Lauren,

Well, well, if it isn’t Randall Tanner’s whelp come home to roost. In the hunting lodge that’s no more yours than your daddy’s. The land and everything on it is Buck Tanner’s, God rest his soul. And before he passed, Buck made clear that no kin of Randall’s should ever live long on Buck’s land.

So first a warning or two, to let you know you ain’t wanted around Tanner’s Crossing.

After that, heaven help you.

Tanner Ties
Peggy Moreland

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PEGGY MORELAND

published her first romance with Silhouette Books in 1989 and continues to delight readers with stories set in her home state of Texas. Winner of the National Readers’ Choice Award, a nominee for the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award and a two-time finalist for the prestigious RITA® Award, Peggy’s books frequently appear on the USA TODAY and Waldenbooks’s bestseller lists. When not writing, you can usually find Peggy outside, tending the cattle, goats and other critters on the ranch she shares with her husband. You may write to Peggy at P.O. Box 1099, Florence, TX 76527-1099, or e-mail her at peggy@peggymoreland.com.

Throughout our many moves over the years, we’ve been blessed with new friends, who made the adjustment of moving to a new area much easier. This book is dedicated to the McDaniels, a wonderful family, whom we met through a dog, of all things. Mike and Nancy, we treasure your friendship and look forward to spending many years as your “country” neighbors!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

One

The dog looked a lot like an overgrown Benji…or might, if a person could see beyond the clods of dirt and burrs that matted its long, shaggy coat. At the moment, the animal was loping along the shoulder on the far side of the road, its tail a plume of tangled fur held high like a sail.

Lauren felt the familiar tug of her heart at the dog’s bedraggled state and quickly stiffened her resolve. She couldn’t take in a stray. She had all she could say grace over without adopting a dog that looked as if it could eat her out of house and home in a week’s time. And she couldn’t afford a vet bill, either, for the shots and checkup a stray would require.

No, she told herself, and forced her gaze away from the dog to the road ahead. She couldn’t take the dog home with her. Even if she could afford to, where would she keep it? She and Rhena had carved out living space for themselves at the hunting lodge, but there wasn’t room for a dog. Especially not for one the size of a small horse.

A truck pulled from a side road into the lane in front of her, snagging her attention. She slowed the car, her gaze going instinctively to the dog.

“Stay where you are,” she urged under her breath. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Oblivious to her concern or the danger that lurked only a few feet away, the dog chose that moment to dart out onto the road. Her heart in her throat, Lauren whipped her gaze to the rear of the truck, hoping that its lights would flash red, indicating that the driver had seen the dog and was braking. When the lights remained dark, she stomped on her own brakes and squeezed her eyes shut, praying the dog had made it across the road. When she opened her eyes, the truck was a good two hundred feet down the road…and the dog lay in a crumpled heap on the pavement.

She quickly parked her car at an angle to block the dog’s body, so that another vehicle wouldn’t hit it, then jumped out. Her legs shook as she rounded the hood of the car and dropped down to her knees next to the animal.

“Hey, buddy,” she murmured, laying a hand gently on its side. “You okay?”

The dog lifted its head and gazed at her with the most pitiful-looking brown eyes she’d ever seen, then dropped its head back to the pavement with a muffled whimper.

Swallowing hard, she scooted closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, buddy,” she assured the dog. “I just want to see how badly you’re hurt.”

Lauren winced, when she saw the pool of blood that was spreading on the road. She needed to turn the dog over in order to determine the severity of its injuries, but she was afraid to move it, for fear she would cause the animal more pain.

She glanced around, hoping to find a house nearby where she could go for help. But the country road stretched for miles in both directions, with nothing but pastureland lining its sides.

Hearing the sound of an engine in the distance, she scrambled to her feet and ran to stand in the middle of the road. She waved her arms over her head to stop the approaching truck. For a moment she thought the driver intended to speed right past her, but he finally slowed the truck, then drew to a stop and lowered his window.

“I need help,” she gasped breathlessly. “Please.”

Keeping his head down, the man snugged his cowboy hat lower over his brow, then opened his door and climbed down. “What’s the problem?”

“Dog,” she managed to get out, then shuddered, thinking of the blood, the pain in the dog’s eyes. She grabbed the man’s arm and tugged him behind her. “Over here. It’s hurt.”

When they reached the animal, she stood back, while the man hunkered down beside it. She could hear him murmuring to the dog as he ran his gloved hands over the animal’s body, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. She couldn’t see the man’s face, either, because of his hat, but she could see his mouth, which was set in a grim line.

She gulped and asked hesitantly, “Is it bad?”

“Bad enough. Pretty deep cut on his hip. Another on his rear leg. Can’t tell if there are any broken bones.”

She shifted her gaze to the man’s hands and the leather work gloves that covered them. “Maybe if you took off your gloves you could get a better idea.”

Ignoring her suggestion, he pushed his hands against his thighs and stood. “If you’ve got a blanket or something, I’ll help you load him into your car.”

She backed away, her eyes wide in horror. “Oh, no. I can’t. It—it’s not my dog.”

His lips flattened. “Well, it’s not mine, either.”

“You could take him to the vet,” she suggested hopefully.

“So could you.”

“I…I can’t.” She gestured toward her car. “I’ve got groceries in my trunk. If I drive back to town now, they’ll ruin.”

He shrugged and headed toward his truck. “Then I guess the buzzards’ll get him.”

Stunned by his callousness, she stared a moment, then ran after him. “But you can’t just leave him here to die!”

He opened his door. “Why not? That’s what you’re planning to do, isn’t it?”

She glanced back at the dog and wrung her hands. “I’m new to Tanner’s Crossing. Even if I didn’t have groceries to worry about, I wouldn’t know where to take him.” She dug her hand in her pocket. “If it’s the money you’re worried about, I’ll help with the expenses.” She thrust a wad of bills at him. “Fifty dollars. It’s all the cash I have with me.”

He hesitated a moment, as if not wanting to bother with the dog, then heaved a sigh and reached behind his seat and pulled out a horse blanket.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked, following him as he returned to the injured animal.

“Load him into my truck.”

She hovered over the stranger, watching as he eased the blanket beneath the dog and picked it up. The dog let out a low whimper, the movement obviously painful. She ran ahead to open the passenger door of the truck, then stepped aside, giving the man the room he needed to lay the dog on the floorboard.

