The Reality of Everything - Rebecca Yarros Page 0,8

that I didn’t want something to fix. I did. I do. I want to look at something and say, ‘I did that.’” Her sigh was loud enough for me to feel it in my chest. “There just happens to be a lot more fixing to do than I initially thought.”

“Is your husband handy?” I’d learned that it was always safer to assume a woman was in a relationship than go with the opposite. Plus, with her soft, bare skin under my fingers, it would be handy to know if I was about to get punched in the face by an overprotective partner.

Her thighs turned to stone.

“I’m not married, not involved, and not looking.” She bit out every word.

Damn, I’d just gotten rejected from a girl I hadn’t even hit on. That was a first.

“Sorry, I saw the truck and assumed.” And there was the number one problem with assuming anything. “Not that a woman can’t have a jacked-up truck like that or anything. It’s a nice piece of equipment.”

“It was left to me by…a friend. I drive the Mini Cooper over there. So, know any good contractors?”

Subject closed. Got it.

“I can dig you up some names—”

“We’re here! Sorry, we had to climb over the bottom gate and, well, we’re short. It took a second.” Sam leaned over the railing. “Ready?”

“Absolutely. Morgan?”

“Yep.”

“Here we go. I’m sorry, this might hurt a little. You’re pretty banged up.”

“Do it. I’m tougher than I look.”

I somehow didn’t doubt it as I switched my grip to her hips, careful to place my hands outside her dress. “One. Two. Three.” I lifted her slowly and watched her progress through the small opening.

“Okay, angle back toward Sam,” I ordered as the curve of her ass reached the board. At six-four, I could reach over the seven feet to the landing, but I needed a better grip to get her the rest of the way through.

“My hands are about to get friendly,” I warned her.

“What, like they weren’t already?” she joked.

“Ha.” I switched my grip quickly, grasping the back of her thigh with one hand and sliding below her knee with the other. I powered her through, letting my higher hand slip from her thigh as she rose.

“Gotcha!” Sam exclaimed.

Then Morgan stepped free, and my hands were empty.

“It worked!” she called out, leaning over the railing from the stairs above the landing.

I stepped into the evening sunlight and smiled up at her. “Sure did.”

“You rescued her!” Finley called out, running at me in a tangle of curls and limbs. I caught her easily and lifted her to sit on my shoulders.

“Wasn’t really a rescue,” I told my daughter. “Just a few feet.”

“Well, it sure felt like a rescue to me,” Morgan countered, flashing a smile that hit me right at the knees.

“You definitely saved the day,” the petite one—Mia, I think they’d called her—drawled with the local accent I’d grown accustomed to, batting pretty blue eyes at me.

“That’s his job,” Finley answered. She squirmed, and I let her down. “I’m hungry!” With that declaration, she was off and running up our stairs. “I’m glad you’re not stuck anymore, Miss Morgan!” she called out and disappeared into the house.

“Always hungry, that one,” I said with a smile.

“Well, thank you for helping get our friend out.” Sam started up the steps. When Mia didn’t move, she grasped the strap on her tank top. “We’ll see you later.”

Mia gave me one more grin and followed Sam.

That left just Morgan.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at the banister. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“My pleasure.”

Her eyes shot to mine, no doubt thinking of the eyeful I’d received.

Poor choice of words.

“I’ll come over in the morning and lay down some plywood. That will give you time to get the contractors out to estimate…well, everything.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” Her spine straightened.

She hadn’t been kidding about wanting to fix things herself.

“Stubborn much?”

“I’m not sure why you’d think that.” She crossed her arms under her breasts and winced.

“Because I’m offering you help, and you’re not accepting it.”

“I just did!” She motioned to the landing.

“You had no other choice, unless you wanted to wait for your girlfriends to break out a saw.” I tucked my thumbs in the pockets of my shorts. “As I recall, you argued that you were really okay…as your feet dangled. Stubborn.”

“Yet I still accepted your help. But I’ll fix the landing myself.”

Jesus, what if she nailed through rotten boards or cut the size wrong? I’d have to haul