“Lookee what we have here,” I finished, peering up at Clark.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he answered, walking slowly up the steps.

When I’d called him, he said he’d be right over. And he hadn’t laughed, just asked if I was all right and did I need anything. I told him a margarita would be nice. He’d ignored that request, but he had brought his toolbox. Rubbermaid. Red. Stamped with Clark Barrow on the side—in case someone tried to take it?

Sunday Evening Clark was much more dressed down: faded jeans, running shoes, untucked plaid shirt over a white undershirt. I suddenly said a prayer that it wasn’t a tank-top undershirt, that he was the kind of guy who wore T-shirts, and then mentally slapped myself for giving a shit what he wore under his faded plaid shirt. That looked soft and comfortable and warm. I shivered. It was getting cold out here, playing buoy on the sea of porch.

He knelt down in front of me and assessed the situation.

“One would think it unwise, Vivian, knowing the condition of this rotten wood, to traipse about so carelessly,” he said as he poked at the wood around my left leg, which was buried to midthigh. I’d been sitting half on and half off the broken wood for the better part of twenty minutes, and was starting to get more than a little agitated.

“One would think that after getting punched in the nose one would be unwise to provoke me,” I said sweetly.

He turned his gaze from my leg to my face, his eyes calculating. “You’re the one stuck in the porch. You sure you want to pick a fight with me right now?”

He had me there, dammit. “Okay, fine. No fight picking. But do something, Clark.”

“I’m waiting for the magic word.”

“Um, now?”

“Really?”

“Asshole?”

“Come on.”

“Clark!”

“Vivian.”

“Oh, fine. Please help me, Clark. Please, please, please?” I managed, gritting my teeth.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he smiled, his face lighting up.

“Still not out of this porch here,” I said.

He nodded. “As personally gratifying as it is to see you like this, there is a bit of storm coming and I’d rather not be out here when it hits. So let’s see what we can do here, shall we?”

“Yes, shall we?” I repeated, leaning back so he could get a better look at how I was wedged.

“Pardon me, I need to get a little closer here. I just—Ah, yes, I can see it there.” Clark had leaned across me, one arm on either side of me as he peered through the broken board to the ground below. His head was almost flush with the floor. And flush with what else was on the floor. Flush with my— Oh my. I unexpectedly felt his breath on my bare thighs. I was dressed in running shorts that left little to the imagination, and my imagination was bombarding my senses with the most inappropriate images.

All I could think about was if he just moved about three inches to the left, he could probably get me off with his jaw alone. And how in world had I never noticed that it was so very strong, so very chiseled, so very lightly covered with Sunday-evening stubble? Stubble that could so very easily drag back and forth across the inside of my legs, up and down, and right and left, and then up, up, and away toward my—

“I’m going to have to go down,” he said, and it took all the strength I had not to bury my hand in that flippy soft brown hair and take him at his word.

“Sorry?” I asked, panting. I was panting, for Christ’s sake! Over a librarian?

Mmmm, over a librarian . . .

“I have to go down beneath the porch. Believe me, I’m not looking forward to it. Who knows what’s under there?” he said, turning toward me. All I could see was bandage, and the bruises that were fading from purple to yellow around the edges, and the spell was broken.

Still breathing a little heavy, I warned him to watch out for dolls. And watched as he hurried down the steps, around the side of the house, and began removing the latticework cover on the side of the porch with the utmost care.

What the hell! Lusting after a librarian, when there was a cowboy on the loose? It was clear that lusting after Hank had addled my brains. I was seeing things, imagining things, getting hot over the slightest touch, even from a guy like Clark.

The wind blew more forcefully across the porch, and I shivered. What the hell was taking so long?

“Hey! You want to put a little hustle on over there?” I finally called out, when the third piece of lattice was placed carefully onto the porch.

His head popped up over the edge. “Do you have any idea how old this is?”

“Do you have any idea how much it’s going to suck if you’re caught underneath there in the rain?”

He looked at the sky, getting darker by the minute. “Point taken.” He pried off the last of the lattice, then disappeared.

I could hear scrambling coming from beneath me, and then I could feel the ground shifting a little under my stuck foot.

“Vivian? It’s just me. Don’t be alarmed.”

“No kidding, Clark. Who else would it be?”

“Well, pardon me all over the place. I was just concerned that if you were surprised, your first instinct would be to kick. So let’s see what we can do about getting this free.”

Then he put his hands on my leg. Wrapped his hands around my ankle, turning it slightly. “Okay, it’s wedged into a cement block, but I think I can get it loose. Bear with me a moment, Vivian.”