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stomped up to the front door.
    He lifted his hand to knock, but that’s when he glimpsed the damnably familiar sight of a long leg stretched out against the staircase.
    His nerves bumped and instead of knocking, he grabbed the handle on the door and pulled. The lack of a lock wasn’t surprising considering how far out in the boondocks they were, and he strode inside, his mind already casting around to remember what he’d ever learned about first aid.
    But instead of an injured woman collapsed on the stairs, he got a glimpse of wholly startled blue eyes as Lucy—perfectly conscious even if she was sitting on one of the steps about three-fourths of the way from the top—gaped at his intrusion.
    â€œBeck!” She whipped the thin folds of her pale gold robeover her legs and wrapped her hand around the banister next to her head. “What on earth are you doing?”
    Making an even bigger ass out of himself. “I thought you’d hurt yourself.”
    She went still, her gaze flickering for a moment. “Thank you for the concern, but as you can see, I’ve done nothing new.” Her hand tightened around the banister and she pulled herself up to her feet in one smooth motion that seemed to belie the fact that her knee was injured at all.
    Except that Beck had seen the way her knuckles went white before she so much as budged an inch.
    He set the spaghetti container on the narrow table that stood against the wall and moved to the foot of the stairs. “If it’s so bad, why bother going up and down the stairs in the first place?”
    Her lips—a little too wide for her narrow face—parted softly. And just as quickly they were pressed into a thin line. “It’s not that bad. And my bedroom is upstairs,” she added as if it should be obvious.
    He snorted and planted his foot on the bottom tread before reaching up to grab her waist. Ignoring the hiss she gave, he lifted her right off the stairs and carried her the few feet to the living room.
    â€œI don’t appreciate being lifted around,” she muttered as he deposited her on the couch there.
    He could still feel the suppleness of her waist and the slick silk of her robe against his palms, but he managed a bland look. “You’re a professional ballet dancer. Don’t you get lifted around all the time?”
    â€œThat’s hardly the same thing.” With a quick tug, she tightened the belt around her waist and flicked the robe over her legs again. The thin fabric floated down to settle over her bare feet.
    He still managed to notice they were narrow, higharched and her gangly toes were painted a pale pink, and it irritated the hell out of him.
    He wasn’t interested in anyone’s toes, for cripes’ sake.
    â€œI was managing just fine,” she said, evidently oblivious to his foot ogling.
    â€œThat was pretty obvious,” he drawled as he moved across the room to retrieve the spaghetti. “Where’s your brother?” He hadn’t seen Caleb’s truck where he usually parked it near the barn. Not that Caleb had been spending much time at the ranch, as far as Beck had noticed over the last few weeks since he’d started construction.
    Protests or not, now that she was on the couch, she didn’t look in any hurry to move when she leaned her head against the cushions behind her. “He turned in my rental car earlier and then he went back into town.”
    â€œIs he coming back?”
    The pale, pale blue was a narrow sliver between her dark lashes as she sent him a look. “He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can find his way home when he’s ready.” She lifted her slender hand. “And I didn’t come home wanting him—or anyone else in my sometimes-interfering family—assigning themselves as my babysitter.”
    â€œMaybe you should have,” he said bluntly, “if you can’t get yourself up and down the stairs.” He