“You’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” she asked uneasily.

He tucked the blanket around the dog, then closed the door. “I’ll see that he gets the care he needs.”

Nodding, she offered him the money again. “I know it’s not much, but it’ll help with the vet’s fees.”

With his mouth set in a grim line, the man shoved her hand aside and rounded his truck. “Keep your money. Use it to buy yourself a new heart.”

Arriving home fifteen minutes later and still fuming over her encounter with the stranger, Lauren dumped the last grocery sack onto the kitchen counter. “And when I offered him money, he wouldn’t take it,” she said, continuing to relate the incident to Rhena. “He told me to use it to buy myself a new heart! Can you believe the nerve of the guy?”

Rhena plucked a gallon of milk from the sack and headed for the refrigerator. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about. He took the dog, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but—”

“And that’s what you wanted him to do, wasn’t it?”

“Well…yes.”

Rhena set the milk in the refrigerator, then returned to the counter. “So what’s your beef?”

“He was rude! He all but called me callous and heartless.”

“What do you care what he thinks of you?”

“I don’t.”

Rhena pulled canned goods from the sack. “You’re just feeling guilty because you didn’t take the dog yourself.”

“I can’t afford to take in a stray. Even if I could, we don’t have a place to keep it.”

“So you did the next best thing. You found someone else to take the dog.”

Lauren sagged her shoulders miserably. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

“Because you think he won’t take as good care of the dog as you would.”

She grimaced, because Rhena had spoken the truth. “You know me too well.”

“Should. I’ve taken care of you since you were in diapers.”

Lauren scowled, remembering the man’s behavior. “The guy was weird. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Kept his hat pulled down low, so I couldn’t see his face. He even had on gloves and refused to take them off when he examined the dog for broken bones.”

“Smart man,” Rhena said, with a nod of approval. “No telling what kind of diseases a stray might carry.”

“Weird,” Lauren repeated stubbornly. “Did I mention that he had on a long-sleeved shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin? Considering he had on work gloves, too, I’d say he’s either extremely modest or part of some religious sect that considers exposing flesh a major sin.”

“Maybe he was just trying to protect himself from the sun. People do that, you know. Skin cancer isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

“Why are you so determined to defend this guy?” Lauren asked in frustration.

“Why are you so anxious to hang him?” Rhena returned. “He took the dog, which is what you wanted him to do. You should be grateful.” She waved an impatient hand at the other sacks of groceries. “Now forget about the dang dog and help me put these away. We’ve got work to do, and standing around yapping isn’t going to get it done.”

“How’s the mutt doing?”

Luke glanced up at the sound of his boss’s, Ry Tanner’s, voice, then turned his attention back to the dog and finished spreading the ointment over the line of stitches that trailed down the animal’s leg. “Better. Still got a long way to go, though.”

“He’s in good hands,” Ry said. “You’ve got a gift with animals.”

Frowning, Luke picked up a cloth and began wiping the ointment from his fingers as he stood. “There’re times I wish I didn’t.”

Ry looked at him curiously. “And why is that?”

His frown deepening, Luke gestured to the dog. “I might’ve saved his life, but for what? His chances for survival are slim at best. If he doesn’t end up as road-kill, some rancher is going to shoot him, thinking he’s a danger to his livestock.”

“Strays are a problem for ranchers,” Ry reminded him. “We’ve lost our share of cattle to wild dogs. A rancher’s only defense is to shoot the strays.”

“Who should be shot are the city folks who dump their pets out in the country. Poor animals are just hungry and tryin’ best they know how to survive.”

“I can’t argue that,” Ry said. “But until someone comes up with a solution to the problem, people are going to continue to dump their pets in the country. There’s no way to stop them. There are no fines or regulations outside the city limits. Pet owners know that and take of advantage of it.”

Scowling, Luke screwed the cap back on the tube of ointment and set it on a shelf. “Doesn’t make it right.” He dragged his hands across the seat of his jeans and heaved a sigh. “Was there something special you needed? I’m about to head out. I’m supposed to meet Monty to mend some fencing.”

“As a matter of fact, there’s something I need to discuss with you.” Ry followed Luke from the feed room out into the alleyway of the barn. “A cousin of ours has moved into the old hunting lodge. She’s planning to convert it into some kind of bed and breakfast or something along that line. Never have quite understood what exactly. My brothers and I offered her our help, but she refused.” He shrugged as they stepped outside into the sunshine. “She’s stubborn. Always has been. But we’re worried about her. She’s had a tough time of it lately.”

Luke stopped beside his truck and looked at Ry in puzzlement. “What’s all this have to do with me?”

Ry reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping. “She advertised in the paper for a part-time handyman. We’d appreciate it if you’d apply for the job.”

Luke stared at the clipping, his gut clenching in dread. “Is this a nice way of saying I’m fired?”

Ry choked a laugh. “Hardly. You know we couldn’t run the Bar-T without you, Luke. We just need someone to keep an eye on our cousin. Look out for her. The job’s part-time and probably short-term, which means, if you get the job, you’d work whatever days she needs you and work the rest of the time at the ranch. Once she no longer needs you, you’d be back here full-time.”

Luke scratched his chin. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I’m not much on being around folks.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” His expression somber, Ry clapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “We need your help, Luke. Ace, Rory, Woodrow, Whit—we’ve all talked about this, and we decided you were the best man for the job. You’re good with your hands. Can fix almost anything that’s put in front of you. But your most important qualifications are your honesty and your loyalty to the Tanners. We know that we can trust you to look after our cousin.”

Luke wanted to refuse. Agreeing to the proposition would mean talking to a woman, spending time around one, something he avoided at all cost. But he owed Ry. If not for Ry and his skill as a surgeon, Luke might’ve lost the use of his hands, and without his hands…well, they might as well have shot him and put him out of his misery, ’cause he was no good without them.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I’ll apply for the job. But don’t blame me if she turns me down,” he added.

“And why would she do that?” Ry asked. “You’re more than qualified for the job.”

Luke tipped back his hat and pointed a finger at his face. “Most women find this a bit hard to look at.”

Luke put off paying a visit to the Tanners’ cousin until the next afternoon. He would’ve put it off longer, if Ry hadn’t asked him at breakfast that morning if he’d talked to her yet. Knowing there was no sense in avoiding the “interview” any longer, he made the drive to the hunting lodge.

