She collapsed on top of him like a rag doll.
“If this is what the next eleven days have in store for me, I think I’m gonna die,” she told him.
His chest moved, nearly shaking her off as he laughed.
She just lay there and smiled, completely content.
“Baby, I’m gonna go grab some more wood out of the woodshed and stack it under the porch,” Clint told Charlie as he pulled on his boots.
She looked up from where she’d been concentrating on her coloring book. She held it up to him. “What do ya think, Daddy?”
“Looks great, darling,” he told her warmly. He was glad that Charlotte stuck mainly to using coloring books where she just colored between the lines. Unlike Ellie who liked to create pictures. He could never tell what the hell they were.
“I’ll come help, Daddy.” She jumped to her feet.
“You will not. You’ll stay in here where it’s warm.”
“I’m a good helper.”
He gave her a nod. “You are. You can help cook dinner. Inside. Where it’s warm. And you won’t catch a cold.” Charlotte was, of course, the better cook. But when she was firmly in Little headspace, he treated her like the four-year-old she associated as being. Four-year-old’s got to help. They did not get to operate the stove or deal with anything hot.
She rolled her eyes. “Daddy, you don’t catch a cold from being cold.”
“Says who?”
“Sesame Street,” she replied immediately.
“I don’t think that you learned that on Sesame Street.” Although, who knew. What he did know was she wasn’t coming out into the cold to help.
“Bottom down and the next time you roll those pretty eyes, you’ll spend some time staring at the corner.”
She immediately sat. He thought that might work.
Fifteen minutes later, Clint walked back into the cabin and dumped a load of wood by the door. Then he pulled off his boots and jacket. Shit, it was cold out there. Snow was coming, he could feel it in the air.
Hmm, it was unusually quiet. “Charlotte?”
He frowned, looking around. Her coloring book and pens lay on the coffee table. Could be she was in the bathroom. But then why wouldn’t she answer him?
“Darling, where are you?” He stepped forward. Surely, she wouldn’t have snuck outside. . .if she had, she was in a world of trouble.
“Boo!” a scream came from behind him and he turned, thanking his reflexes as he managed to catch her when she jumped straight at him. Little minx must have been waiting behind the door to surprise him.
“You little brat!”
She was laughing like a loon. “You should have seen your face! I got you good, Daddy!”
She certainly had. He grinned then picked her up and threw her gently onto the couch. He knelt before she could move away and started to tickle her.
“Daddy! Daddy! No!!”
“This is what happens when you give Daddy a fright,” he told her. “You get tickled. Could have given me a heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. . .Daddy!” she screeched as he continued to tickle her, curling up into a ball to protect herself. “I know. . .how ancient. . .you are!”
“Ancient? Ancient!”
“Stop, Daddy! Stop! I’s gonna pee myself!”