She picked up a cup and brought it over to him. Robbie went to reach for it—and finally realized why he couldn’t move his hands. Both wrists were bound to the side rails of the bed. He shot his gaze to Catherine.

Her smile disappeared. “I… ah… we don’t know you,” she explained, canting her chin defensively.

Robbie relaxed into the pillow and gave her a crooked grin. “You not only run like the wind, Catherine, but you’re smart as well.”

Her face paled. “You know who I am?”

“You left your backpack hanging on a bush along the road near my house,” he told her, his smile widening when her eyes rounded. “That drink?” he asked, nodding at the cup in her hand.

“Oh.” She leaned down, lifted the back of his head, and held the cup to his lips.

An ice-cold beer couldn’t have tasted better. Robbie drank every drop of water but for the ones that ran down his chin. “Thank you,” he said with a sigh as she lowered his head. “What time is it?”

“Almost five in the evening.”

“What day?”

“Ah… ” She shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t really know. I haven’t kept track of the days.”

“How long have I been out, then?”

“We found you this morning, up behind the cabin.”

“So this is Thursday?”

“I really don’t know.”

Robbie decided to ask her something she did know. “What condition am I in?” he asked, lifting his head to look down his body. All he saw was an old blanket covering him, but the pain in his right side told him that eight-hundred-year-old wounds still hurt like hell the next day.

“You have a deep gash just above your right hip,” Catherine said, setting the empty cup on the stool beside the bed. She waved her hand at his torso. “And another cut on your shoulder. And you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“But the bleeding has stopped?”

She nodded. “I’ve sewn up both wounds. And I washed your smaller cuts.” She hesitantly leaned over and set her delicate hand on his forehead, then quickly pulled back. “You don’t have a fever,” she said, her face tinged pink. “But you need to see a doctor as soon as possible.”

Robbie was still trying to get over the fact that she’d taken a needle to him. “Sewing flesh is messy work,” he said, lifting one brow. “And should involve at least a passing knowledge of human anatomy.”

Catherine Daniels’s smile returned. “People aren’t so different from horses and cattle.”

Robbie lifted his other brow.

“My dad was a veterinarian,” she told him. “And I did rounds with him every summer through high school. I had some silk thread in my sewing kit, but the doctor will probably redo the sutures. I just wanted to stop the bleeding and close you up to lessen the chance of infection.”

“And I thank you for that, Catherine,” Robbie said with a slight nod. He looked toward her children standing beside the woodstove, their eyes huge and apprehensive, then back at her. “How did I get from behind the cabin to here?”

“In a wheelbarrow,” she told him. “These are my children, Nathan and Nora,” she added, turning and waving them forward. “Nathan is eight, and Nora is six.” She took hold of their shoulders once they approached and faced him again. “They helped get you in here.”

Robbie nodded to them. “Thank you,” he said.

“Do you have a name?” Catherine asked.

“Robbie MacBain. I live at the bottom of this ridge, in the white farmhouse with the chicken coop that sits next to the large barn. I believe you’re familiar with the place?”

Catherine’s face colored with another beautiful blush.

Robbie thought about how he was going to get down off this mountain and how he could persuade Catherine Daniels to come with him.

“There’s probably people out looking for me, including four teenage boys who are likely starving to death by now,” he said, hoping to ease her into the fact that he had four boys at home. “Any suggestions on how I let them know I’m okay?”

“Mom can run really fast,” Nathan interjected. “She can tell them you’re here.”

“But it’s dark out,” Catherine said quickly, squeezing her son’s shoulder. “And I won’t leave my children. I’ll go get help in the morning.”

“Or you could help me walk down tonight,” Robbie offered.

She shook her head. “You wouldn’t make it a mile. And you’ll probably start bleeding again.”

“I’ll make it. Just find me a stick to lean on.”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that it’s pitch black outside. And the wind’s come up, and heavy clouds moved in this afternoon. There must be a storm coming.”

Robbie went silent and stared at her, thinking that he already knew quite a lot about Catherine Daniels. Such as the fact that she was a bit stubborn and a mite bossy. He also knew she could outrun him, was bold enough to steal his truck, and smart enough to tie him to the bed for her own protection. She was willing to save the life of a complete stranger, resourceful enough to work with what she had, and desperate enough to drag her children thousands of miles across the country. She was perfect.

“Then how about you untie me and at least help me get to the outhouse?” he asked.

Nora scrambled from under her mother’s arm, ran to the opposite corner of the cabin, and pressed her little body against the wall.

“That’s not going to happen, Mr. MacBain,” Catherine said, urging her son over to the woodstove and waving at Nora to join him. “We’ll have to devise another means.”

Robbie chuckled. “It’s not like I’m a threat to you or your children, Catherine. You say I can barely walk, so I can’t hurt anyone but myself. So let’s avoid both of us being embarrassed.”

Her blush kicked up three notches. She folded her arms under her breasts and stared at him, obviously trying to decide what to do. She suddenly turned to Nathan.

“Go out and find two big sticks,” she told him.

“Mom, no!” Nathan hissed. “He’s too big.”

“But he’s in no shape to cause trouble,” she assured him. “Now go,” she repeated, nudging him toward the door. “Nora, you stand outside by the woodpile. I’ll leave the door cracked so you won’t be scared.”

Apparently deciding outside was less scary than inside, Nora ran after her brother.

Catherine walked over to Robbie.

“You aren’t wearing anything, Mr. MacBain,” she whispered. “I need to wrap the blanket around you.”

“Where’s my plaid?”

“Your plaid? It… it’s right here,” she said, going to the table and picking up his MacBain plaid. “The one you were wearing is bloody and torn. You can use this other one.”

“Here’s the sticks, Mom,” Nathan said, walking inside with two large sticks almost as tall as he was.

“Set one of them by the bed,” she told him. “And keep the other one with you.” She turned the boy to face her. “I want you to walk beside us to the outhouse, and if Mr.

MacBain tries anything, you smack him as hard as you can on his right side,” she instructed, turning to give Robbie a warning glare.

“You want me to hit him?” Nathan whispered, stepping back. “But that will make him mad.”

Catherine shook her head. “He’ll drop like a stone, Nathan. But only hit him if I say so, understand?” She waited until he nodded. “Go stand with your sister, and leave the door cracked.”

She watched him leave and turned back to Robbie.

Robbie grinned. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“I don’t care to be defenseless, Mr. MacBain,” she said, working free the knot on his right wrist.

“Since you’re about to help me get dressed, do you think you can start calling me Robbie?” he asked, keeping his arm at his side once she freed his wrist.

She walked around the bed and undid the other knot, saying nothing. Once she freed him completely, Robbie slowly lifted his arms and flexed his shoulders.

“Ahhhh,” he rumbled. “I was beginning to stiffen up.”

“You’re a lucky man,” she said, staring at him with large doe eyes. “If that gash on your side had been a little deeper or three inches higher, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. How did you get hurt?”