Upon the death of Buck and Randall Tanner’s father, the Bar-T—the Tanner ranch—had been divided between the two brothers. Buck, the older of the two, had received the bulk of the land, and Randall had inherited the lodge and the five hundred acres of land surrounding it. Luke had heard that Buck, Ry’s father, hadn’t been pleased with the split, which was ridiculous, considering Buck had inherited the lion’s share of the sizable Tanner estate. Rumor was, Buck had tried to buy the property from his brother and when Randall refused to sell, Buck had never spoken to him again.

Luke shook his head sadly as he parked his truck in front of the old lodge. Buck Tanner had been a stubborn man, one whose life was filled with more drama than all the soap operas on television put together. And he had been mean. He was probably rolling in his grave right now at the thought of his brother’s daughter moving into the old lodge.

With a sigh, Luke climbed down from his truck, snugged his hat low over his brow and walked to the front door. Freshly turned earth marked a long trench that ran from the well house to the lodge, suggesting a plumber had recently laid new lines. Making a mental note to report the repairs to Ry, he rapped his gloved knuckles against the thick cedar door, then waited, silently praying that his knock wouldn’t be heard and he could leave with a clear conscience, knowing he’d at least tried. He was just about to turn for his truck, when the door swung open with a creak.

“Can I help you?” a woman asked.

Luke stole a glance at the woman from beneath the brim of his hat and was surprised to find that she was a good deal older than he’d expected.

Keeping his gaze cast down, he drew the classified ad from his shirt pocket. “Yes, ma’am. I’ve come about the ad you ran in the paper.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you have any remodeling experience?”

“Not specifically,” he admitted. “But I’m good with my hands. I can handle a saw and hammer well enough, and I can fix just about anything that’s broke.”

“Do you drink?” she asked bluntly.

He glanced up in surprise at the question, then quickly dropped his gaze again and shook his head. “I enjoy a cold beer every now and then, but I’m no alcoholic, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Do you have a police record?”

He bit back a smile at the woman’s persistence, thinking the Tanner brothers were wrong about their cousin. There wasn’t a doubt in Luke’s mind that this woman could take care of herself. “No, ma’am. Last traffic ticket I received was for speeding, and that was a good five years ago.”

Still eyeing him suspiciously, she stepped aside. “All right. You can come in.”

He didn’t look up at her but stepped inside, wondering if this meant he had the job. The room she led him into was the main room of the lodge and probably forty feet square. It was obvious that more repair work was going on inside, as the room was bare of any furnishings. Paper covered the floor and crackled with each step he took as he followed the woman across the room. The odd lengths of electrical wire scattered about indicated an electrician had been working on the wiring.

“Lauren is out back,” she said, gesturing to a set of French doors. “Working on the porch. She’s the one who’ll decide whether or not to hire you.”

Luke stared at the retreating woman in confusion. “You’re not the one who placed the ad?”

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “No. Lauren did. Lauren Tanner. She’s the owner.” She gestured toward the doors again. “Go on out and talk to her. See what she has to say. Chances are she’ll hire you. She could definitely use the help.”

Before Luke had a chance to say anything more, the woman stepped into another room and closed the door behind her.

Wishing he could head back to the ranch and forget his promise to Ry, Luke heaved a sigh and strode for the door. Once outside, the sound of hammering drew him to the far end of the porch. A pair of beat-up tennis shoes and denim-covered legs were his only view of the person swinging the hammer from a ladder perched against the roof of the house.

“Ms. Tanner?” he shouted, in order for her to hear him above the banging noise.

The hammering stopped and a head appeared below the edge of the roof. Luke bit back a groan when he found himself looking at the woman who had dumped the dog on him. The family resemblance was so strong, he was surprised he hadn’t made the connection the day she stopped him on the road. She had the Tanner eyes, blue as a summer sky. And her hair was the same inky black as the Tanner brothers.

Although he was careful not to expose his face, she must’ve recognized him, too, because her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. “Did you change your mind about taking my money?” she asked irritably.

“No, ma’am.” He pulled the classified ad from his shirt pocket again. “I’m here about the job.”

She hesitated a moment, then stomped down the ladder, making the metal rungs sing. “Have you done any remodeling before?”

“Yes, ma’am, though not on a regular basis.”

Reaching the ground, she yanked off her gloves. “Do you have any experience with woodworking equipment?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Masonry?”

“Some.”

“What about roofing?”

He stepped out into the yard and looked up at the roof to judge his abilities. Finding it was a tin roof, he breathed a sigh of relief. Tin he could deal with. If it had been a tile roof, that would’ve been a different matter. “I can make what repairs are needed.”

“What about water wells? Do you know how to deal with them?”

“I couldn’t dig one, but I can keep a well pump running.”

“Do you have any references?”

He panicked a moment, but decided honesty was the best policy, even if he did sort of stretch the truth a bit. “I’ve done work for the Tanner brothers. I suppose they’d vouch for me.”

The mention of the Tanner brothers didn’t seem to please her. Scowling, she stuffed her gloves into the rear pocket of her jeans. “The pay is minimum wage and the work back-breaking. Twenty hours a week is all I can afford, and when the remodeling’s completed, the job is over. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I do.”

“I expect you here by seven each morning. It’s cooler then. You can leave at noon, and not a minute sooner. I expect an honest day’s work from you, and I won’t accept sloppy craftsmanship. Any job worth doing is worth doing right.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

“Do you have a preference for what days you work?”

He lifted a shoulder. “No, ma’am. Like I said, I’m flexible.”

“Then we’ll play it day by day. See what works best. You can start tomorrow. Seven sharp.”

She started up the ladder and Luke turned away, figuring the interview was over and the job was his.

“How’s the dog?”

He turned back, surprised that she cared enough to ask. “As good as can be expected, I guess.”

“Were any bones broken?”

“No, ma’am. Took thirty-two stitches to close the wounds, but nothing was broken.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank God,” she murmured, and started up the ladder again.

Anxious to leave, Luke headed for the side of the house.

“Hey!” she called, stopping him.

He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Luke. Luke Jordan.”

She opened her mouth as if she intended to ask him something else, but clamped her lips together and stomped up the ladder to the roof.

After his interview, Luke drove straight back to the Bar-T and knocked on the back door of the ranch house.

“Door’s open!” Ry called.

