"No, I said three weeks," she said, for perhaps the fifteenth time just that week. It had been exactly two weeks since she'd found Jamie injured, drunk as a lord and bleeding from nearly every limb. Over the nearly four months they'd interacted on a regular basis, Bella had called him nearly every name in the book: stubborn, reckless, hard-headed, prideful, but not stupid - or, at least, she'd never truly meant it. Today, however, she meant it.

"You're stupid if you think you can wrangle a bunch of toddlings like - like this," she said incredulously, her hands motioning to the bandages she'd re-wrapped just that morning. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not letting you go. You'll get yourself killed - or worse, maimed." (Not that she'd rather see him killed than maimed, but she was fairly confident he'd rather be dead man than a cripple.)

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