Truett felt around, making sure the bone wasn’t chipped or broken. Then he noticed the weak sound of Celia’s voice. He glanced up from Will’s wound.

Celia was pale as a ghost. She’s going to faint.

Truett stepped toward her just as her body started crumpling, reaching her just in time to catch her and lifted her into his arms.

Her eyes were closed, but though all the color had drained from her face, she was still beautiful. She fit perfectly in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder.

He wouldn’t have pegged Celia Wilcox, of all people, as a swooner, but she had fainted at the sight of Will’s bloody leg.

“Celia? Oh my! Is she all right?” Lizzie peered over his arm at her.

“She’ll be fine. I’ll just lay her down in the other room.”

Lizzie stayed beside Will while Truett carried Celia into the back room, where he kept a couple of cots. He wished he could just hold her, cradling her against his chest for a few moments. This exasperating, high-strung woman did strange things to him, and he didn’t know why. She was more fascinating than other woman he’d ever known. He’d called on a few back in New York, and escorted some to parties or dances, but they always either disappointed or bored him after a while. But Celia . . . she was different.

His conscience smote him. It was surely wrong to feel this warmth that was seeping all through him like hot molasses.

Besides, he had to get back to Will.

Carefully, he lowered her to the cot and slipped his arms from underneath her. She stayed completely still. Her hair had come loose from her braid. He reached down and smoothed it back, brushing several strands off her cheek. She looked so pale. He checked her pulse. It was steady.

He had to close Will’s wound. Celia had only fainted and would be fine, he reassured himself. He’d come back in a few minutes to check on her.

Celia opened her eyes and glanced around the strange room. She could remember standing beside Will, watching Truett . . .

Think, think. The last thing she remembered was everything going black and the feeling of someone lifting her.

Her stomach dipped. “I fainted.” How humiliating!

“Celia? Are you all right?”

“Lizzie?” Yes, Lizzie. In the doorway. With Truett.

“How are you feeling?” Truett’s brows drew together. If he even smiled she would die of embarrassment.

“Where’s Will? Is he all right? Please go back to Will. I am fine.” Will was the one who needed the doctor’s attention!

They both stepped inside and came toward her. She wanted to sit up, but her head weighed a hundred pounds.

“Will’s all right.” Lizzie picked up Celia’s hand and held it.

Celia focused her eyes on Truett. “Where is he? What did you do? Did he just need stitches?”

Truett smiled. Was he laughing at her?

“I stitched up the wound. The cut wasn’t too deep. If there’s no infection, he should be as good as new in a few weeks. For now he just needs to stay off his leg.”

Celia placed a shaky hand over her heart. “Thank goodness.”

“What about you?” Lizzie leaned over her. “You’re so pale. Is something wrong?” She turned to Dr. Beverly. “Is she all right? What made her faint? She never faints.”

“I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with me.” Celia was determined to show them both that she was all right. She pushed herself into a sitting position, with Lizzie helping her. The room pitched and rolled like a ship in a storm.

“I think she’s all right.” He picked up her hand and held two fingers against her wrist. “How do you feel?” Truett’s intense blue eyes focused on hers. If she’d seen the least bit of amusement there . . . But he only looked concerned.

“I’m fine. I’m not a fainter. I guess I was worried about Will.”

“Had you eaten this morning?”

“Yes. I’m all right.” She started to get up, to prove she was fine, but her legs shook like a newborn foal’s.

Truett placed a hand on her shoulder. “Why don’t you sit for a few more minutes. You don’t want to go fainting again.” He raised his eyebrows.

Inside, he was probably laughing at her. Of course, why wouldn’t he? After she’d said she could take care of herself, vowed she could take care of her whole family as well as any man, she’d fainted like those silly, giggly girls she’d always held in such contempt. It was too much.

She stuck her finger at him. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”

He raised his brows again and held out his hands. “I’m not laughing. I was worried about you. Fainting is an involuntary response. You couldn’t have stopped yourself.”

She remembered the sensation of being lifted. Truett must have picked her up and carried her, must have held her in his arms. The thought made her dizzy again. She put her hand over her face as a flood of embarrassment made her cheeks hot.

“People can faint for any number of reasons. You can’t control it, so it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I just don’t want you to think of me when Will is the one who’s hurt. Shouldn’t you check on him?” She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

He backed toward the door. “I will if it will help you rest. You stay there. Please.” He pointed at her as he turned and left the room.