Dragging off his hat, Luke stepped inside. Ry sat at the table, reading the evening paper. Kayla, Ry’s wife, stood before the stove, stirring something in a pot. The aroma drifting from it made his mouth water.

She glanced over her shoulder and offered him a bright smile. “Hi, Luke. How’re you doing?”

That she could look at him without wincing never ceased to amaze Luke. Never once had she shown any sign of disgust. Not even prior to the surgeries Ry had performed to repair the burns to his face and hands had she ever appeared repulsed by his scarring.

He offered her a smile in return. “Fine, ma’am.” He turned his attention to Ry. “I got the job. Start tomorrow.”

Ry set the newspaper aside. “Any problems?”

Luke shook his head. “Gave me the third degree but seemed satisfied with my answers. The older woman grilled me pretty hard, too.”

“That would be Rhena,” Ry explained. “She’s worked for Lauren’s family for years. If what we heard is correct, she was more of a mother to Lauren than an employee.”

Luke knew nothing about Lauren or her family, so remained silent.

“How was she?” Ry asked. “Did she appear upset or worried about anything?”

Luke considered Ry’s question for a moment, then shook his head. “She seemed all right to me. She was working on the roof above the back porch when I got there. Came down off the ladder to talk to me, then went right back up when we were done.”

“How did the place look?” Ry asked curiously.

“I could tell that some repairs have been made. Electrical wiring’s been replaced. Looked like a plumber’s been there, as the ground around the septic system appeared freshly turned. But there’s a lot more to be done.”

Kayla bit back a smile as she joined Ry at the table. “You missed your calling, Luke. You should have been a detective.”

He snorted a laugh. “I hardly think noticing a few new wires and freshly turned dirt qualifies me as a detective.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed those things,” she replied, then glanced at her husband. “Would you, Ry?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I would.” He winked at Luke. “But since Luke did, that proves we chose the right man for the job.”

Luke shuffled his feet a moment, curious to know about the Tanner brothers’ relationship with their cousin but reluctant to ask. “I’m not trying to get in your business, Ry, but would you mind telling me why you want me to keep an eye on the woman?”

“I told you. She’s our cousin, and we’re worried about her.”

“Yeah, but it seems it would be a heck of a lot easier for you or one of the others to just drop in on her every now and again and check on her.”

“You’re right,” Ry agreed. “It would. Unfortunately, our father, Buck, made that impossible.” He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “You know how Buck was, Luke. He alienated more people than most folks meet in a lifetime. He treated family even worse. After Randall, Lauren’s father, refused to sell him the lodge, Buck disowned him. Cut him out of his life as if he never existed, and never spoke to him again. That was over twenty-five years ago.” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how much Randall told Lauren about his relationship with his brother, but whatever it was must have shed a bad light on us all, because she doesn’t want anything to do with any of us.

“When we heard she was moving here,” he continued, “Ace called her up, offered her our help. She turned him down flat. Said she didn’t need any help from the Tanners. Rory tried again, shortly after she arrived in town. He dropped by the lodge to see her and he said it was like talking to a brick wall.”

Though Luke knew what Ry said was probably true, it didn’t ease his reluctance in spying on the woman. “I don’t feel right doing this. Seems underhanded somehow.”

Ry nodded. “I can understand why you might feel that way. But we’re not asking you to do anything illegal. All we want is for you to make sure she’s safe, that she doesn’t want for anything.”

Luke thought about that for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough.” He snugged on his hat and headed for the back door. He stopped in the doorway and glanced back. “I better warn you, though. I have a feelin’ if she finds out I’m spyin’ on her for y’all, she’s gonna be madder than a wet hen.”

Two

Lauren was surprised the next day when Luke arrived at seven sharp. She’d have bet the farm that he wouldn’t show up at all…and had secretly hoped he wouldn’t.

It bugged her that he’d applied for the job two days after their chance meeting on the road. Rhena kept insisting the two events were nothing but a coincidence. Since Lauren hadn’t told Luke her name, revealed her address or said anything about needing to hire a handyman, she had to believe Rhena was right.

But it still bugged her.

She frowned as she watched him climb down from his truck. It bugged her, too, that he wore his hat low over his brow, kept his gloves on all the time and buttoned his shirt up to his chin. Rhena had said his manner of dress was probably a precaution against skin cancer. Lauren thought it was more likely that he was an escaped convict who feared detection. That made more sense, considering the way her luck with men was running lately.

When he headed for the front door, obviously not having seen her, she shouted, “Over here!”

He stopped and glanced her way, then strode for the side yard. “Mornin’, ma’am.”

She flapped an impatient hand at his old-fashioned manners. “Whatever.” She gestured to the lumber stacked at the side of the house. “We need to move this around to the back porch. We’ll be working there today.”

Without a word, he hefted a large stack of boards to his shoulder and carried it to the rear of the house.

Lauren picked up a sack of nails and followed. “Some of the flooring on the porch needs to be replaced. There’s a leak on the roof and the boards below have rotted.”

He set the lumber down near the sawhorses she had set out, then straightened and peered up at the roof. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to fix the roof first? If it rains, the floor’ll just get wet again.”

“Which is why you’re going up on the roof and repairing the leak, while I replace the boards on the porch.”

What she could see of his face turned a bright red. “I’ll get right on it,” he said, and started for the ladder.

Lauren felt a stab of remorse for her rudeness, but dispelled it by reminding herself that she was the boss. It was important that she establish the lines of authority early on. If she didn’t, he might try to take advantage of the fact that she was a woman.

Grabbing a crowbar, she set to work, prying up the rotted boards and tossing them into a pile to discard later. As she worked, she could hear the solid thud of Luke’s footsteps on the roof overhead and the screech of old iron as he pulled nails from the sheets of tin.

“Ms. Tanner?”

She lifted her head and wiped sweat from her brow. “What?” she asked impatiently.

“I’m going to need at least four sheets of tin to replace the damaged ones I’ve found so far. Maybe more. Do you have any on hand?”

She stifled a groan, wishing she’d thought to request tin when she placed her order with the lumberyard earlier that week. The owner charged her exorbitant delivery fees. Probably because her last name was Tanner and he assumed she could afford to pay whatever price he named. Hoping to avoid an extra delivery, she racked her brain, trying to remember if she’d seen any tin lying around.

“I think there are some extra sheets in the barn,” she called to him.

