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there—not only had she never decorated the tree
without her mom, but she’d never put the star on without a hand on her mom’s
shoulder for support.
    Pushing a kitchen chair as close to the tree as she could,
Kip stood on the chair, reaching slowly for the pointy tuft of evergreen on
which to plop the silver star. She stood on one leg and held the other out
behind her as a counterbalance to her weight. Almost there …
    She had just touched the opening at the bottom of the star
to the pointed tip of the spruce, her muscles trembling from their controlled
balancing effort, when Dylan knocked quickly twice and walked through the door.
Out of instinct she turned her head to look in his direction, surprised he’d
walked right in, and the subtle shift in her body weight was just enough to
throw off her already precarious balance. She heard herself yelp as she tumbled
off the chair and into the tree. As she fell, she heard Dylan yell, his voice
sharp with concern, and then all she heard was breaking glass.

Chapter Four
     
    Dylan rushed to her, his boots crushing the colorful broken
glass into even smaller bits of wreckage. “Kip! Oh my god! Are you okay?” Still
wearing his work gloves, he pushed the Christmas tree back up and cleared away
enough sharp glass to allow her to turn over and sit up.
    “I’m fine,” she sputtered, embarrassed, and then glared up
at him. “Why did you just walk right in?”
    He was kneeling in front of her, his gloved hand on her bare
leg and his concerned, sparkling blue eyes searching her face. “I saw through
the window what you were trying to do so I hurried in to help you before you
fell.”
    “I fell because you came in.”
    “I’m really sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?”
    “Yes, I’m fine. Just help me up.”
    “Hang on, there’s glass everywhere and you have bare feet.”
He cast his eyes around the mess that had been her Christmas tree and his voice
trailed off. “Kip, do you have a first-aid kit anywhere?”
    “Why? I’m—” Her eyes followed his and her voice cut off with
a weak moan. Her thigh was bleeding from what appeared to be several small
cuts, but that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was the two-inch shard
of glass sticking out of her skin, which was bleeding steadily. She grabbed at
his arm as she swooned.
    “Whoa! All right, deep breaths—don’t pass out on me!” He
caught her eyes with his and stared steadily into them while she blinked hers
back into focus. His voice was soothing. “I’m here with you. I’m going to fix
it. It’s really not as bad as it looks.”
    Kip wasn’t squeamish about almost anything—catching fish,
killing bugs…she’d grown up in the country—but she was squeamish about blood.
She felt the panic rising in her and a part of her wished she would pass
out until he’d removed the glass shard from her leg.
    “First-aid kit,” she managed to mumble. “Under the sink in
the kitchen.”
    “Okay,” he said, squeezing her arms comfortingly. His voice
was slow and calm. “I’m going to get it. I’ll be right back.”
    Dylan used his gloved hand to clear a spot on the floor
where he could sit and easily care for her. Taking off his coat and work gloves
on the way to the kitchen, he retrieved the first-aid kit. All the while Kip
tried to think about anything except the piece of glass impaled in her leg, but
of course it was all she could think about. Returning to her, he met her eyes
with his steady ones before pulling out gauze and adhesive bandages. He reached
for her leg.
    “Wait!” She grabbed his arm. “Did you wash your hands?”
    “Yes ma’am.” He smiled at her reassuringly and got to work.
Cocking his head, he asked, “Kip, did you ever get married?”
    She was taken aback by his question. It was none of his
business. He had certainly never wanted to be her boyfriend, much less her
husband, so why did he care? Making no effort to hide the ice in her voice she
asked, “Why would you want to