But she was bleeding, and she was pregnant.

Personal choice didn’t come into this. Doctors didn’t sign the Hippocratic oath anymore, but conscience was insidious. Besides, he wasn’t at all sure she was bright enough to stop before she passed out from shock or blood loss, and an unconscious woman would complicate his life so much he didn’t want to think about it.

So he groaned and headed off again, and snagged her just as she hit the beach. This time he grabbed her by the back of her jeans. She swung back to face him, already lashing out, but he was ready for her. He reeled her in by the waist and swung her up into his arms, tugging her so close she couldn’t struggle.

‘Let me go. I’ll bleed on you,’ she snapped, and she had a point. He’d bought this jacket in Italy and he liked it. Ruining it for a woman who didn’t have a grain of sense to bless herself with seemed a waste. But it was unavoidable.

‘Go right ahead, I’ll send you the cleaning bill.’

‘Blood doesn’t come out of leather.’

‘No, it comes out of torn skin, which is why you have to shut up, keep still and let me put something on your head to stop the bleeding.’

‘I can fix it myself-when I’ve got the calves. Do you have any idea how I’m going to tell Gran where her cows are?’

‘You could say, “Gran, they’re on the beach,”’ he said mildly, ignoring her struggles and starting to climb the cliff again. ‘Okay, they’re important but your dog seems to have their measure. They look unhurt. The cliff gets steeper in either direction so my guess is that they’ll stay on the beach until you can organise a muster, or whatever you do with cows. Meanwhile my car’s in the middle of the road on a blind bend, blocking traffic, and I don’t want what’s left of it squashed.’