Plus he’d been kicked.
Almost as he thought it he felt an answering tremor in her body. She wasn’t as feisty as she was making out, he thought. Or she was hurting more than she’d admit.
Or maybe she was feeling guilty.
‘I’m sorry I kicked you,’ she said, and to his surprise she put her arms around his neck to hang on. It kept them both steadier as they climbed. It felt okay, too. His knees didn’t shake as much when she held him. ‘It might have been a little inappropriate,’ she conceded. ‘Especially since I think the accident was my fault.’
‘I’m sure it was your fault.’
‘That’s not very gracious.’ She pushed her hair back from her face—her braids were working loose—then looked at her hand in disgust. She shrugged and put it back round his neck. ‘Gross. Look, okay, I overreacted. Yes, I’m bleeding, so maybe you could lend me something to make a bandage. But then I need to go back down to the beach so I can take care of the calves. Maybe you could drive to my farm and ask Gran to send Angus?’
‘How far’s the farm?’
‘Five-minute drive.’
‘Angus will rescue you?’
‘Angus will rescue the calves.’
‘Sorry,’ he said, setting her down on the verge. ‘I don’t know what fairy-tales you’ve been reading, but in the ones I read heroes don’t put calves before fair maidens.’
‘I’m not exactly fair,’ she retorted. ‘I’m red.’
‘So I’ve noticed.’ But she was wilting, he thought, and it worried him. ‘So let’s stop you getting redder.’
Before she could protest he tugged off his bloodstained jacket, grabbed the sleeve of his very classy shirt—bought in Italy at the same time as his jacket—and ripped it from the shoulder. He folded the linen into a pad, placed it over her forehead and applied pressure.
‘That was a very nice shirt,’ she said, sounding subdued.
‘I’ll send you a bill.’
‘Do heroes say stuff like that?’
‘I believe I just did,’ he said, and grinned, and she managed a smile back. Whoa.
She was older than he’d thought—and she was a lot more attractive. Compellingly attractive, in fact.
Her smile was just plain gorgeous.
‘I can do that,’ she said, and put her hands up, grabbed his shirt-pad and pressed.
As well as being attractive, she was also a lot less stupid than he’d first thought, he conceded. She’d talked about raised intracranial pressure. Did she have medical training?
No matter. She was in no state to practise any medicine right now, and he had no time to concentrate on her smile.
Her head was okay for the moment. But he stood and looked down at her and thought, There’s more here than scratches. She was trying to make light of her injuries, but he recognised pain when he saw it.
She’d been limping. One knee of her jeans was shredded and bloodstained, though not nearly as dramatically as her face. Still…
He bent, carefully took the torn part of the leg of her jeans in both hands and ripped it to the ankle.
Hell.
How had she managed to climb down the cliff? How had she stood up at all?
She’d cut her knee—it was bleeding sluggishly—but that was only part of it. Already it had swollen to almost twice its size. There was a massive haematoma building behind.
‘Yikes,’ she whispered, pushing herself up on her elbows to look. ‘Why did you do that? It was better when I couldn’t see.’
‘Let’s get it elevated,’ he said, and mentally wished his jacket farewell. He folded it then wedged it under her bloodied knee. A spare tyre had spilled from the cattle crate. He put that under her feet, so her legs were raised on an incline as well.
She needed X-rays. Both leg and head, he thought. No matter what she said, he wasn’t about to let her die of an intracranial bleed just because she was stubborn. And there was also the biggie. The baby might have suffered a blow, and even if it was okay the impact could cause problems with the placenta. She needed an ultrasound, and bed-rest and observation.
Her baby needed attention. That meant he needed to hand her over and get away. Fast.
‘We need an ambulance,’ he told her, tugging his cellphone from his pocket. ‘You need X-rays.’
‘You can give that up as a joke,’ she said wearily. ‘Even if there was reception out here—which there isn’t—you’re looking at Yandilagong’s only ambulance right here.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It’s not usually the truck. I have a decent-sized estate wagon, only it blew the radiator hose this morning.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘My truck’s the local ambulance until I can get a new radiator hose,’ she said patiently, as if talking to someone who wasn’t very bright. ‘And there’s not one to be had locally for love or money. I’ll get one from Gosland tomorrow—if I can leave Gran for that long.’
‘There’s no ambulance?’ He didn’t have time for the extra information she was throwing at him. He needed to ignore what wasn’t making sense and concentrate on essentials. ‘Why not?’
‘You try attracting medical staff or funding for decent equipment to a place as remote as this,’ she said bitterly. ‘This weekend there’ll be a couple of first-aiders with the music festival, but that’s all the help I have. If I can’t get an ambulance from other areas then I use my own vehicle to take patients to Gosland. That’s our nearest hospital, about an hour away. There’s basic stuff here, like an X-ray machine, but that’s in town, and getting through the crush of the festival isn’t going to happen. But it doesn’t matter,’ she said resolutely. ‘I’d like to check my baby’s heartbeat but I’m sure I’m fine. I just need to get home to Gran. It’s Gran who’s the emergency and she doesn’t need an ambulance. She needs me.’
Was she some kind of volunteer paramedic? This was sounding crazier and crazier.
He turned away and surreptitiously checked his phone. Sure enough, no reception. Okay, he conceded. No ambulance.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, trying to figure where to start.
‘Maggie. We’re wasting time.’
‘How pregnant are you?’
‘Thirty-two weeks.’ And all of a sudden there was a quaver in her voice. ‘He’s okay.’
‘Can you feel him?’ Even asking that hurt, he thought. Hell, he’d lost his son six years ago. Would he ever get over it?
