a rippling melody. She handled the big tub with ease. “Sara Beth, you’re staying to help, right?”
“Sorry, I changed my mind.” Sara Beth’s dark eyes looked him up and down, and her grin was just shy of mischievous. She turned on her heel and tossed over her shoulder, “I’ve got better things to do.”
“Someone is getting coal in their stocking come Christmas morning. I’m not naming any names, but it could be you.” Chelsea flipped off the container’s lid and sunlight shone on the thousand miniature lights inside. “Can you believe it? She abandoned me.”
“What’s the world coming to, right?”
“Right.” Her brows arched, an adorable little twist of her beautiful face, and exactly how lovely she was hit him like a snowball to the chest. Her porcelain jawline and dainty chin gave her a sweetheart’s look. Her sloping nose and friendly blue eyes could make stronger men than he stop in their tracks. She didn’t seem aware of it as she plucked a coil of white lights from the container. “You don’t look like the handyman type. So, really, why are you doing this?”
“Because one good turn deserves another.” He took possession of the coil, lifting it from her slender fingers. “Besides, it’ll give me practice. Macie is bound to talk me into stringing lights at home, and this way I’ll make all my mistakes here.”
“With our lights? Right.” She wasn’t fooled. She fished out a plastic bag of gutter hooks, sneaking another peek at him. Had he always been so tall? He had to be a few inches over six foot and he smelled good, like pine.
He snagged the plastic bag of gutter clips and seized a ladder rung. Without a second of hesitation, he climbed with confidence and speed. Since she didn’t want to be shown up by a man, she headed for the second ladder, took a steadying breath and grabbed hold of a metal rung. Lord, please don’t let me crash to my death.
Determined not to visualize doom, she launched off the ground. The ladder trembled and shook with every step she took.
That didn’t bode well, but she kept her eyes on the next rung and didn’t look down. Maybe the height wouldn’t bother her if she didn’t see it. Made sense, right?
The wind gusted, wobbling the ladder. Eek. She clutched the metal, although there was no crashing to the ground and no doom. Still, she hated the way the ground seemed miles away. She swallowed hard, determined to keep going.
“Why don’t you get down?” Michael’s deep baritone warmed the words, he really was a good guy. “I’ve got this.”
“You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. Sorry.” She might not like heights, but no way was she quitting. Not when she’d made up her mind to do something.
Determined, she trained her gaze on the gutter above. Three steps more. Two. Safely at the top she slowly uncoiled the string of lights and hoped Michael didn’t notice how much her hands were shaking.
Chapter Three
Michael nudged the small plastic hanger into place, tried to keep his attention on the eight or so inches of white stuff piled precariously on the roof over his head and failed. His gaze slid to the woman clutching the gutter lip with what appeared to be all her strength. Why didn’t she just let him do this? “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Usually more.” If she gripped the gutter any tighter, something was going to break. “Rumor has it, stubborn is my middle name.”
“Hey, mine too.” His own laughter surprised him, causing him to almost lose his balance. The ladder wobbled, his hand shot out, hit the snow on the roof and a cold avalanche rained over him. Icy stuff hit him in the face, slid down his coat collar and kept coming in a glittery white fall, blinding him. He probably looked like an idiot.
“Good one,” she quipped. “Now who has a death grip on the gutter?”
“I’m usually more suave than this. Smooth. Debonair.” He batted snow out of his face.
“I noticed that the first instant we met.” Humor laced her words.
She had to remind him of that, didn’t she? Not that he could see her just now because another wave of falling snow smacked him in the face.
“Need any help?” she asked.
“No.” Debonair he was not. He blinked snow out of his eyes. “This looked easier from the ground.”
“It always does.”
The avalanche finally stopped and he ran a gloved hand over his eyes, able to blink. Ice clung to his lashes and gleamed in the sun so when he looked at her, she seemed framed by light, surreal, a vision come to life.
“Maybe it would have been smarter to let the sun melt some of this before we started, but did I think of it? No.” She clipped her string of lights into the plastic hook. “My sisters wanted to get the lights up before Dad gets home.”
“So he’s usually on light duty?”
“True, but one of us always helps him. The job goes faster that way and besides, you can’t help wanting to spend time with Dad.”
“So this time you want to surprise him?” He cringed when a trickle of ice slipped between his shirt and his collarbone.
“Something like that. See, Dad always put up the lights with Mom’s supervision. Since she’s been gone...” There were no words to describe the loss. She focused on stringing the lights, getting them to sit just right in the clips. “Mom was big into Christmas. Lights and decorations and Christmas carols playing. The works.”
“You don’t want your father to feel her loss while he’s hanging the lights.” Understanding softened his granite features and warmed the low notes of his voice. “It’s easier to go on when you don’t stop to feel the loss.”
“Exactly.” Interesting that they had this in common. She didn’t like that her estimation of him crept up a notch. “Is that what you do? You try not to feel the grief?”
“I try to forget it. Bury it. Psychologists might not agree, but it works for me.”
“Me, too. Last Christmas we couldn’t put up as much as a tree.” She thought of the seasonal cheer, the festive joy, the touches of caring her mother had brought to the holiday and to her family. “This year, we’re trying to do Christmas the way she would have wanted.”
“It’s a tough thing to do. Two Christmases have gone by for us, this will be our third.” He hung another length of lights. “It was hardest on Macie.”
“I’m so sorry for that. Do you have other family in the area?”
“My folks live in town. They moved here after I set up practice, to be closer to their granddaughter.” The wind gusted, ruffling his sandy brown hair. “Mom always does Christmas right, and she can cook. Can’t wait for her turkey and stuffing.”
“My mom was a good cook, too. But me? Not so much.” She clipped more lights in place, ignoring the fact that her fingertips were numb with cold.
“You? A bad cook? I don’t believe that. You look like there’s nothing
