he noticed, so that its weight would be coming right at her. Corie made a broad gesture with both arms and shouted orders he couldn’t hear over the din of the children’s voices. They all backed out of the way.
She pushed up the long sleeves of her plain blue T-shirt and stood still for a moment, studying the tree. It occurred to him later that he should have acted then, but he was momentarily paralyzed by the sight of her small, shapely body and what seemed like a foot and a half of glossy black hair shifting sinuously, seductively, over her shoulder, thin bangs above a dark, thoughtful stare. Then she firmed her expressive mouth and reached for the tree.
She pulled hard and the tree slid toward her. As he hurried forward, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain to Jack why he’d allowed his long-lost little sister to be crushed by a Christmas tree, he saw that Corie was using the tarp to move the tree. He gave her points for smarts, but strode toward her as she leaned it against the tailgate, suspecting she was still in danger. Was she really going to try to lift it?
Of course, she was. She leaned into the tree, wrapped her arms around it about a third of the way up from the bottom and pulled.
He shouted her name and picked up his pace.
As she tried to hold the tree upright, presumably so the children could see it better, she turned toward the sound of his voice. Both her arms were lost in the tree, which was much more than twice her height. Her eyes and mouth widened in complete surprise when she saw him.
She lost control of the tree.
* * *
AT THE SOUND of that male voice, Corie Ochoa’s hard-to-muster Christmas spirit seized and cramped. Ben Palmer? It couldn’t be.
In complete disbelief, she saw him coming toward her, picking up speed, six feet and a couple of inches of darkly gorgeous but self-righteous, self-satisfied male who disliked and distrusted her. What was he doing here? He...
And then she remembered she was holding a tree. A big one. She felt the weight of it push against her as that momentary distraction caused her to lose her grip. The weight of the tipping tree drove her backward and she struggled futilely to disentangle her arms.
She heard the children screaming as she and the tree went down. Just before she hit the grass, a steely grip on her arm yanked her sideways, pulling her body away from the trunk and probably her arm out of its socket. A branch thwacked her in the face.
Dislocated arm beats crushed sternum, she thought as she landed on her back on the lawn, buried beneath twelve feet of Leyland Spruce. And something else. Curiously the branches weren’t crushing her as much as she’d expected. Then she realized she was not alone in her bowery tomb. Ben Palmer was lying on top of her.
“Great,” she said, pushing on him. “You’re just what I need right now. Who sent you? The Grinch? The Ghost of Christmas Past?”
He didn’t reply.
She pushed again but the tree was heavy and so was he. “Ben! Would you please move?” she demanded. She wasn’t sure how he’d accomplish that, but she was sure he was as uncomfortable being body to body with her as she was with him.
He groaned.
“Ben?” she asked worriedly, then said his name louder when his reply was another groan. “Are you hurt?”
“Corie?” Teresa lay on her stomach, looking at Corie through the lacy pattern of needles and branches. “Are you all right? You got smacked by a branch and I think the trunk might have hit Ben hard.”
“I’m okay. I just can’t move,” Corie replied. “Call 9-1-1.”
“No.” The single word came firmly if a little quietly from Ben, followed by a small gasp of pain. “No. Just...give me a minute.”
Relieved to hear his voice, though the words he spoke usually annoyed her, she said, “I don’t have a minute, Ben. You weigh a ton. I think my stomach is coming out my ears.”
“I believe that’s physically impossible. But there seems to be a lot coming out of your mouth.”
There. Annoying. “Hey!” she complained.
“Relax. Maybe we can roll out of here.” He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Apart from the fact that I have twelve feet of tree on me and six feet of hateful man?”
He muttered something unintelligible then it felt as though he tried to boost himself off her and couldn’t. He tried again. No luck. It alarmed her that she was very aware of every muscle in his body pressed into every soft surface of hers.
“Don’t panic,” he said. “I can’t lift up, so we’re going sideways. Okay?”
“Please hurry. Before we start growing moss.”
“Keep your hands tucked in,” he said sharply. He cupped the back of her head in one of his hands, tucked her face into the hollow of his shoulder and, with a leg wrapped around hers, rolled them sideways.
Teresa and the older children pulled on them. Sweaty little hands grabbed her arm. Ben pushed her away from him. Suddenly she was on her knees, the sun on her face.
She reached toward Ben, who lay on his back, his chest moving comfortingly up and down, a broken branch of the tree still covering him. Corie dragged it away and she and Teresa pulled him clear.
Teresa put her hands to Ben’s face and looked him over feature by feature. “Oh, Ben. Can you see? Does your head hurt?”
His thick, blunt eyelashes rose up then down. “I’m fine.” He rolled over and stood carefully. When he straightened, he wobbled.
Corie put his arm around her shoulders and wrapped hers around his waist. “Easy. Don’t fall,” she pleaded, “or we’ll never get you up.”
“We could put him in the wheelbarrow,” Soren suggested helpfully, hovering around them. “Want me to get it?”
Ben smiled and Corie heard a low laugh escape him. “No, thanks. I can make it.”
With Teresa on his other side, they started for the house. “Just go slowly,” she instructed as though he were one of the children. “Let us share your weight. Boys, run and open the door and make sure the couch is clear.”
Let them share his weight. He felt like Gulliver being led away by the Lilliputians.
Ben let them lead him to the sofa but refused to lie down. As soon as he was seated Teresa headed for the kitchen. Ben ran a hand over his face to clear blurry eyes and looked up at Corie. “You’re sure you’re okay? There’s a bruise near your cheekbone.”
“I just carried you across the yard, didn’t I?”
He saw a hint of humor in her expression. He couldn’t stop an answering smile—until he remembered why he was here. But before he could raise the subject, Teresa returned with two wet washcloths. She placed one unceremoniously on his upturned face and the other she put against Corie’s cheek.
“That bruise might be from Ben’s shoulder,” she said, “when he went down on top of you. I’m sure the trunk missed you, but you got a branch in the face. I think you’re okay but... Ben? Are you? The trunk smacked right into you.”
“Yeah.” He held the cold cloth to his face one more minute then took it down. His back prickled and he shifted uncomfortably. “Apart from having needles down my shirt.”
“I’ll get you another shirt and wash that one for you. How’re you doing, Corie? Want a glass of water? A cup of tea?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Nine little bodies crowded around them as Teresa left the room again. Rosie held Roberto.
“Everything’s okay,” Corie told them. “I’m fine. Ben’s fine. You can go play.”
Carlos