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know?”
    He inspected her leg, twisting her thigh carefully from side
to side to see the shard from all angles. “No reason really. I just saw that
fancy truck of yours outside and wondered what your husband did for a living to
afford to buy it for you.”
    In disbelief of his gall, she angrily ticked off each word
of her response to him. “I am an attorney for a big firm in Chicago. I make a
good living. I have no trouble buying a fancy SUV like that one for myself .
I don’t need a man to buy it for me.” Her anger got the best of her and she
added, “If you got out of the backwoods once in a while, Dylan, you’d find out
that there are many women who don’t need a man to make them happy.”
    His eyes flicked up to hers and then quickly back down, but
not before she saw the flash of anger in them. Good. She’d meant for the
comment to hurt him. After what he did to her back then, how dare he ask about
her love life now and then insult her with his sexist ideas?
    Keeping his eyes on her leg he asked, “So is that why you’re
not married then? Because you don’t need a man?” She saw his jaw clench.
Although in her anger she’d been ready to spar with him, his question coming so
soon after she’d broken up with her cheating boyfriend stabbed at her like a
jab to a freshly sutured wound. She bit back tears and turned away, remaining
silent.
    “There, see? It was only barely cutting into your leg. It
just looked a lot worse than it was.” His voice was suddenly gentle again,
comforting.
    She looked back at him, her eyes smarting, and then stared
at the piece of glass in his hand. “What?”
    “The glass. Look, it’s out.” He turned it in his hand and it
glittered in the light. “It was only stuck in your skin a tiny bit. You don’t
even need stitches. It looked a lot worse than it was.”
    “Oh.” She looked down at her leg where Dylan was holding the
gauze and, to her horror, the relief of having the glass out of her skin was
enough to tip the balance of her tenuous hold on her emotions. She felt her
chin tremble as hot tears filled her eyes and spilled over.
    “Hey, don’t cry! It’s out! I’m going to have you fixed up in
no time!”
    “I’m not upset about the cut, you ass.” She glared at him
through her tears.
    “Oh,” he grimaced, “sorry. I purposely said that thing about
your truck to get you fired up.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “Why?” she asked incredulously.
    “You almost fainted when you looked at the glass
sticking out of your leg. I figured you might actually faint when I took it
out. I had to distract you while I removed it.” His face had turned sheepish.
“I went a little far, I guess.”
    Kip looked down at her leg where Dylan was blotting the cut.
The bleeding had slowed considerably. His plan to distract her had worked—she
hadn’t even noticed when he’d removed it. She sniffed.
    “Hey, Kip, I’m really sorry. Honestly, I’m not a bit
surprised by your success. You were always the smartest person I ever knew.”
    “It’s fine,” she grumbled. “I’m just… ” She broke off and
looked around at the scattered bits of festively-colored glass that used to be
her great-grandmother’s ornaments and then at her bloodied leg with the tiny
shards of glass still pressed into the skin of her thigh. What was she going to
tell her mom?
    Choking on a sob, she lost her fight to the tears again and
covered her face with her hands. Now that she knew she wouldn’t need stitches,
she wished Dylan would just leave and let her deal with the carnage of her
Christmas alone.
    “Hey,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper, “hey.” He
touched her arm, his large hand massaging her arm in a comforting gesture.
Wiping her face, she looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gorgeous eyes and
taking deep breaths in an attempt to get a hold on her tears. Dylan continued
to stroke her arm, not speaking, giving her the time she needed.
    She couldn’t help but notice, even in the