A Very Special Delivery

the chair. “Stay still. I have the bleeding under control for now, but moving around will exacerbate it.”
    “My floor—”
    He reached for her wrist, felt her pulse. “I’ll clean it up.”
    She favored him with what she considered a coquettish smile. “You’re pretty handy, you know that, Mr. Delivery Man?”
    A pair of serious blue eyes assessed her. “You’re not getting shocky on me, are you?”
    Good question. Maybe she was. “My head hurts and I feel a little woozy. I think it’s the kerosene on my clothes.”
    He stepped back. “Better change. Just go very easy on that leg. I’d like the bleeding to be completely stopped before I leave.”
    “Leave?” She had to focus to remember. Where was it he was going?
    He rubbed at the scar, brow wrinkling in concern. “To dig out the van. Remember? The sooner I do that, the quicker we can get you to a doctor.”
    Oh, yeah. She’d forgotten. Maybe she was a little shocky.
    Holding to the cabinets, she made her way toward the hall connecting the kitchen with the back of the house. The fat bandage of towels and masking tape made the cut throb more. Wavy lines, whether from fumes or dizziness, appeared before her eyes.
    At the doorway, she paused, turning to find Ethan, hands on his thighs, watching her every move.
    “I’m sorry,” she said.
    “For what?”
    “Because I’m so much trouble.”
    His familiar grin replaced the worried frown. “I’ll say you are. First, you try to knock me off the roof, and now you go out and cut yourself just so you can force me out into the cold. I’m starting to wonder if you’re trying to get rid of me.”
    Well, he was certainly right about that.
    But he was also completely wrong.

Chapter Six
    T ired as he was, Ethan’s energy resurged as he eased the van over the frozen earth and right up to Molly’s front porch. He’d done it. Armed with a shovel and two bags of kitty litter, courtesy of Molly’s cat, he’d dug and pushed and levered until the truck spun its way up out of the ditch. Even in the bitter breeze, he’d grown warm from exertion. Thankfully, the ice had done the same, melting enough from the heat of the tires to set the van free.
    All the time he’d worked he had also prayed, thinking of Molly and the vicious laceration she’d sustained. Although he’d tried to downplay the seriousness so she wouldn’t worry, the wound needed to be seen by a doctor today. It was deep, down to the fascia, and he’d been afraid to probe too deeply for stray glass and the severed blood vessels. Without equipment, there was little he could do about either.
    In her condition, he hadn’t wanted to burden her with Laney, but again he’d had little choice. His baby needed formula and Molly needed a doctor. Providing both was his responsibility.
    He hoped they’d done all right.
    Rapping softly on the front door as a warning, he let himself inside the farmhouse and breathed in the welcome warmth. He liked this house and everything in it, including the owner. Seeing her hurt bothered him a lot.
    Right away he spotted his girls in the big blue easy chair. Neither stirred, and with a tired grin, he saw that they both slept.
    He paused, recognizing the danger in thinking of Molly as his in any way. Since that day on the roof when he’d fought back the urge to kiss her, he had been forced to recognize a growing affection for his hostess. With his past, he had no right to think of her at all, but he couldn’t help it. She occupied his thoughts constantly.
    Perhaps it was the situation, being iced in together as though they were the only living beings around. He owed her so much. Maybe his feelings were nothing except gratitude. Since thinking that was the safer road, he took it.
    Stepping around in front of the chair, he gazed down at the sleeping pair. Even though her eyes were closed, Molly cradled his daughter securely against her, protectively, almost lovingly.
    They looked for all the world like mother and child.
    Sadness pinched at him. Thanks to his and Twila’s foolish mistakes, Laney would never know this kind of nurturing from a mother. He would be the one to rock and sing to her and to comfort her when the bumps of life came along. He hoped he was enough.
    His heart ached with love for the little girl who had changed his life. He would do anything to make up to her for all she wouldn’t have.
    His gaze drifted to Molly and the bandaged leg. She’d kept the foot up as he’d instructed, but upon