Mistletoe Daddy Page 5

  It was a regret he carried in his heart always, so the opportunity to be available to care for his mother when she needed him seemed the very least he could do to try to make things right.

  When he’d woken on the morning of New Year’s Eve, he’d been bone weary, but ranch work stopped for no man and Nick had worked from before dawn until well after the sun went down.

  He was supposed to be slicking up to take Brittany to Serendipity’s annual New Year’s Eve bash in town. He’d only slouched onto his couch for a second to take a load off his feet and catch his breath. He hadn’t even been aware of closing his eyes until three hours later, when he’d awoken with a start from a deep, dreamless sleep. Somehow he’d gone from sitting up to stretched out full-length, facedown on the couch, with one long leg dangling off the end.

  He remembered with alarming clarity the full moon streaming through the front window of his small cabin. It had taken him a few seconds just to figure out where he was, and another beat more before the jolt of realization hit him.

  He was late to the party.

  Way late.

  Like missed-the-kiss-at-midnight kind of late.

  He’d dressed in his Sunday go-to-meeting clothes as quick as he could and hightailed it to the party, but he knew even then he was too late to make things right. He felt terrible about letting Brittany down—again—but not nearly as bad as he felt when she verbally tanned his hide right in front of the entire town.

  Part of the problem was that her tongue-lashing tested his pride and ego—she might have been angry with him, and rightly so, but she didn’t have to air their dirty laundry in public for everyone to see. Still, once he’d simmered down, the harder blow came when he’d realized she was right.

  He had let her down. Had neglected her. Had broken trust with her. Enough that the single women in Serendipity as a whole tended to avoid him, and every woman he’d asked for a date since that time had turned him down flat.

  A man could get a complex. How was he supposed to prove that he’d learned his lesson and that he could do better if no one would give him a chance?

  And that was the real reason he was committed to seeing Vivian’s project through to completion, however silly he thought the idea of a salon and spa was on a personal level. To prove to the ladies in town—and, perhaps equally important, to himself—that folks could depend on him. That he was trustworthy, and not a total flake.

  “How can I help?” Vivian asked, snapping him from his reverie.

  “Bring me the push broom, please,” he answered without turning to look at her. “It’s in the back corner.”

  The next moment he heard a thunk, and then a crumble and then a crash.

  What—?

  He whirled to find Vivian sprawled in an inglorious heap in the middle of a pile of old drywall, shrapnel from a damaged ceiling panel snowing down on top of her. Apparently, she’d caught her foot on one of the boards, lost her balance and knocked the broom handle into the ceiling, all in the space of a few seconds.

  He tethered his hammer and strode across the room, his pulse rushing through him. Why on earth had she been standing on top of the drywall? Did she not see the danger there? Couldn’t she have taken a less precarious path?

  He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized she was fine, though probably a little embarrassed about her trip and fall. She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes on him, daring him to say something.

  Or worse, to laugh, which he 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.

  Actually, she was tensed on the edge of the seat as if she were listening for the bell that would hurl her out into the boxing ring so she could take a swing at him.

  Back when he was with Brittany, they’d had plenty of shouting matches. She hadn’t hesitated to pick at him for every flaw and shortcoming, and he’d never been slow to defend himself...at full volume.

  He straightened.

  Nope. Not this time. He wasn’t going to take the bait no matter how much heat was building under his collar. If they started verbally sparring, it was just a matter of time before their disagreement spread around town.

  The flittering butterfly thing. It was going to be his downfall.

  He couldn’t afford another story circulating about his inability to treat a woman properly, even if the only thing he’d done wrong this time was to help her when she didn’t want helping.

  He was absolutely clueless as to what to do with her, and afraid that whatever he said or did would be the wrong thing.

  “What were you thinking?” she demanded, perching one fist on her thigh and shaking a finger at him like he was an errant preschooler.

  Her words startled him and he widened his gaze on her, shuffling through his previous thoughts for something that wouldn’t stir the flames. “I—er—”

  What had he done?

  “You can’t just go around picking people up that way, you big brute.”

  That was her problem?

  “You would have preferred to have fallen?”

  “I wasn’t going to fall. I just—” she stammered as she searched for words, then harrumphed loudly and fell silent.

