filled with needles, spools of assorted colored thread and a small pair of scissors.
    â€œ...a serious infection. Or worse,” Gaby continued, and he realized belatedly that she must have been talking since they left the kitchen. Not that it mattered. There was nothing she could say that would change his mind. “You may have even done nerve damage. That’s one more reason you have to have it looked at by a doctor.”
    He turned to face her, aware of the concern etched on her face. He couldn’t help wondering if she was more worried about him or about blowing this unexpected opportunity to make her escape.
    â€œNo doctors,” he repeated.
    â€œThen I hope you’re prepared to bleed to death,” she said. “Because while I may not know much about medicine, even I know that cut needs stitches and lots of them.”
    â€œThen I’d say I’m a lucky man.” He held up the needle and spool of white thread he’d taken from the basket. “Just what the doctor ordered... or would order if he could be here.”
    Her laugh of disbelief held an edge of nervousness, as well. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet. “You’re not really going to attempt to suture your own hand.”
    â€œOf course not,” he replied, shaking his head. “You are.”

Chapter 5
    â€œY ou’re insane,” Gabrielle told him, shaking her head as she took a step backward, away from the needle and thread he was casually holding out to her. “Certifiable.”
    She watched, astonished, as his mouth quirked into that lazy, taunting smile she knew too well.
    â€œWhy?” he drawled. “Can’t you sew?”
    â€œButtons, yes. Human flesh I’ve never tried.”
    â€œHere’s your chance.”
    â€œThanks, I think I’ll pass.”
    â€œSuit yourself.” He tossed the spool of thread with the needle tucked inside onto a nearby table, as if that was that. Gaby was drawing a relieved breath when he continued. “Just a reminder, in case I should develop an infection and become delirious—or worse—watch the bike on those curves going downhill. She has a tendency to spin out around thirty.”
    Gaby tucked her tongue inside one cheek and regarded him stoically. The thought of riding that monster bike down the steep, endless hill by herself was almost as daunting as the prospect of stitching up his hand, but she wasn’t about to reveal that to him. She was all too aware that Connor had a decidedly sharklike mentality, and any hint of weakness would be like spilling blood in the waters where he swam.
    â€œIt’s not going to come to that,” she told him finally, reaching a decision. “I’m going to call for help whether you like it or not.”
    â€œI don’t think so. That is, not unless you’ve got a mighty creative way of packing a cellular phone on you.”
    His insolent gaze drifted over her. Gaby hurriedly crossed her arms across her chest, acutely aware that she was still wearing only a bra. True, it wasn’t some lacy confection and was no more revealing really than a bathing-suit top. It was still a bra, and one that he had chosen for her, no less. Somehow that added an even more intimate slant. Now that the immediate crisis had passed, the sacrifice of her shirt left her feeling more self-conscious than noble.
    Connor looked disgustingly pleased with himself as she flushed in spite of herself.
    â€œI didn’t think you were that creative. In which case, you better take a look around, Gaby,” he suggested. “There’s no phone here.”
    She didn’t need to look. How could she have forgotten? She’d already searched the whole cabin for a phone last night, the minute