She heard the thud of his footsteps as he crossed back to the ladder, then saw his boots appear on the top rail. The ladder shook beneath his weight as he clomped down. Upon reaching the ground, he angled his body in profile to her to avoid looking at her. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll check and see if they’re in good enough condition to use.”

It irritated her that he wouldn’t look at her when he spoke to her, but it irritated her even more that she couldn’t see his face.

“Fine,” she snapped. “Look in the loft. I think that’s where I saw the tin.”

She watched him walk away, her frown deepening. His gait was long and easy, his shoulders square. And his head was up, which added another level of irritation to her already miffed mood. He could look at the barn but not at her? The man was beyond weird.

And he was big. He had to be over six feet tall, since the top of her head hit him about chin level. He had wide shoulders and a broad chest that tapered to a slim waist and hips. His legs were long and muscled beneath his jeans, and he had what she’d heard referred to as a cowboy butt—nicely rounded and muscled—as well. His hair—or what she could see of it beneath his ever-present cowboy hat—was a sandy brown. Other than that, she had no idea what he looked like.

Frustrated by his secretive behavior, she attacked a rotted board and pried it up, taking pleasure in the grind of nails and splintering of wood as the board snapped free. She tossed it aside and crawled along the porch until she reached the next damaged board. In spite of the earliness of the morning, it was strenuous work and sweaty, but she relished the burn of muscle, the sense of accomplishment with each finished task. And she was grateful at the end of each workday for her weariness, knowing she’d be able to sleep that night and not toss and turn, haunted by old memories and worries over her future.

A loud crash had her snapping her head up, her gaze going to the barn. Fearing that Luke had fallen out of the loft, she leaped to her feet and ran. Inside the building she stopped to stare, her chest heaving, as she struggled to catch her breath. Luke stood in the alleyway, looking down at a pile of tin, a shovel gripped between his hands like a weapon.

“What happened?” she asked, pressing a hand to her chest to still her heart’s beating.

He braced the shovel against the ground and shook his head. “Rattler. Must’ve been curled up between the sheets of tin. When I pulled ’em down, he came down with ’em.”

Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she eased closer and saw the rattlesnake—or what was left of it—on the ground, and shuddered. “D-did he bite you?”

He puffed his cheeks and released a shaky breath. “No, ma’am. Wanted to, though. I heard the rattle and grabbed the shovel from the wall and whacked it before it had a chance to strike.”

She shifted her gaze to Luke and froze, noticing for the first time that his hat was missing, which offered her a clear view of the left side of his face. Crepey skin, shades lighter than the rest of his face, covered a portion of his cheek. A thin line of puckered flesh trailed from his eyebrow up toward his hairline. That he’d suffered some type of injury was obvious. Exactly what kind, she wasn’t sure. The scarring wasn’t hideous by any stretch of the imagination, but she thought she understood now why he always kept his face hidden.

He glanced over and she found herself looking into eyes colored a soft, warm brown. Kind eyes, she thought. Gentle. The kind of eyes a woman could trust. The kind she could fall into and drown.

When he realized she was staring at him, he quickly turned away and scooped his hat from the ground, his face stained a deep red. After snugging the hat down over his head, he took up the shovel again.

“As soon as I get rid of the carcass,” he said, keeping his face averted, “I’ll bring the tin up to the lodge and get to work on the roof.”

It took her a moment to find her voice. She wanted to ask him what had happened to him, to tell him he shouldn’t be ashamed of the scarring, that it wasn’t that bad.

Instead, she said, “All right,” and walked from the barn, leaving him to deal with the dead snake, and the questions to whirl in her mind.

That evening Lauren sat slumped in one of the Adirondack chairs on the lodge’s front porch. Rhena sat beside her, shelling black-eyed peas. The rhythmic click of peas hitting the pan she held on her lap was a soothing sound in the darkness.

“What do you think happened to him?” Lauren asked thoughtfully.

“Who?”

“Luke. How do you think he got all those scars?”

“How the heck would I know? If you want answers, you’ll have to ask him.”

“I wanted to,” Lauren admitted guiltily. “But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him about something that he’s obviously so self-conscious about.”

Rhena snorted. “Since when has that stopped you from sticking your nose in somebody else’s business?”

Lauren looked at her in surprise. “Are you saying I’m nosy?”

“Need I remind you about the day you asked Florence when her baby was due?”

Lauren pursed her lips. “I was eight years old. I thought anybody with a tummy was pregnant. Besides, all the household staff was wondering the same darn thing, including you,” she added. She jutted her chin defensively. “I saved y’all the embarrassment of asking.”

“And cost Florence her job.”

Lauren felt a prick of guilt, but quickly dispelled it. “Was it my fault she was sleeping with the gardener? Florence knew Dad’s rules. ‘Employees of the Tanner household shall not fornicate with other employees of same household.’ I believe that was rule number five, which was preceded by, ‘No employees of the Tanner household shall gossip about happenings within the Tanner home or about family members who reside in said home.’”

“Your father was a careful man and expected complete loyalty from his employees,” Rhena replied judiciously. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Frowning, Lauren slumped farther down in her chair. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t grow up with a bodyguard shadowing your every step.”

“No. My parents were dirt poor. They didn’t have anything anybody else would want, including me.”

Lauren glanced uneasily at Rhena. “You think I’m spoiled, don’t you?”

Rhena dropped her hands to her lap and looked at Lauren in disgust. “Now that’s downright insulting. I had a hand in your raising, and I never spoiled you. Not once.”

“My father did.”

Pursing her lips, Rhena picked up another pod to shell. “He might’ve tried, but he didn’t succeed. If he had, you would’ve run home with your tail tucked between your legs after you and Devon divorced, and let your daddy take care of you. But you didn’t,” she said with a nod of approval. “You took what you had left and put your back into it in order to survive. In my book, that’s gutsy, not spoiled.”

Reminded of the challenge she’d taken on, Lauren gazed out at the darkened landscape. “Daddy thinks I’m crazy for trying to turn the lodge into a business.”

“The old fart,” Rhena said grumpily. “He thinks everything’s crazy that wasn’t his idea.”

Laughing softly, Lauren gave Rhena’s arm an affectionate pat. “Oh, Rhena. What would I do without you?”

“You’d do just fine.”

“I don’t know that I would. You’ve been my rock ever since I can remember.”