  Nick lifted a brow and pursed his lips to contain the snicker about to emer
ge.

  Viv wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “Okay. I’ll admit I might have been a little off balance. But you were the reason I was about to take another digger in the first place. You set me down off balance on purpose.”

  He shrugged and grinned, neither assenting to nor denying her accusation. He had kind of dropped her. On purpose, although he’d had no intention of making her fall. But it served her right for not recognizing he was trying to help her.

  He wouldn’t have let her fall.

  No—he’d gone and carried her in his arms—quite literally swept her off her feet, and then dumped her into a chair. Now he could see how that might come off as manhandling, to the uninitiated.

  “I apologize,” he said, the corners of his lips arcing downward. “In my defense, I legitimately thought you might be hurt. You were making all these funny squeaking sounds. Truth be told, I’m surprised you weren’t injured, between the crumbling ceiling panel and that mess of old drywall.”

  “Well, as you can see, I am perfectly fine.”

  He crossed his arms and tilted his head, regarding her closely. She had snowy-white ceiling panel dusting her hair and cascading all down her shoulders, probably ruining her shirt. He wasn’t sure why she chose to wear such a nice bright pink blouse when they were doing dirty work, anyway. The woman didn’t know the meaning of dress down. But even considering all that, he had to admit that from his standpoint, which was admittedly male, she looked mighty fine...if you ignored the chunks of ceiling in her hair, that is.

  Yet another thought he believed wise to keep to himself. He might be slow on the uptake, but his mama hadn’t raised an idiot.

  “Now, if you’ll—” She stood, squealed in alarm and sat back down again with a thump. Murmuring in pain, she reached for her left foot.

  He frowned for real this time and immediately crouched before her, gently taking her foot between his palms.

  “I knew it. You are hurt.” He felt no gratification in being right, or in saying I told you so.

  “Did you sprain your ankle when you fell?”

  He prodded the area tenderly, feeling for swelling and expecting another painful utterance from Vivian.

  She didn’t say a thing. Not even a peep. She was too busy gritting her teeth.

  “I don’t feel any swelling in your ankle.” Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, and she’d just mildly twisted it.

  “That’s because it’s not my ankle that hurts,” she hissed, squeezing her eyes closed.

  He bowed his head and looked closer, but couldn’t see anything. “What, then?”

  “It’s my heel. It feels like I stepped on a long, rusty nail.”

  Nick swallowed hard. Rusty nails were nothing to play around with, and there were plenty of long, jagged nails where she’d been standing. She’d probably have to get a tetanus shot, and he knew from experience that those things hurt for days.

  He checked the bottom of Vivian’s sneaker for a nail and, seeing none, tenderly unlaced her shoe.

  He blamed himself for not being more careful. No matter what happened from here on out, he’d be at her side, holding her hand. He could just picture Dr. Delia plunging the needle into her arm. Vivian would be brave, of course, and not want to make a big deal out of it. And every second he was standing there he’d be feeling guilty that he hadn’t taken more care with that drywall. He should have given better thought about Vivian’s safety.

  If she was hurt, it was all his fault. He wished he could take the pain on himself.

  As gently as possible, he rolled off her sock, examined her heel and found—nothing. No nail mark. No puncture wound. Not even redness or a scrape.

  Nothing.

  “Give me my sock,” she demanded, reaching for it. Nick’s immediate and instinctive reaction, no doubt from growing up with a couple of pesky brothers, was to yank it out of her reach.

  In hindsight, that was probably not the best idea he’d ever had. She lunged for her sock, missed and ended up sprawled on the floor—the very thing Nick had been trying to avoid for the last ten minutes.

  “I said it felt like I had a rusty nail in my foot, not that there actually was one,” she snapped crossly, in a deep, husky tone that wasn’t anything like her usually high, birdlike tweet.

  She must really be in pain, but she was being stubborn about it.

  She rolled to a sitting position and grabbed for her sock. This time he let her have it.

  “I probably just caught my heel on the edge of a board or something. The soles of these shoes are pretty thin—I’m not surprised I felt it, but as you can see, it didn’t do any damage. I’ll be fine.”

  He handed her the sneaker. “Except for the fact that you cannot walk,” he pointed out helpfully.

