Page 15 of Santa of the Creek
“You could, but you’ll just freeze in my car, and your cat will complain that her daddy doesn’t love her.”
“She’ll do that,” I agree. “Okay then, get me up the stoop, and then I’m gonna face-plant in bed and forget about today.”
Maybe it’s a good thing it isn’t Gloria helping me up the stoop because I’d have squashed her while she yelled at me. Dean patiently waits for me to crutch to the bottom step, then encourages me up each step.
“You should have been a nurse,” I say, halfway up.
“I pass out at the sight of blood.”
“You coped with me.”
“You kept the blood on the inside.”
I squinted at him. You know when you get that feeling someone is deflecting or lying to you? I had that feeling now. Dean’s tone is too light, fake, but it’s hard to gauge his expression in the dark, and I’m too tired to think about it.
We took it slowly for me. I’m used to running up the stoop. By the time I reach the top I’m sweating and Dean’s hand rests on my back. I kind of like that and mourn the loss when he takes it away.
“I need to get fit,” I say because that was hard work.
“You seem plenty fit to me.”
I turn to look at him, eyebrows raised, and he looks away.
“You know what I mean,” he mutters.
I do, but I’m doing the Snoopy dance inside. The cute guy thinks I’m fit.
It’s a relief to be inside, although Ariel takes one look at the crutches and hightails it out of the hall and into my bedroom.
“Stupid cat,” I say fondly. Then I sigh. “I’m gonna change into a hoodie and sweats.”
Dean nods. “I’ll get the wings. I forgot to bring them in. Meet you at the couch?”
“Sounds perfect.”
I dump the remains of the Santa suit in the trash can. Then I hobble over to the chest and dig out sweats and a T-shirt. I’m exhausted and a sweaty mess, and if Dean wasn’t here, I’d curl up in bed and sleep. But I’m hungry too. I haven’t eaten since lunch, and it’s gone nine now. I’m ready to eat a horse. I sit on the bed and unstrap the boot, grimacing at the swelling around my ankle. There’s no way I’ll be able to work at least for a couple of days. I need to call Randy and the bar, but I’ll do that after I’ve eaten.
Dean is loving on Ariel when I reach the couch. The tart ignores me as I ease myself down. Okay, it’s more of a flop than easing down gracefully, but I’m sitting, and I don’t have to move.
He pats the footstool. “Take your boot off and put your foot up here, and I didn’t know if you had any icepacks, so I brought two with me.” He produces an icepack wrapped in a cloth.
“You are an angel.”
“I’ll polish my halo,” he says solemnly.
Once I settle with the icepack against the swelling, Dean dislodges the cat who tries to settle on my lap. “Your daddy needs his dinner,” he scolds.
She jumps off my lap with a disgruntled meow and stalks over to her climbing tree, scrambling up to settle on her favorite shelf.
Dean hands me a box of wings and a soda and I inhale the citrus scent with pleasure. “You bought my favorite.”
“I asked which to get you. They told me you like the lemon and pepper best.”
“I do. They laugh at me for picking the tame sauce.”
He quirks a smile. “Randy’s customers tend to go for the hot wings.”
I sniff cautiously. His box smells like hotness and death. I know which sauce he picked.
