Page 21 of Mad About Yule

“But I just might tell your mother.”

Lord help me. She’s figured out my weakness.

Her laughter at my horrified look doesn’t set me at ease.

“Relax, I’m kidding. But the Winter Wonderland is my dream. I know I can’t do much with building it, but I want to help where I can.”

I can understand that, I guess. She must have spent a lot of time designing the houses. It can’t be easy to just hand over the reins. Still. I like holding the reins.

“All right boss, why don’t you bring me another one of those two-by-fours?” I point at the workbench where I left the boards I pre-cut for this section. “One of the longer ones. That’d be a real help.”

She breaks into a fresh smile, apparently immune to my sarcasm. “I can do that.”

I silently curse myself for letting my mother rope me into this. I hadn’t expected to have a shadow the whole time. The close scrutiny irritates, especially when my audience has already admitted she has no idea what I’m doing. Now I have to let herhelp?

She walks to the workbench and examines the boards. For being so eager to be my assistant, she sure takes her time about it, inspecting every knot and imperfection.

“Any one will do,” I say.

She nods and grabs the closest one. Instead of standing it up, she picks it up by the middle, so the ends shoot away from either side of her. Crab-walking across the warehouse floor, her arms hang stiff in front of her as she tries not to knock anything over within an eight-foot radius.

I run a hand down my face to stop from laughing. Delectable or not, this Creamsicle didn’t exaggerate when she said she wasn’t handy. She needs to get out of the warehouse before she hurts herself.

This only adds to my doubts about her festival. Does she know what she’s doing with the ads and promo she mentioned, or is that like the way she carries this board—she knows just enough to get herself into trouble?

I shouldn’t care. It’s her business if she’s taken on more than she can handle, not mine. But that question of just how disappointed she’ll be in a few weeks bugs me.

She grins when she reaches me, proud of her little feat.

“Sorry, I don’t have any gold stars.”

Her grin sinks into a scowl. “Where do you want it?”

I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “It’ll go on that side.”

“Fine.”

She twists to head that way. The end of the two-by-four swings in an arc toward me, and I have about one second to register what’s coming before it hits my forehead with a sickeningthunk. A white-hot pain sears through my head, sucking the breath from my lungs, and I sit back hard on the concrete floor.

Ivolunteeredfor this?

If I was looking for a reason to quit, here it is. Nobody in his right mind would put up with this.

“I’m sorry!” Hope drops the board six inches from my feet, and I recoil away before she can do any more damage. She kneels at my side, eyes wide and face pale, looking like she might be sick. That makes two of us. “I didn’t mean to do that!”

“I sure hope not.” Stars swim in front of my eyes, and for a couple of seconds, I’m not entirely sure if I’ll hold onto consciousness. I cover my forehead with one hand about thirty seconds too late.

“Let me see.”

Hope’s hands loom large in my face. Gotta say, I don’t trust her right now. I try to turn away from her, but I can’t stand yet after a knock like that, and I have just enough dignity left to stop me from crawling across the warehouse floor.

“I’m fine.” I try to dodge her, but she’s too quick. Or that board dulled my reflexes.

“Don’t lie.” She gently pulls at my fingers until I let go, exposing my forehead. Her dismal groan confirms my suspicions.

I squint at her. “Am I still pretty?”

Her laughter is short-lived. “So-so.”

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