“You’re stronger than you think, Lauren Tanner,” Rhena lectured. “Life’s dealt you some hard blows, but you’ve bounced back from every one of them, fists up and ready to fight.”

“Bounced back?” Lauren repeated doubtfully. “Crawled is more like it.”

“So it took you some time to recover. So what? The point is, you did. A weaker person would’ve curled up in a ball and given up. Not you. You grieved a little, sure. What woman wouldn’t? But then you gathered up the pieces of your life and went on about the business of living.”

Lauren suspected that Rhena was referring to more than her divorce. She was thinking of her mother’s death, as well. Growing pensive, she turned to gaze at the darkness again. “I wish I knew why Mom did what she did.”

“She was unhappy,” Rhena said simply.

“Why?” Lauren asked in frustration. “She had a good life. A husband and children who loved her. A beautiful home and plenty of friends. What more could she have wanted?”

Rhena laid a hand on Lauren’s arm. “Honey,” she said gently, “some things just can’t be explained. They just are.” Drawing her hand back, she began to shell peas again. “Your mother was…fragile. She was when your father married her, and nothing he could do or say was going to change that. And believe me, he tried every way known to man to make her happy.”

“Am I like her?”

Rhena looked at her in amazement. “Where did that come from?”

“Devon said I was. That I was impossible to please, just as she was.”

Rhena huffed. “That’s the biggest bunch of malarkey I’ve ever heard. Devon was the one to blame for the failure of your marriage. Never even tried. He was a taker, not a giver.”

“Dad thinks I’m a fool for having given him access to my bank accounts.”

“If he said that to you, then your daddy’s the fool. Devon was your husband. You had no reason not to trust him.”

“I do now,” Lauren said wryly.

“Yes, but not then. You loved him. A woman should be able to trust the man she gives her heart to.”

“‘Should’ being the operative word.”

“Yes,” Rhena agreed. “But just because one man disappoints you doesn’t mean they all will.”

Lauren shook her head. “Once burned was enough for me. I’ll never let another man hurt me like that again.”

Lauren worked alongside Luke most of the next morning, trimming the trees that surrounded the lodge. The chore was his idea, not hers. Since there wasn’t enough tin for him to finish repairing the roof, he’d suggested trimming the tree limbs that grew over the lodge, which he claimed were responsible for most of the damage done to the roof. Once they started trimming, he’d insisted upon removing the dead limbs, as well, since, according to Luke, they posed a threat to anything and anyone below if they were to fall during a windstorm.

As she worked alongside him, dragging away the limbs he cut, she noticed that he kept his hat down and his face averted. It was no easy task, considering he was manning the pole chainsaw and had to keep his gaze on the tree overhead while cutting down limbs. Lauren had tried to ignore the awkwardness of his position, but after several hours of watching him, she totally lost her patience.

Dropping the limb she held, she snatched off his hat. “Enough is enough!” she cried angrily. “I know your face is scarred, so there’s no point in trying to hide it from me any longer.”

He clamped his jaw down and snatched his hat from her hand. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything. Just trying to protect you, was all.”

She tossed up her hands. “From what? I’ve seen cases of acne that were worse than the scars on your face.”

He dropped his gaze and touched a hand to his cheek, as if to be sure the scars were still there. “Most folks find it hard to look at me.”

“Well, I don’t, and I would appreciate it if you’d look me in the eye when you speak to me, instead of ducking your head.”

A muscle ticked on his jaw. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re looking at the ground.”

He lifted his head and narrowed an eye at her. “Is that better?”

She jutted her chin. “Yes.”

“Can we get back to work now, Ms. Tanner?”

“Don’t call me Ms. Tanner. My name is Lauren.”

He settled his hat over his head again, though this time in a more natural and comfortable position. “Yes, ma’am…Lauren.”

He put enough bite in her name to let her know that he might be willing to follow her orders, but that didn’t mean he liked them. Deciding she’d pushed him far enough for one day, she picked up the limb she’d dropped and dragged it toward the brush pile, her nose in the air.

“Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s get back to work.”

Luke dipped the scoop into the feed bucket and measured out oats. He’d put in a solid five hours at the lodge, driven back to the Bar-T and put in six more, gathering steers and heading them to a new pasture. He was dead tired, but his mind was running like a colt fresh out of a stall.

He didn’t know what to make of his new boss. First off, she was a Tanner, which meant she had to be rich as sin. Yet he hadn’t seen any evidence of an extravagant lifestyle. No fancy clothes. No flashy jewelry. Even the car she drove wasn’t what he’d expect to find a woman of her caliber driving. Although fairly new, the vehicle was modest at best…and totally unsuitable for where she currently lived. In his opinion, a person who lived in the country needed a truck or, at the very least, an SUV. Something tough enough to navigate rough terrain, and with enough storage capacity to haul whatever needed hauling.

And her current living conditions sure as hell weren’t the Hilton. She and the woman who worked for her were all but camping out at the lodge and one of the cabins, having carved out living space for themselves amid the mess that went along with remodeling and construction. From what he could tell, the older woman took care of the household chores, while Lauren handled whatever grunt work needed doing. She worked right alongside Luke, doing chores better suited for a man, when she could just as easily have sat on the porch in the shade painting her nails and shouting out orders.

But the thing that confounded him most about the woman was her reaction to seeing his face. He’d known that she’d gotten a fairly good look at him the day before in the barn, when he’d lost his hat while killing the rattler. But the lighting was dimmer in the barn and he figured—based on the fact that she hadn’t screamed or covered her eyes—that she hadn’t seen how badly he was scarred. He might’ve gone on believing that, if she hadn’t snatched off his hat this morning in full daylight and looked him square in the face, without flinching so much as a muscle. In fact, the only emotion she’d displayed was anger. That I’ve-had-all-of-this-I’m-gonna-take kind of anger that let a man know when a woman had reached the end of her rope.

Giving his head a shake, he dumped the oats into the trough and moved down the alleyway to the next stall. And that’s what he couldn’t figure. Why was she so hell-bent on him exposing his face? And why hadn’t she cringed when she’d seen it? Hell, he was no fool. He hadn’t been much to look at before the fire, and the scars it had left him with sure hadn’t improved his appearance any. Ry Tanner might be a gifted plastic surgeon, but he was no magician. He couldn’t put back what wasn’t there in the first place.

