Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(12)

Wyatt balanced on one knee while he wrote down the dimensions of the minimum of work that needed to take place to keep Miss Gina’s guests dry. He was extending his tape measure for the fourth time since climbing on the steep roof when he heard a noise behind him.

He twisted, caught himself as he slid half a foot.

“Wow . . . this is awesome.”

A little girl . . . seven, maybe ten, he couldn’t tell . . . had climbed up his ladder and was perched way too close to the edge of the brittle roof.

“Jesus!” He wasn’t sure where the kid had come from, but given how she was flipping around on the steep grade, she had no idea of the drop below.

“Climbing a tree must be like this,” he heard her say.

Wyatt felt his nose flare, took a deep breath. “Hey,” he said in a voice five times calmer than he felt.

“This is better than climbing a tree, isn’t it?” the kid asked as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

He wanted to counter her . . . say that if she were in a tree and fell the branches would break her fall, possibly end with a broken leg, not a broken neck.

To his dismay, the kid started to climb higher. “Can you see the ocean?” she asked as if they were sightseeing.

“Hold on!” This time Wyatt used a stronger voice.

The kid hesitated and slid a few inches.

Wyatt’s breath caught before the girl stopped herself and continued to climb. “Miss Gina said there was a leak . . . are you fixing the leak?”

“Yeah . . . you, you shouldn’t be up here.”

The tiny girl kept climbing and Wyatt felt his limbs crawling closer to the kid.

If he had a crew on this roof, he’d have to have scaffolding, rails to ensure the safety of his men. He didn’t hold any concessions for himself . . . but a little girl without any idea of the danger of dangling off the side of a roof was a complete risk.

“Stop!” He found himself almost yelling when the kid moved closer to the failing shingles.

Her big blue eyes grew wide, her feet stopped moving.

“It’s not safe up here for little girls.”

Her brows drew together and Wyatt knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“Girls are just as strong as boys. More so.” She started to climb again. Determined.

Suddenly the world moved in slow motion. He saw her hand grip an unstable shingle, her feet lose balance . . . and a shriek sounded from below, drawing the child’s attention away from holding on.

With one hand dragging behind him, he let his boots lose their grip and took out a good twenty feet of Miss Gina’s roof before grasping hold of the kid’s hand and stopping the both of them on the gutter of the inn before they could take a two-for-one special ride to the nearest emergency room.

“Hope!”

“I got her.” Wyatt wrapped an arm around the kid and didn’t take another breath until he knew neither one of them was going over the edge.

Good God.

The little girl grabbed his chest with tiny nails and all but crawled up his neck.

“Hope?” A woman’s frantic cry had Wyatt opening his eyes.

Three stories down stood a blonde woman who had to be Hope’s mother. Before Wyatt could encourage Hope’s vise grip to leave some circulation in his neck, Miss Gina was beside the blonde.

“What the hell is going on?”

The blonde pointed up.

With her long skirts flowing behind her, Miss Gina tried to hold her hair back as the wind pushed against it.

“Hope, what are you doing up there?” Miss Gina asked.

“Climbing a tree,” Wyatt heard her say.

“This isn’t a tree, sweetheart,” he told her.

Hope had figured that out and all the bravado that had passed her lips a few minutes before was gone now. She glanced to the ground and quickly buried her head into Wyatt’s chest.

“Don’t let her go!” the voice of Mom called.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” Hope asked in a small voice.

Where had the strong, tiny girl who was there a few minutes ago gone? She’d been brave, managed quite the climb before a slip.

“No,” he told her. “We’re going to climb down together.”

She held on fast.

Wyatt had to anchor his feet tighter to keep from sliding.

He inched closer to the ladder, Hope nothing but a barnacle on the hull of his frame.

“Sweetie,” he said once they reached the ladder. “I need you to let go.”

She held tighter.

“Hey,” he said in a voice only she could hear. “You climbed up here. Let go and just sit while I step on the ladder and help you down.”

Those doe eyes blinked a few times before her grip loosened.

He started to let her go and she clasped on.

Distract . . . get her to stop looking down.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Se-seven,” she stuttered.

“Really? I thought you were at least a teenager, climbing up here like you did.” Her grip let loose again.

Wyatt kept one hand on her as he positioned himself on the ladder.

“I’m just seven,” Hope said in a much calmer voice. “Gonna be eight in August.”

Once his feet were secure on the second step down the ladder, he waved Hope over.