thighs. She carried the blanket back to him. 'I don't need this.'
He gave her a swift, comprehensive glance, his firm mouth thinning. 'That,
seňorita
, is a matter of opinion.'
Leigh, as she turned away, began to wonder if she had dreamed those moments in his arms. Only minutes before, she had been on the brink of surrender as he had explored and caressed every secret of her womanhood. Now, it seemed, he couldn't even bear to look at her. The tears he had kissed away were threatening to overwhelm her again, but this time her pride would not let them fall.
She waited in silence while he made the mule ready, and still without speaking, accepted his assistance back into the saddle.
For a moment he stood looking up at her, the dark brows drawn arrogantly together. Then he said quietly, 'Danger makes us vulnerable, Leigh. We shall take no more risks.' He took the mule's bridle. '
Adelante
.'
The village was small, a narrow main street lined with single-storey adobe houses, opening out into a small square. Greg Mayhew's clinic, indistinguishable from any of the other buildings, lay at the end of an alley leading off the square.
In response to Rourke's jangle of a rusting iron bell hanging beside the front entrance, the door was flung open, and a broad, blond man with a beard stood staring at them. For a moment his eyes widened incredulously, then with a whoop of joy he dealt Rourke a blow on the shoulder which would have felled a lesser man.
'You old son of a gun! Where the hell did you spring from? And what…?' He took another look at Leigh, discreetly muffled, at the approach of sunset, in Maria's blanket. 'I mean—who is this?'
'This is Leigh Frazier,' Rourke said shortly. 'I'm escorting her to Atayahuanco. She has a blistered foot, and some other abrasions I'd like you to take a look at.'
'Anything you say.' Greg Mayhew moved forward and lifted Leigh down from the saddle. 'In you come, honey. You look really bushed!'
The small surgery didn't seem to have much in the way of equipment, but it was spotlessly clean. In response to Greg's shout, an Indian girl in a white overall came running, to help remove the shrouding blanket, her round placid face expressing open astonishment when she saw what Leigh was wearing beneath it.
She saw the same look, fleetingly, on Greg Mayhew's face before he turned away, busying himself with cottonwool and dressings.
She said, 'I nearly drowned today—entirely through my own fault. I was lucky to lose only my clothes.'
'Hm.' He took her pulse and blood pressure, and shone a light into her eyes.
As he examined her, he questioned her about the inoculations she had had back in England, particularly the date of her last anti-tetanus booster, appearing satisfied with what she told him.
He was a big man, but his hands were deft as he cleaned up her grazes and re-dressed her foot.
'I guess you'll live, Miss Frazier,' he commented laconically when he had finished. 'Especially with a square meal inside you. And my housekeeper Carlota has a daughter around your size, so we can fit you up with something to wear too.'
Leigh bit her lip. 'Doctor Mayhew, you must be wondering what I'm doing here…'
'It's none of my business,' he said amiably. 'And the name's Greg. The problem's going to be accommodation. The town's full tonight for the fiesta, and the only space I have left is the storeroom. It's not the kind of five-star Hilton treatment you're accustomed to.'
Leigh looked at him steadily. 'How do you know what I'm accustomed to?'
He shrugged. 'Your hands, your voice—all kinds of things, lady.' He shook his head. 'You survived your river ducking okay, but I'd say you were in culture shock.'
Leigh lifted her chin. 'Perhaps, but I'll survive that too.'
His mouth twisted slightly. 'Whatever you say,' he agreed. 'Now I'll go and see about some supper.'
'Guinea-pig stew?' Leigh began to re-button Rourke's shirt, wincing slightly. The stuff Greg had applied to her grazes had stung
He gave her a swift, comprehensive glance, his firm mouth thinning. 'That,
seňorita
, is a matter of opinion.'
Leigh, as she turned away, began to wonder if she had dreamed those moments in his arms. Only minutes before, she had been on the brink of surrender as he had explored and caressed every secret of her womanhood. Now, it seemed, he couldn't even bear to look at her. The tears he had kissed away were threatening to overwhelm her again, but this time her pride would not let them fall.
She waited in silence while he made the mule ready, and still without speaking, accepted his assistance back into the saddle.
For a moment he stood looking up at her, the dark brows drawn arrogantly together. Then he said quietly, 'Danger makes us vulnerable, Leigh. We shall take no more risks.' He took the mule's bridle. '
Adelante
.'
The village was small, a narrow main street lined with single-storey adobe houses, opening out into a small square. Greg Mayhew's clinic, indistinguishable from any of the other buildings, lay at the end of an alley leading off the square.
In response to Rourke's jangle of a rusting iron bell hanging beside the front entrance, the door was flung open, and a broad, blond man with a beard stood staring at them. For a moment his eyes widened incredulously, then with a whoop of joy he dealt Rourke a blow on the shoulder which would have felled a lesser man.
'You old son of a gun! Where the hell did you spring from? And what…?' He took another look at Leigh, discreetly muffled, at the approach of sunset, in Maria's blanket. 'I mean—who is this?'
'This is Leigh Frazier,' Rourke said shortly. 'I'm escorting her to Atayahuanco. She has a blistered foot, and some other abrasions I'd like you to take a look at.'
'Anything you say.' Greg Mayhew moved forward and lifted Leigh down from the saddle. 'In you come, honey. You look really bushed!'
The small surgery didn't seem to have much in the way of equipment, but it was spotlessly clean. In response to Greg's shout, an Indian girl in a white overall came running, to help remove the shrouding blanket, her round placid face expressing open astonishment when she saw what Leigh was wearing beneath it.
She saw the same look, fleetingly, on Greg Mayhew's face before he turned away, busying himself with cottonwool and dressings.
She said, 'I nearly drowned today—entirely through my own fault. I was lucky to lose only my clothes.'
'Hm.' He took her pulse and blood pressure, and shone a light into her eyes.
As he examined her, he questioned her about the inoculations she had had back in England, particularly the date of her last anti-tetanus booster, appearing satisfied with what she told him.
He was a big man, but his hands were deft as he cleaned up her grazes and re-dressed her foot.
'I guess you'll live, Miss Frazier,' he commented laconically when he had finished. 'Especially with a square meal inside you. And my housekeeper Carlota has a daughter around your size, so we can fit you up with something to wear too.'
Leigh bit her lip. 'Doctor Mayhew, you must be wondering what I'm doing here…'
'It's none of my business,' he said amiably. 'And the name's Greg. The problem's going to be accommodation. The town's full tonight for the fiesta, and the only space I have left is the storeroom. It's not the kind of five-star Hilton treatment you're accustomed to.'
Leigh looked at him steadily. 'How do you know what I'm accustomed to?'
He shrugged. 'Your hands, your voice—all kinds of things, lady.' He shook his head. 'You survived your river ducking okay, but I'd say you were in culture shock.'
Leigh lifted her chin. 'Perhaps, but I'll survive that too.'
His mouth twisted slightly. 'Whatever you say,' he agreed. 'Now I'll go and see about some supper.'
'Guinea-pig stew?' Leigh began to re-button Rourke's shirt, wincing slightly. The stuff Greg had applied to her grazes had stung
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