Lauren, on the other hand, was a feast for the eyes. She had the same coal-black hair as the Tanner brothers, and the same deep-blue eyes. But all similarity to her cousins stopped there. She had a figure that made a man look twice, and a way of moving that made one stop and stare. Long-legged and slim-hipped, she walked with a purpose, chin up, arms swinging at her sides. And when she was studying something, a crease formed between her eyes and her lips puckered slightly.

He dumped the second measure of oats into the trough and released a lusty sigh. Those lips. Full, almost puffy looking and stained a natural rose. Beestung lips, his mother would’ve called them. Kissable was what he would call them.

He heaved another sigh, this one full of resignation, and strode to the next stall. Whether Lauren’s lips were kissable or not, he’d never know. Even before the fire, a lady like her would’ve been out of his reach. She was a Tanner and he was…well, he was Luke Jordan, second son of a rodeo bum and short-order cook. He didn’t have a pedigree, or any kind of degree, for that matter. He’d dropped out of high school in the eleventh grade and started cowboying full-time for any rancher who was willing to offer him a decent wage and a bunkhouse to sleep in.

No, he’d never know if Lauren’s lips were kissable. Not firsthand, at any rate. Hell, she was so far out of his reach, he’d need a ladder to touch her toes.

A whine had him angling his head toward the feed room door.

With a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, he set the bucket down and moved to unlatch the door.

“Hey, buddy,” he said and dropped to a knee to give the dog’s ears an affectionate rub. “How’re you feelin’ today?”

In response, the dog licked his hand.

His smile widening, Luke pushed to his feet. “Bet you’d like to stretch your legs a bit, after being cooped up so long, wouldn’t you?” He patted a hand against his thigh, signaling the dog to follow him. “Come on, then. You can help me feed the horses.”

The dog limped along behind him, pausing each time he stopped to measure oats into a trough before moving on to the next stall. When they reached the last one, Luke hooked the feed bucket over a nail, then returned to the feed room. “Come on, buddy,” he said, holding the door open. “It’s time for me to head for the bunkhouse.”

The dog sank down on his haunches and whined pitifully, not wanting to go back inside. Luke closed the door, then walked back to the dog and reached down to scratch its ears. “Don’t blame you,” he murmured softly. “I get pretty damn lonesome myself.”

Rising, he slapped his hand against his thigh again. “Come on,” he said, letting the dog know it was okay to follow him outside. “You can bunk with me tonight.”

Once outside, Luke paused to look up at the sky. “Looks like we might get us some rain tonight,” he said, then glanced over to see if the dog was listening and grinned when he saw that its ears were perked up. “Good sleepin’ weather, right?”

In response, the dog let out a yip and darted for the bunkhouse. Laughing, Luke watched the dog run. Though he still favored his right rear leg, he was clearly on the mend. Pleased with the animal’s progress, Luke stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to follow, wondering what Monty would say when he learned that Luke had invited the dog to spend the night with them.

As he neared the bunkhouse, a clap of thunder sounded in the distance and the wind picked up, scattering dead leaves across the path. He lifted his head to look at the sky again, and saw that dark clouds were roiling in from the north.

“Not just some rain,” he amended, frowning at the boiling sky. “Looks like we’re in for a real frog strangler.”

He’d no sooner made the comment, than his thoughts segued to Lauren and the tin yet to be replaced on the roof of the lodge. A blowing rain would test the soundness of a good roof. No telling what kind of damage it would do to one as old as the one on the lodge. And if it hailed…well, she might as well kiss that roof goodbye, ’cause he seriously doubted that old tin could withstand the beating hail would give it.

What was worse, she was bound to lose her electrical power. Rural service usually went down in a bad storm and was slow to return after the weather passed over. He doubted there was a generator at the lodge or that Lauren would know how to run it if there was one.

He started toward his truck, intending to drive to the lodge and make sure she and the old woman were all right, but stopped just shy of reaching it. He couldn’t go chasing over there to check on her, he told himself. She was a grown woman and capable of taking care of herself. She didn’t need him fussin’ over her, and doubted she’d appreciate him droppin’ by uninvited.

But if something were to happen to her, then what? The woman was a greenhorn when it came to country life. She wouldn’t know how to prepare for a storm and probably didn’t have the supplies on hand to ride one out.

Firming his mouth, he strode to his truck. As he started to climb in, a bark stopped him. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the dog had followed. He glanced at the barn, weighing the time it would take to return the dog to the feed room. Sighing, he scooped up the dog and plunked him down on the passenger seat. The dog sat up, tongue lolling, and looked out the windshield.

Halfway to Lauren’s, it started sprinkling. By the time Luke pulled up in front of the lodge, the rain was coming down so hard, he couldn’t see two feet in front of the truck. He pulled a slicker from the back seat, shrugged it on, then yanked his hat down farther over his brow and opened his door. Before he could react, the dog leaped out of the truck. Within seconds his coat was plastered to his hide, making him look like an overgrown drowned rat.

As Luke clomped his way around back through the puddles already forming on the ground, he noticed that Lauren’s car was gone. She’d probably hightailed it for town the minute she’d seen the storm clouds building, he thought. A good thing, in his estimation. Her absence also proved that she was a greenhorn. A person who couldn’t handle a little rain had no business living in this neck of the woods and so far from civilization.

Among the building supplies stacked on the back porch, he found several rolls of plastic. Tucking one under his arm, he grabbed the ladder, carried it out into the rain and braced it against the edge of the roof.

“Stay,” he instructed the dog, then climbed up the ladder, keeping his head down to protect his face from the stinging bullets of rain. He made quick work of rolling out the plastic and securing it with logs he borrowed from the firewood rack. By the time he reached the ground for the last time, he was soaked to the skin and winded.

Confident that the plastic would protect the lodge’s interior from water damage, he glanced toward the cabin where he knew Lauren stayed. Set five hundred or more feet from the rear of the lodge, it, too, was surrounded by trees. He could hear the screech of metal as the wind pushed the limbs across the cabin’s tin roof. He wavered, wondering if he should put plastic on that roof, as well. With a sigh of resignation, he gathered up another roll of plastic and the ladder.

“Stay,” he said to the dog again, who was standing under the lodge’s back porch, watching him expectantly. The dog looked from him to the rain and sank down on its haunches.

Smart dog, Luke thought, as he made his way to the cabin.

