Mistletoe Daddy. Deb Kastner
was very close to doing, if only because she made an oddly adorable picture all sprawled out on the floor with her legs sticking out like a toddler having a tantrum. When she puckered her lips and blew dust and her bangs off of her forehead, he nearly lost it. Mirth bubbled in his chest.
He reached out both arms in a silent offer to assist her to her feet. He didn’t trust himself to speak yet, afraid a chuckle would emerge.
She made an indistinguishable squeak and ignored his outstretched hands, choosing instead to roll to her knees and push to a standing position by herself, only using her palms for support.
Not such a great idea on broken drywall, which immediately cracked through.
She was vertical for about one second before she yelped and nearly crashed back to the floor.
Nick leaped forward, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin and her feet dangling well off the ground as he swung her far away from the hazard. It was a good thing his reflexes had been honed by years of working with horses and cattle, or else Vivian would have landed straight onto her cute little nose.
“Put. Me. Down.” Her words were muffled in the cotton of his shirt, but even so, he could tell she was irritated.
With him, apparently.
And here he’d just rescued her. He would have thought she would be grateful.
Women.
She wriggled against him and he opened his arms, relaxing his grip so suddenly that she didn’t have time to respond—which served her right for her ingratitude.
He didn’t set her down that hard, so he expected her to waver slightly and then right herself, but instead it appeared she was going down again. Her arms flailed in large circles and she squeaked in pain.
This time Nick ignored her protests and scooped her full up into his arms, cushioning her by cradling her against his chest. He stalked to the other side of the room, where he’d set up a metal folding chair he used for snack breaks. He pushed his lunch cooler off the seat with the side of his boot, not caring when it tipped upside down and the lid popped open. His water bottle rolled over his sandwiches, squishing them, but he had other, more important things to worry about.
Like what was really wrong with Vivian. There was more to this than just clumsiness.
He plunked her down into the chair as gently as he could, given the circumstances. She stiffened and glared at him.
Stubborn woman. Would she rather he just tossed her around like a sack of potatoes? He could have thrown her over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry and have been done with it. But no. He was trying to be a gentleman here, and she wasn’t helping.
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