Her Mistletoe Magic. Kristine RolofsonЧитать онлайн книгу.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      SHE WOKE UP next to the dog. He was a comfortable and warm weight stretched against her side, but he snored. Not that the noise had bothered her. It was after eight o’clock and she was due at work in an hour. She’d need every minute to get ready.

      “Good morning, Al.”

      His tail thumped once and he wriggled closer, his eyes closed. Grace patted his rump and eased herself to a sitting position. Her foot throbbed, but not as painfully as last night. She’d managed to get into her nightgown without Nico’s help—Patsy had selected her only flannel gown instead of one of her many cute pajama sets.

      After her weepy breakdown, he’d offered to help her out of her clothes to make her laugh. She’d refused, making him laugh. He’d fixed her a cup of herbal tea and delivered it, with an assortment of his mother’s cookies, to the nightstand while she was in the bathroom washing the tears from her face.

      She would never, ever take Percocet in a man’s presence again. Not unless the man was her husband and she had just given birth to triplets.

      She managed to climb out of bed and brush her teeth with the help of her crutches before she heard the knock on the door.

      “Come on in.” She was resigned to the fact that he would see her dressed like a ninety-year-old woman. He may as well see what she’d be wearing when she was ninety.

      He opened the door and peered in. “Hey. How are you doing?”

      “Okay.” She sat on the bed and wished she could crawl back in next to Al, who was pretending to be asleep. Nico looked wide-awake, cheerful and heart-stoppingly handsome. The man looked ready to flip a thousand pancakes.

      “Did you sleep?”

      “Al and I both were practically comatose.” She wished she’d put on makeup. Patsy had emptied the entire contents of her bathroom drawer into a gallon ziplock bag, so she had no excuse for not putting on lipstick and eyeliner, for heaven’s sake.

      “You look a lot better than you did last night.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “You’re not as pale. How’s the pain?”

      “Not bad at all,” she fibbed.

      “Can you walk?”

      “With the crutches.”

      He looked over at her bed. “Al! Time to go out!”

      The Labrador didn’t budge.

      “I know he’s alive.” Grace laughed. “He wagged his tail for me a few minutes ago.”

      “He’s faking it. He hates snow.” Nico looked at Grace. “Want some coffee before I haul him out of here?”

      “Yes. Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

      “Don’t bother. I’ll bring it to you. Cream, no sugar, right?”

      “How did you know that?”

      “The executive chef at The View knows everything,” he informed her. “Stay right where you are. I haven’t brought a woman coffee in bed for days.”

      “Very funny,” she said to his back as he left the bedroom. Or maybe he wasn’t joking. According to the tabloids, Nico’s social circle had once included the Kardashians and Sports Illustrated models. She hadn’t heard of him dating anyone in Lake Placid, but then again, there were plenty of beautiful women on the ski slopes and at the Olympic park. She wondered if any of them wore light blue flannel dotted with pink roses.

       “Woof.”

      She heard the child’s voice the same time Al did.

      “Woof, woof!” Al finally raised his big head and turned brown eyes in her direction.

      “Hey, Al! Wanna go for a ride?”

      “Woof woof woof!” came the answer, just as a tall, thin boy ran into the room.

      “Hey, Al, what are—”

      The boy skidded to a stop, turning a pair of dark eyes toward Grace. He had the same head of thick dark waves as Nico, the same angular features and easy smile. He was dressed in a warm jacket and knitted cap, and his gloved hands held a bright blue leash.

      “Whoa,” he said, sounding exactly like his uncle. Grace assumed this child had to be Nico’s nephew, the one who took his dog for walks and lived nearby. “Uncle Nico has company!” the boy called over his shoulder before returning to Grace.

      “Hi,” he said.

      The dog suddenly came to life and let out another happy bark before easing himself off the bed to greet his friend.

      “Hi. I’m Grace,” she said, wishing she was dressed but glad she wore flannel at the very least. The boy’s mother stepped into the room and stopped as soon as she saw Grace.

      “Oh! I’m sorry,” she managed to say. She was tall, with short dark brown hair and a handsome, angular face. Dressed in jeans and a puffy red vest with matching sweater, she looked as ready to take on winter as her son. “I didn’t know Nico had company.”

      “I’m Grace Clarke.” She held out her hand and attempted to get to her feet, but Nico’s sister intervened.

      “Marie O’Rourke. And this is Brian, my son. You’re hurt.” She put out a hand to stop Grace from moving. “Stay where you are.” Her gaze darted to Grace’s nightgown, then to her booted foot and on to the rumpled bed. “What happened?”

      Nico came to the rescue. He stepped into the room and handed Grace a mug of coffee. “Grace works at the lodge. She slipped in the kitchen last night and I brought her home.”

      “Does it hurt?” Brian asked.

      “Yes. But not as much as it did last night,” Grace said. “And Al kept me company.”

      The dog leaned against Brian and licked his hand.

      “I hung your clothes in the closet,” Nico said, jerking a thumb to one of the wide doors opposite the windows.

      “Thanks, Nico. And thanks for the coffee.”

      “Are you up to go in to work or do you want to hang out here for a few hours?”

      “It’s Secret Santa day,” she reminded him. “Staff brunch at 10:00 a.m., remember?”

      “Oh yeah, that’s right. We drew names?”

      Maria turned to him. “Isn’t that why you asked Cathy to make you a—”

      He put his hand over her mouth. “Secret Santa, big sister. They take these things seriously at the lodge.” Nico turned to his nephew. “Come on, let’s give Grace some privacy.” He ushered the dog, his sister and his nephew out of the room and shut the door behind them.

      “As soon as they leave I’ll make you a frittata,” he whispered. “With a crunchy potato layer that will make you weep with joy.”

      She thought of the calories. Her mouth watered. Her foot throbbed.

      Her heart melted.