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“You actually stand on this thing? Got a death wish?”
“It works fine,” Nicole argued, somehow feeling as if she had to defend her late grandfather’s ladder. She was pretty sure it was as old as the house, but it was perfectly serviceable. “You just weigh more than I do.”
“If you say so,” he muttered, and climbed up another couple of steps, still swaying like he was standing on the prow of a boat. “I’ll have the old bulb out in a second.”
“It’s not easy,” she said. “You have to wiggle to the left twice, then back to the right and once more to the left.”
“It’s a lightbulb, not a combination lock.”
“That’s what you think,” Nicole told him, trying to keep from staring at his flat abdomen—which just happened to be at eye level. It had been way too long, Nicole thought, if just being this close to Griffin King was making her feel a little weak in the knees.
Damn it, she knew better. Griffin, like every other King, was a player. A master of flirtation and seduction. And didn’t that sound interesting, her mind whispered.
Her mind drifted as she considered tugging at his board shorts just a little. Dragging them down until—
“I’ve got it,” he grumbled, shaking her out of her thoughts, thank heaven.
“Be careful.” She frowned up at him, but he was too busy with the light to notice. “Remember to wiggle to the left first.”
“It’s just. A. Little. Stubborn.” He yanked the bad bulb out and held it one hand triumphantly. “Hah!”
A small, blond torpedo raced through the open back door. Connor was running so fast he never saw the ladder until he crashed into it.
Nicole let go of the ladder to grab her son.
The ladder swayed sharply to the right.
Griffin’s balance dissolved and he reached up with his free hand to grab the light fixture to steady himself.
He pulled it right out of the ceiling.
His eyes went wide.
Nicole gasped.
Chunks of old plaster fell down on them like hail.
Connor wailed.
The ladder tipped farther.
Griffin toppled to one side, then jumped, still clutching the remnants of the light fixture he’d yanked free.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Three little sounds.
Nicole looked up to see a wisp of smoke and the first flames erupt. “Oh, God!”
“Everybody out!” Griffin dropped the lightbulb and grabbed hold of Nicole and Connor, steering them out the back door to safety.
Two
The firemen were very nice.
They let Connor wear one of their helmets and sit in the big truck, while an older fireman kept watch.
Nicole was grateful. She needed a minute. Or two. Or maybe thirty. She sighed as she let her gaze slide from her son to the mess that was her house. Fire hoses were stretched across the lawn, now muddy from too much water and too many feet. Neighbors were gathered around watching the excitement—even Mr. Hannity, who had to be a hundred and ten, had pried himself off his front porch to get a better view. And Griffin was talking to one of the firemen like they were old friends.
Standing alone at the end of her driveway, Nicole listened halfheartedly to the conversations and noise around her. There was a buzzing in her ears that she thought might be the personification of the panic beginning to chew at her insides.
Her knees were still a little shaky and her stomach did an occasional slow roll. Probably leftover adrenaline still pumping through her system. Griffin had moved so fast, snatching Connor from her, then grabbing hold of her arm to pull her out of the kitchen. Thank God she kept her cell phone in her pocket. She’d used it to call the fire department the moment they were clear of the house.
Her house.
She hadn’t been back inside yet. Didn’t even know if she wanted to go look at the disaster that was now her kitchen. Nicole could only imagine what she’d find, and her imagination was pretty darn good. And while those dismal thoughts were spinning through her mind, more piled on for the trip.
Insurance.
Of course the house was insured, but there was a huge deductible—to make the payments easier to live with. And now, thinking of trying to meet that deductible was giving Nicole cold chills in spite of the sun beating down on her shoulders.
