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He also has a death grip.
I manage to break loose and leap to my feet after a lot of squirming, my eyes darting around for Hercules.
He’s there, all right. Eating something off the porch floor like a fat round vacuum cleaner. When I realize what he’s feasting on, I gasp.
Those butt-flavored almonds.
The entire bag, which must’ve slipped out of the poor man’s hand.
Oh, crud.
Shaking off his stupor, Carson scrambles to feet, his mouth askew as he stares in disbelief at Herc, who shears the bag clean open with his snout and one porky leg perched on the corner.
Sweet Jesus!
I consider stealing the bag away, but common sense tells me it’s a lost cause. The uninvited porker will chew my arm off before he lets me take those nuts, which might be fit for pig-grade treats anyway.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry, Mr. Hudson. So, so sorry.” I swallow hard, flashing him a mournful look. Trying to make light of everything, I add, “Um. Welcome to country living in North Dakota?”
Ignoring my bad joke, he grasps me tight, running his hands down both of my arms and back up again.
“Are you okay, Miss Rachel? Are you hurt?”
His touch makes my skin bristle. I want to pull my arms away from his hold, but guilt drills deep. I should be the one asking him if he’s hurt, considering he’s the guest and all.
“I’m fine. How about you? I’m so sorry...this isn’t normally a thing here. I don’t even know how we fell. It happened so fast.”
“Well, it started with this pig-shaped battering ram and gravity did the rest. I suppose my little stash has some blame, too.” He lets out a small laugh and gives me a rather intimate look. “I’m happy I went down first so I could break your fall.”
I smile back, feeling my cheeks heat again.
Oh, boy. I really don’t know how to read this guy.
He should be screaming pissed, or at least giving me the passive-aggressive Jekyll and Hyde treatment most rich city guys normally deliver.
And his answer about breaking my fall was a billion times more charming than the nasty quip from West last night. He made it perfectly clear that saving the pig was a priority and I was a freaking nuisance.
“He sure loves my almonds. I only wish I had more,” Carson says with amusement, glancing at Hercules, who’s busy dragging his snout over the porch floor, frantically searching for leftovers.
A wave of frustration washes over me.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll replace those at cost.”
Carson rubs my arms gently. “Nonsense. I have more packed. I actually dropped the bag to keep him from running into you.”
Huh? I don’t remember being hit by Hercules.
Then how, or why, did we fall? Why did I end up on top of Carson?
He didn’t pull me down on top of him on purpose, did he? No way. That doesn’t make sense.
“Hercules! Dammit, boy, you’ve got a date with my freezer,” a gruff voice clips.
The sound of Weston the Eternal Jackass approaching stabs through me, fast and hot as summer lightning.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rounding the corner of the house. He stops there to stare at us on the porch. I won’t turn around.
This is all his fault.
