“Kip! Oh my god! Are you okay?” Still wearing his work gloves, he pushed the Christmas tree back up and cleared away enough sharp glass to allow her to turn over and sit up. “I’m fine,” she sputtered, embarrassed, and then glared up at him. “Why did you just walk right in?” He was kneeling in front of her, his gloved hand on her bare leg and his concerned, sparkling blue eyes searching her face. “I saw through the window what you were trying to do so I hurried in to help you before you fell.” “I fell because you came in.” “I’m really sorry. Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yes, I’m fine. Just help me up.” “Hang on, there’s glass everywhere and you have bare feet.” He cast his eyes around the mess that had been her Christmas tree and his voice trailed off. “Kip, do you have a first-aid kit anywhere?” “Why? I’m—” Her eyes followed his and her voice cut off with a weak moan. Her thigh was bleeding from what appeared to be several small cuts, but that wasn’t the real problem.