He was halfway across the cabin’s roof, when he heard a commotion below. Wondering what was going on, he slid to the edge of the roof and peered down. Lauren stood in front of the cabin, wearing a yellow raincoat and looking up at him from beneath its hood.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shouted, to be heard over the pounding rain.

“Puttin’ plastic over the roof,” he yelled back. “Almost done.”

“You might have asked first.”

“Didn’t know you were here. Car’s gone.”

“Rhena went to town for groceries.”

Damn fool woman, he thought, and shifted to start down the ladder. “I better go and look for her,” he said. “Roads flood when we get this much rain in such a short time.”

“That’s not necessary,” she called back, stopping him. “She called earlier. Said she’s staying in town with Maude until the storm is over.”

Knowing Maude, Luke thought, Rhena probably didn’t have much say in the matter. The owner of the local grocery store and the biggest gossip in town, Maude bossed everybody around, no matter what their age.

With a sigh he stepped onto the roof again. “Get back inside and out of the rain,” he ordered.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

He paused, sure that he’d misunderstood, then moved back to the edge of the roof and saw that she was still standing in the rain, glaring up at him, her hands fisted on her hips. “Then stand there and drown,” he told her. “Makes me no nevermind.”

Muttering curses under his breath, he picked up a log, dropped it over the plastic to secure it, then tugged the sheet, walking backward, to spread it out more. He was bending to pick up another log, when he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Lauren had grabbed the plastic roll and was slip-sliding her way across the roof, dragging it behind her.

Stubborn woman, he thought irritably. She was going to slip on the slick tin and fall and break her neck…if lightning didn’t strike her first.

Well, if she did fall, that was her problem, he told himself, and continued to lay out plastic. She obviously didn’t have the good sense God gave a goose.

Amazingly, they finished laying out the plastic without incident, then Luke followed Lauren down the ladder to the ground. Rain was streaming down his face and dripping off his chin as he folded the ladder, preparing to leave.

Her stance resentful, Lauren watched him, her arms hugging her waist. “You can add a couple of hours to your time sheet.”

He dragged a hand down his face, sluicing off water, before lifting the ladder to his shoulder. “I didn’t do it for the pay.”

“Oh. Well,” she said, obviously flustered. She frowned a moment, then gestured toward the cabin. “The least I can do is offer you a towel to dry off with.”

“Thanks, but I better go. I’ve got—”

Before he could explain that he had the dog with him, the animal in question came bounding toward them on his three good legs, barking like a maniac.

At the sound, Lauren whirled. Her eyes went wide when she recognized the dog, and she dropped to her knees and opened her arms. The dog leaped up, planting its front paws on her shoulders and licking her face.

Laughing, she tried to dodge his exuberant greeting. “Just look at you!” she cried. “If I didn’t know better, I’d never believe you were almost a greasy spot on the road.”

Luke eased closer, surprised by her obvious delight in seeing the dog. “Another week or so and he’ll lose the limp.”

She glanced up at him, her face wreathed in a smile. “That vet you took him to must be one talented guy.”

Luke dropped his gaze. “Uh…I never took him to the vet.”

She looked at him curiously. “But I thought you said he required stitches?”

“Thirty-two in all.”

“If a vet didn’t stitch him up, who did?”

“Me.”

“You?”

He scowled at the doubt in her voice. “I’ve worked around animals most of my life. He isn’t the first one I’ve patched up.”

Before she could reply, the first flash of lightning ripped the sky, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Lauren quickly pushed to her feet. “We better get out of this storm.”

“Yeah. Better.” Luke slapped a hand against his thigh, signaling the dog to follow. “Come on. Let’s hit the road.”

Lauren dropped a protective hand on the dog’s head. “Come inside and dry off first.”

Luke shook his head. “’Preciate the offer, but I need to get the dog out of the weather.”

“He’s welcome to come in, too.”

“But he’s wet and muddy and smells like dog.”

Laughing, Lauren gave the dog’s ears an affectionate rub. “He is a dog. What should he smell like?”

Luke watched her head for the cabin door, the dog trotting happily along at her side. With no other choices left to him, he followed.

Three

The interior of the cabin was dark as a cave. Luke had been right in assuming Lauren would lose electrical power during the storm.

“Give me a second to light some candles,” she said, “then I’ll get you a towel.”

He remained just inside the door and stripped off his dripping slicker, then toed off his muddy boots. He heard the scrape of a match and saw the burst of a small flame. With her hand cupped around it, Lauren leaned to touch the flame to a wick. The flame burned brighter, illuminating her face. She moved her hand to light a second candle, a third. After lighting them all, she straightened with a sigh, pushed back the hood of her jacket and shook out her hair.

He couldn’t help but stare. God, she’s beautiful, he thought. In the candlelight, her hair gleamed like black satin and her cheeks like dew-kissed roses.

She glanced his way and gave him an apologetic smile, as she removed her raincoat. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you hot coffee. The electricity’s off.”

“I figured you’d lose power during the storm.”

“I can offer you a dry towel, though. Give me a sec and I’ll get you one.”

He watched her pass through an open doorway into another room. He heard her scuffling around inside and figured she was changing clothes. She appeared moments later, wearing a butter-yellow sweatsuit, a towel wrapped around her head, turban-style. She was carrying a stack of fluffy towels and handed him one, then dropped down on the sofa and opened the remaining one over her lap.

Smiling at the dog, she patted the towel. “Come on, Buddy. Let’s get you dried off.”

In the midst of drying off his own face, Luke slowly lowered the towel. “Buddy?” he repeated dully.

Her expression turning sheepish, she scrubbed the towel over the dog’s head. “Sorry. Habit. I’ve probably had five pets in my lifetime, and I’ve named every one of them Buddy.” With a shrug she wiped the towel over the dog’s back. “So, what did you name him?”

He eased closer. “Didn’t. I just call him…buddy.”

She lifted her head and looked at him in surprise. “Really?” She shifted her gaze back to the dog and smiled. “Then, I guess Buddy’s your name. Is that all right with you?”

In answer, he licked her full on the mouth.

Laughing, she dragged the back of her hand across her lips. “And isn’t that just like a man? Trying to French kiss a woman on the first date.” She quickly dried the dog’s legs, then leaned back to inspect him. “You still look half-drowned, but that’s the best I can do.” She cocked her head. “How about a treat?”

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