She spread her bodice farther over her chemise to act like a shield, although it did nothing to cover her very bare arms. Her mind returned to the night she was caught in the bog, when he’d seen her in underdrawers. And the time before that when he’d caught her bathing in the creek. The same question she’d asked the night at the bog taunted her: Why was he always coming across her when she was indecent?

Of course he’d had no way of knowing those other times or now that she was scantily clad.

“I’m changing.” The words came out stiffly. And the second she spoke, she wanted to hit herself over the head for stating so obvious a statement. She tugged on the stuck piece of linen, wishing now that she’d left it in place. “You should go.”

“Couldn’t you find someplace more private? What if I’d been another man?”

“I’m fine. Or I was until you showed up.” She refrained from revealing that someone had already come in the front door.

“You’re not fine, Ivy. You have no sense of decency.” He waved at her and then rapidly looked away.

“I’m decent enough.” She lifted her chin. “At least I didn’t go behind your back to race Roman-style.”

“I knew you wouldn’t like it, but I had to do it.”

“Had to?”

He palmed the back of his neck. “Yes. And I wish I could explain why, but I can’t.”

“Well, explain to me why you have a double standard, why it’s fine and dandy for you to race but you have a fit when I do.”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

She stood and glared. “It ain’t any more dangerous for me than you.”

“If you fell, you’d get hurt easier.”

“And how do you know that?”

“You’re smaller.” He glanced at her but then pressed his lips together.

“Smaller?” She snorted. “What difference does that make?”

“Just finish getting dressed,” he snapped, staring at the simple wooden cross hanging at the front of the church, clearly uncomfortable with her state of immodesty.

She reached behind her back and tugged at the linen strip hanging out from her chemise, but it wouldn’t dislodge.

“Are you almost done?”

“Something’s tangled.”

“Hurry and untangle it.”

She jerked at it but had the feeling all the tugging was only tightening the knot she’d somehow made. “I need your help.” The words were out before she realized what she was asking.

He let out a snort. “You’re not serious.”

“Serious as a preacher at a funeral.” Why not get his help? Things’d go a whole lot faster if he untwisted the knot.

He hesitated at the door, holding the handle, almost as if he was considering exiting the building.