A Baby For Mommy

“Now we’ll do the ones on your back and legs. You can use one of my shirts to cover you, but you need to strip out of those slacks for me to tend your leg. That’s a nasty gash,” Micah said calmly as he fished things out of his pack. He handed her a khaki shirt and spread his bedroll.

“I’ll turn my back. Tell me when you’re ready,” he said. Raffaela nodded and watched as he turned his back and moved a few feet away, fiddling with supplies he had in the first-aid kit. She pulled off the slacks, her breath catching as they came free where they had stuck to her torn skin. She shed her blouse and pulled on his shirt, the long tail hanging almost to her knees.

She lay down on his bedroll, stretching out on her stomach and pulling his shirt over her bottom, tugging it down as much as possible.

“Micah.”

Micah turned around to meet her gaze, which had lost all its coolness. Her face was flushed with embarrassment, and he felt a twinge of amusement.

“Relax, Raffaela,” he said as he knelt beside her. “I’ve seen women’s backsides before, and I’m not seeing nearly as much as I would if we were on a beach.”

She turned her head away from him, and as Micah’s gaze roamed down over her, his insides clenched. He drew a deep breath. He had seen plenty of women’s legs and bottoms. And he had been on plenty of beaches, but the long shapely legs stretched beside him now made his pulse jump. And even though her bottom was covered completely with the tail of his shirt, his imagination was running riot.

The backs of her legs were covered with numerous small cuts, blue-black bruises and one ugly gash on her right thigh. The gash was deep and nasty and Micah thought legs and skin like hers should not have cuts and bruises. “You must have been out of the plane when it exploded and the pieces hit you,” he said, aware a hoarse note had come into his voice.

The girls came to stand on the other side of Raffaela and watch him. Sophie held Angelica’s hand as their wide eyes were fixed on Raffaela.

“Does it hurt?” Angelica asked, kneeling down beside Raffaela.

“Not much,” Raffaela answered brightly, and he knew she was lying through her teeth.

“Raffaela,” he said, hating what ought to be done, but knowing she would have a worse scar if he didn’t. “You have a gash here that needs stitches. I can spray something on it that will numb it slightly, but it will still hurt some if I take stitches. If I don’t, you’ll have more of a scar.”

She turned her head, twisting around and partially raising herself up on her elbows. The thick braid was over her shoulder, and suddenly he imagined her without his shirt, and with all that auburn hair tumbling loose. His mouth went dry, and he tried to focus on what she was saying. She frowned.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about your cut.” Now he was lying. “What did you just say to me?”

“Do you know how to stitch up a wound?”

“I’ve done it before.”

She nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve got a bottle of whiskey in my pack. Want a drink?”

She shook her head. “Just go on and get it done.” The tail of his shirt covered the top of the cut. “I have to move the shirt up slightly.”

“Do what you have to.”

Sophie knelt down beside Raffaela, and she turned away from him. “Mama, Aunt Rachel,” she said, promptly correcting herself, “do you want me to hold your hand? I’ll tell you a story, if you’d like,” she offered.

“You tell me a story, Sophie,” she answered.

Micah paused when Sophie used both Mama and Aunt Rachel. Was there a possibility this wasn’t Raffaela? He thought it was more likely that Sophie was confused. This woman wasn’t shy. His throbbing head attested to that. And even though she had removed her wedding rings, she wore the ruby pendant.

Returning his attention to Raffaela, Micah scooted the shirt higher and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. It was steamy hot in the forest, but he knew that wasn’t what was causing his temperature to jump. It was sexy as hell to have this woman stretched out beside him, wearing only his shirt and her underclothes.

He tried to focus on her injuries. He didn’t want to hurt her. When he had taken stitches before, it had been in tough men who had been fighting with him. Not in a beautiful woman with the longest, shapeliest pair of legs he had ever had the privilege to touch.

Silently swearing, he went to work. He saw her fingers clench, but she was quiet. The woman was gutsy. He had to touch her thigh to hold the edges of the cut together. His fingers moved deftly on her smooth, warm skin, and all the time he was too aware of where his hands were. Finally he finished bandaging the large gash and then began to disinfect the smaller ones.

“You hurt?” Angelica asked in her high voice, bending down and looking at Raffaela.

“I’m all right, sweetie.”

“The worst is over,” he said. “Unless you have any more deep cuts beneath that shirt.” He tugged the shirttail down, aware every time his fingers brushed against the backs of her thighs.

She sat up carefully. She looked pale as she faced him.

“Okay?” he asked softly, hunkering down to be at her eye level. Her luminous eyes were deep pools of green that held his gaze.

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

“You didn’t give her a kiss,” Sophie said solemnly. “You gave us a kiss.”

“You were a brave patient,” he said quietly, and squeezed Raffaela’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you kiss her?”

“Sophie, he doesn’t have to kiss everyone he takes care of,” Raffaela answered, her face flushing. “He just does that for little girls.”

“Why? You always say everyone needs a kiss, including grown-ups.”

Amused. Micah caught her chin with his finger and turned her face to him. He leaned forward and brushed the faintest kiss on her cheek. “You were a fine patient.” He winked at her and then looked beyond her at Sophie. “Now, I have kissed all my patients.”

The girls smiled and moved away while he stood and reached down to pull Raffaela to her feet. She grimaced as she stood.

“Maybe I should have explained to them that their daddy wouldn’t like me kissing Mommy,” he said, knowing he should leave it alone, but unable to resist.

“They’ve forgotten about it now. If you had said that, they would be full of questions.”

“Hurt?” he asked, aware he stood too close, knowing he should put space between them. He released her at once, but he wanted to keep holding her arm and touching her.

Without looking at him, she nodded. “Thanks.” Her gaze was everywhere except meeting his.

“Now I’ll turn around. You tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll disinfect the cuts on your back.”

The pink returned to her cheeks and she nodded, shooting a worried glance at him, and he felt his body tighten. She was aware of the tension snapping between them as much as he was. She is the married twin, he reminded himself, wondering if he was going to have to tell himself that every few minutes until they reached civilization.

He turned and waited, his imagination promptly running wild, envisioning her shedding his shirt. He inhaled and tried to shift his thoughts, listening to sounds around them. An army of men could have slipped up on him a few minutes ago, and he’d been so lost looking into her big green eyes that he wouldn’t have heard them until too late.

“All right,” she said quietly.

He turned and his pulse jumped. She was seated with her legs straight out in front of her. She wore her slacks again, and she held his shirt beneath her arms and in front of her, leaving her back bare. She was slender, her bones looked delicate, and he inhaled, his body reacting to the sight of her.

Trying to get himself under control, he moved closer, his gaze drifting down to her waist where the deepest cut disappeared beneath her slacks. Cuts were dark lines across her back, but none were deep enough to require stitches or as bad as the gash on the back of her thigh.