He did. ‘Whose car?’ he managed, and she winced.

‘My car.’

That was another cause for some long, hard thinking.

‘My leg hurts,’ he conceded at last. ‘What else?’

‘You tell me,’ she said cautiously. ‘Where else hurts?’

‘My head.’

‘I think you hit your head on the road.’

‘How fast were you going?’

‘Not fast at all,’ she told him, a tiny bit of indignation entering her voice. He was making sense. No brain damage, then. ‘You ran straight into me.’

‘Yeah, like you were stopped and I just smashed into your car. You’ll be suing me next.’ Amazingly there was a hint of laughter in the man’s voice. Laughter laced with pain.

But Lizzie wasn’t up to laughter. Not yet. No brain damage, she was thinking. He had enough strength left to give her cheek. She found she was breathing again but she hadn’t remembered stopping.

‘I might sue you,’ she said cautiously, still nose to nose with him in the mud. ‘But not yet. I think we should consider scraping you off the road before we consult our lawyers.’ She placed her hand on his head in a gesture of warmth and comfort. Strong as this man sounded, he was badly hurt and shock must be taking its toll. His hair was nice, she thought inconsequentially. Thick and wavy and deep, deep black. What she could see of his face was strong-boned and tanned. Her initial impression was really, really nice.

Which was a silly thing to think, given the circumstances. ‘I’ll get you something for the pain and ring for an ambulance,’ she told him, and decided that shock was affecting her too. Her voice was decidedly wobbly. She couldn’t make it sound efficient and clinical. Efficient and clinical was the last thing she felt like.

And his next words made her feel even less efficient. ‘There’s no phone reception out here,’ the man muttered.

‘No reception?’