the kind made of metal, and not the one the sight of her bared legs made stiffen beneath the fly of his pants.
As if a woman like her would let you touch her anyway.
But she watched intently as he tended the dog, observed his every move in a way that made him jittery as hell.
Frowning, Jared gently folded the stitched ear so it lay on the top of the mutt’s head. He positioned a bright red button the size of a sixpence on the part of the ear that wasn’t tracked with stitches. Might as well put the dog’s head to good use, Jared figured, since it was obvious the animal wasn’t using it to store any brains.
The dog gave a muffled yip through the gauze-band muzzle around its mouth, as if it understood the slanderous direction of Jared’s thoughts. Holding the button in place, Jared slipped the curved needle deftly through the button, the layer of ear and the skin at the crown of the mutt’s head.
“You needn’t be giving me that filthy look,” Jared said. “I’d have left you to take your chances with Shep and Digger. She’s the one who decided you needed rescuing.”
“But you’re the one who saved the day. Right, Captain?”
“Captain? Oh, no,” Jared muttered as he tied off his handiwork and snipped the nylon thread. “This can’t be good for either one of us, dog. She’s naming you now.”
“And you’re going to make him the laughingstock of the county with that big red button on his head.”
“He’d scratch out those stitches before bedtime if they weren’t out of his reach. It’s the button or an Elizabethan collar around his neck. He’d like that even less, believe me.”
“An Elizabethan what?”
“A fancy name for a big plastic cone that makes the poor beast look like it’s tried to squeeze headfirst through the small end of a funnel.”
“Oh.” Emma puzzled for a moment and Jared could see she was trying to picture the ridiculous image he’d described. “You’re right. He wouldn’t like that. It would be hard to watch for sneak attacks.”
“Right. You never know when hordes of marauding collies might decide to raid the dig site. That’s what every archaeological excavation needs. A troublemaking, digging-obsessed dog mucking about.”
“How do you know he digs?”
“That’s what terriers do.”
“Not this one. He’s going to be an angel.” Emma unfolded legs Marilyn Monroe would have envied and swung them over the edge of his mattress, sweeping gracefully to her feet. Carrying the dog to the bed she’d made for him by putting her surcoat in the wooden box she’d emptied of Jared’s sparse toiletries, she bent over to settle Captain in for the night.
The sight of her shapely bottom held Jared’s gaze. After all, what could just looking hurt? Her hair spilled over her shoulder as she crooned to the exhausted little creature, gently removing the muzzle. Jared couldn’t stop himself from wondering how that cascade of black curls would feel tumbling over his chest, all silk and fire, this woman a mix of passion and vulnerability more intoxicating than he’d ever known.
No wonder kids like Davey were mesmerized by Emma McDaniel. Jared was a grown man and he had a feeling his pants were going to get damned tight across the front whenever she was around.
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
The question startled him from fantasies so raw he felt his cheeks burn. “Do what?” he managed to choke out.
“Stitch him up. Clean the wounds and all.”
The dog. She was asking about the dog, Jared realized with relief. Simple question. Easy answer.
Then again, maybe not.
“My father taught me.”
Emma scooped up his razor, his toothbrush and shampoo from where she’d dumped them half an hour before. Feminine hands touched his most intimate objects, arranging them with a woman’s eye for order. “Is your father a doctor?” she asked.
“Hardly that.” Jared turned his back to her and busied himself putting the contents of the first aid kit back in their white plastic case. If only he could lock his emotions inside the container as well, covering up the sadness, the bitter sense of loss. It seemed he was a better actor than he thought or Emma was still too wrapped up in the dog to know how her question had affected him.
“What are you doing?” Emma asked, noticing the restocked first aid kit. “We haven’t taken care of your bites yet.”
“It’s nothing—”
“I would say you saved a damsel in distress, if the dog wasn’t a boy.” She indicated his hand, the fingers now crusted with dried blood. “The least I can do is patch up the injuries you got while doing it.”
“No.” Jared fought the impulse to jam his hands into his pockets, knowing it would hurt like fire. “I can handle this myself.”
“I’m sure you can. But we’re going to play fourteenth century. The lady of the castle did the healing.” She brooked no argument, grabbing the bottle of peroxide and a bowl he’d meant to return to the canteen. Indicating he should sit on the bed, she climbed up beside him, cross-legged again, her knees touching his left thigh as she pulled his hand palm-up into her lap. She ran her fingertips over the puncture wounds and Jared welcomed the distraction of pain burning up his arm.
“These are deep. Maybe we should take you to a doctor.”
“I’ll not be wasting my time driving forty minutes so the man can do what I can do right here.”
“All right then. All right.” She set the bowl between them. “I’m just going to flush the germs out with peroxide.”
Soft, feminine fingers curved gently about his wrist, turning his hand so the worst of the bite wounds were on top. “You might want to have a shot of Scotch yourself before I do this,” she said, and he wondered if her fingertips could feel his pulse racing.
“I’m saving that Scotch for an occasion to remember. Today is one I intend to forget.”
“Very funny.”
Emma tipped the brown bottle. Jared gritted his teeth as the antiseptic seared its way into the puncture wounds. The peroxide fizzed madly as it burned the wounds clean. He felt Emma watching him and looked up to see worried brown eyes.
“Really, they’re just a few little cuts,” he assured her.
“They’re not little. In fact they’re…they’re rather nasty.” Her voice wobbled.
He hated seeing the shadows of self-blame she was trying so hard to hide. Wished he could find a way to drive them from her face. But before he could think of something amusing to say, she spoke with forced brightness.
“You know, human bites are much more dangerous than dog bites.” She poured on another dose of peroxide. “They carry a far greater risk of infection.”
“And I need to know this why?” Jared reached past the pain to shape his lips into a raider’s smile. “You aren’t planning to bite me, are you, Ms. McDaniel?”
“Not unless you deserve it, Dr. Butler,” she fired back, but her cheeks flushed unexpectedly pink, her gaze darting away as if…what? As if she’d been having the same dangerous thought as he had? Right, mate. Dream on.
“Just where did you get your scientific information?” he asked.
“My little sister Hope’s pediatrician. You see, Hope is the youngest of all the McDaniel cousins, so when the family got together she’d bite—well, about anyone she could sink her teeth into—until the year she turned four.”
Emma dabbed at the wounds with a clean square of gauze. Jared tried to distract himself from the warmth of her other hand cradling