  “I’ll live,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He’d never in his life had the misfortune of interacting with as obstinate a woman as Vivian Grainger.

  “Be that as it may, you were injured on my watch and I’m taking you to see Dr. Delia.”

  “No, I—”

  He held up his hand, staving off her flood of words. “I insist.”

  “But it’s not necessary—”

  “I think it is, and you’re going to humor me. The doctor’s co-pay will come out of my pocket. I sincerely hope there is nothing wrong with your foot, but I won’t rest until I’ve heard that straight from the doctor’s mouth.”

  Her gaze appeared to be a little bit of deer-caught-in-the-headlights, with a tiny smidge of tiger-in-a-cage added in for good measure.

  What was the big deal? She was obviously in pain. Going to see the doctor was just plain sensible. It couldn’t be about the money, since he’d already insisted he would pay for the visit. If there was nothing wrong with her foot, then fine, but he felt it was always better to be safe than sorry.

  Strange. It almost seemed like Vivian was afraid to visit the doctor, even though she’d known Delia for a long time.

  Was something else bothering her?

  * * *

  Stubborn, tenacious, bullheaded bear of a man.

  Vivian wished with all her heart that she could go back to the day of the auction and bid on someone else—anyone else, besides this...this...mulish, dictatorial hulk. Someone who wouldn’t constantly insist on sticking his head into her business—and now, by extension, into her baby’s business.

  She sighed and clasped her hands on her lap. She had to concentrate in order to keep herself from her natural maternal instinct, which was to cover her belly with the flat of her palm. That would be a dead giveaway if ever there was one. She refused to look at the giant of a man sitting next to her, whose size dwarfed Dr. Delia’s small, pleasantly decorated waiting room. She was glad they were the only ones here to see the doctor.

  If Vivian wasn’t careful, the truth about her pregnancy was going to come out way sooner than she was ready for it to. She’d hoped, before it became public knowledge, that she’d have a chance to get her spa fixed up and her business started. Then she could at least say she was a woman who’d made mistakes but who had turned her life around rather than what she seemed like now—incapable on every level.

  Oh, who was she kidding? She scoffed inwardly. She was never going to be able to keep her secret until after the spa opened—not once she’d realized how much work the building truly needed.

  She was nearly five months pregnant and with her normally slender build, it was becoming harder and harder to mask her growing middle section. There was only so much a pair of yoga pants and a billowing blouse could do for a pregnant woman.

  Heat rose to her cheeks and she bowed her head in case Nick should see her distress. Would the embarrassment and humiliation never cease?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love her unborn child—she did, more than she ever thought it wa
s possible to love a person.

  But she was so ashamed of herself for how her little one had been conceived. Out of wedlock, and with a man who hadn’t loved her. Not only had she set aside everything she believed in and denied her own moral standards, but she had set aside her relationship with God and had given in to the pressure and manipulation of a man who’d turned tail and run at the news that she was pregnant with his child.

  And so she had insisted on hiding her pregnancy from the world, even though there was no possible way to continue with the ruse, especially now.

  How foolish could a woman be?

  She sighed inwardly. What was done was done and there was no turning back the clock. She couldn’t change any of it—and she wouldn’t want to, if it meant giving up the precious blessing growing inside her. She wanted this baby so much that her heart ached. She’d fallen completely and irrevocably in love with the little sweetheart the first time she’d seen the little bean with a strong, tiny heartbeat thumping on the ultrasound machine screen.

  For that beautiful child’s sake—and for her own—she was determined to change the vector of her life, embrace the faith she’d once denied, admit her mistakes not only to the Lord and herself, but to the community she lived in, and move on as a single mother.

  It wasn’t like she was the first woman ever to find herself in such a situation, and it wasn’t as if she wouldn’t have any help raising her baby. Alexis and Griff would always be there for her and Baby G, the nickname she’d given to her unborn baby in lieu of saying “him or her” all the time. And if family wasn’t enough, she had plenty of friends and neighbors in Serendipity, especially within her church community, whom she knew she could count on to help her when she needed it.

  Even Nick McKenna.

  The thought sprang into her mind right out of nowhere, surprising her with its intensity. She dashed a glance at Nick from underneath her eyelashes.