“Oh, Celia.” Lizzie’s eyes were lit up like Christmas morning. She whispered, “You should have seen the look on his face when he swept you up in his arms and gazed down at you. Oh, it was so sweet. I think he’s in love with you!”

“Hush! Please don’t let him hear you say that,” Celia whispered back. “Besides, that’s ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly think of me as anything but a silly, stupid, fainting girl.” Tears stung her eyes.

Lizzie was imagining things. But she did wish she could remember how it felt to be held in his arms.

Lizzie was rubbing off on her, apparently.

Celia sat up, holding her sister’s arm, and waited as her vision gradually stopped spinning. With Lizzie’s help she got up from the bed and walked into the examination room.

Truett was cleaning up his tools and putting them away, while Will reclined on a pillow on the examining table, looking wrung out but alert.

“Oh, Will. Are you all right? I’m so sorry.” Celia squeezed her brother’s hand. His leg still had traces of blood smeared over it, with tiny black stitches criss-crossing it.

Will grinned. “Don’t be sorry. I wasn’t watching what I was doing. But it’ll make a great scar, don’t you think? I can’t wait to show the fellas.”

She had meant she was sorry she had fainted while he was getting stitched up, but she also wanted to tell him how sorry she was for being so grouchy that morning, how horrified she had been at the thought of him being seriously injured. But rather than saying all that in front of Dr. Beverly, she decided to wait until they were home.

“You’re such a boy,” Lizzie said, and she and Celia both laughed, though Celia’s was a bit shaky. Thank goodness he wasn’t upset with her—his bossy grouch of a sister. God, from now on I promise not to be grouchy with Will or anyone else, ever again. She only hoped she could keep her promise.

Truett soon finished and turned to Will. “Ready?”

Will nodded. Truett picked him up and carried him out to the wagon, laying him on the quilts. Lizzie climbed into the back beside Will.

Truett focused his gaze on Celia, standing next to the wagon seat.

She looked away, needing to express her gratitude for what he had done for Will, but embarrassed at her silly fainting spell. He continued standing in front of her. She lifted her eyes to his. “Thank you . . . for what you did for Will.” She bit her lip and murmured, “And I’m sorry I fainted.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” His voice was soft. “You couldn’t help it, and you were just worried about your brother.” His throat convulsed slightly as he swallowed, his eyes never straying from hers. “It was my pleasure to be of help.”

Not a flicker of humor passed over his face, as he held her gaze with his, his lips slightly parted.

She turned toward the wagon seat. His hands clasped her waist and he hoisted her up.

As she sat on the wooden seat and collected the reins, their gazes locked again. She quickly turned away and urged the horses forward.

Lord, what just happened here? She could still feel his hands around her waist. A warm tingling spread through her.

What was wrong with her? Perhaps she had just spent too much time away from her sewing. As soon as she got back to the house, she planned to pull out whatever material she could find and create the most intricate, detailed dress she’d ever sewn.

If that didn’t drive Truett Beverly out of her thoughts, nothing would.

Truett couldn’t chase Celia Wilcox from his thoughts. Especially the way she looked when she fainted, so pale and helpless. It had turned his insides to mush to see her that way. But he certainly liked the way she felt in his arms, soft and warm and . . . perfect.

He shouldn’t be thinking this way. After all, she had gotten mad at his teasing and yelled at him, telling him her family didn’t need him, then stalking off. But then, she had apologized. She was easy to forgive.

He had promised himself he would write her off as uppity and irritable if she did not think well of him after two weeks. But the unfortunate truth was, he still couldn’t quite forget about her. Whether she knew it or not, she and her family did need him. And now that he knew what she felt like in his arms, he wanted to feel that again.

But she wasn’t likely to faint in his arms again anytime soon.

However . . . the Fourth of July was coming up, which meant his mother was probably organizing a dance. A dance would afford a perfect opportunity to get her in his arms again.

If he had any sense, he’d forget about Celia. She didn’t even like him.

Although, she hadn’t exactly looked at him with hate in her eyes after he sewed up Will’s leg. As he recalled, she had looked quite grateful when she thanked him so prettily just before he lifted her onto the wagon seat.

It had taken more than two weeks, about three, in fact, but maybe she was coming around. And maybe he was plumb addled, but he still wanted her to admit she was wrong about him, that she had completely underrated him—his abilities and his charm.