“Because you feel sorry for me?”
“Because I don’t want to eat alone.” She waved him along, walking sure-footedly even as a golden retriever and cocker spaniel played chase in circles around her feet. “Come on, you can help me make the hamburger patties. Gotta warn you, though, we’ll be eating off paper plates. I hate to do dishes, since I already wash so many dog bowls every day. Like I said, nothing fancy.”
Just completely normal. And tempting. But his life wasn’t normal anymore. “Thanks. Maybe another time. I really need to track down Rachel.”
***
Rachel disconnected Liam’s phone with a frustrated jab. “He’s not home, and he’s not answering his cell. I don’t know where he is. And Catriona’s not picking up either.”
She dropped Liam’s phone back into a cup holder between them and hooked her elbow out the open window as they drove along the oceanside road. Streetlamps curved inward overhead, marking the roadway. The moonlight glinted off the murky water alongside, tiny ripples crawling across the surface. The air turned muggy as the after-storm humidity hung in the air and steamed up from the road.
Hot. But not nearly as hot as her town house currently burning to the ground. She tipped her head back on the seat, her chest tight at how close she and Disco had come to being caught in that blaze. How many other people hadn’t been nearly as lucky? She couldn’t bear the thought that anyone was even injured because of her.
Even if everyone walked away, how awful to lose everything. It was only a rental and she didn’t own much, but the mementos she’d collected over the years were irreplaceable.>Brandon slammed his door, triggering a distant ripple of barks. He flinched. His pulse ramped. He tipped back his head and stared at the crescent moon, dragging in calming breaths to ease the tightness in his chest. Sharp noises still did that to him. But at least he wasn’t face down in the dirt anymore.
Thanks to his dog. And speaking of his dog…
He’d never have expected to be the kind to pay for a pooch-sitter. But since Rachel’s pooch had been poisoned, he wasn’t taking any risks leaving Harley alone, and oddly enough his mutt enjoyed the pack day.
Therapy dogs weren’t allowed into all the places a service dog could go. And as much as he hated to be away from his new pet, he’d known he would need the workout in the gym after his therapy session. So he’d dropped off his Australian shepherd–beagle mix for the day at Catriona Whittier’s business. Catriona, not what he’d expected from a doggy day care… person? Caretaker?
Not that he was sure what a canine-sitter was supposed to look like. A big burly guy who herded the pack? Or a prim, stern schoolmarm type who kept the pooches in line?
Catriona was neither of those. She was… quiet. Peaceful.
There’d been a time he lived for conflict on an adrenaline-soaked field. Football or battle. He was all-in, gung ho, and kicking ass. He’d had no idea how valuable peace could be until he lost it altogether.
He needed to quit staring at the moon and get his dog.
Brandon jogged up the driveway and around the pink stucco one-story on the beach to the fenced waterside area around back. A pricey piece of prime real estate she’d inherited from her parents. Or so Catriona had told him once.
Nearly mile-high palm trees swayed and rustled, roots holding firm against ocean winds that were mere puffs compared to hurricanes of the past. Trees only got that tall over time. Their height testified to her long line of privilege.
Yet she chose to spend her days with dogs rather than the social set.
Barking their heads off at him from inside the house, a dachshund and beagle hooked their paws on the half-open windows, the fans cranked on high.
“Yeah, guys, I know you’re there and I’m on your turf,” he said.
It was easier to talk to the dogs than to people now. He cleared the house and came to the gate, a brightly painted sign illuminated with a spotlight: Wags and Whiskers Doggy Daycare.
He walked under the honeysuckle arbor just before the gate leading to a fenced backyard with privacy wood along the sides and chain link on the end that faced the ocean. The enclosed lawn sported baby pools, tires to jump through, and buckets of drinking water. Oversized doghouses were painted to resemble the main house. Little froufrou pampered fluff balls with bows on their furry ears mingled with the larger Labs and bulldogs.
So different from his boyhood farm where the animals had roamed free… although the scent of honeysuckle was the same. Except in that wide-open childhood, he’d lost more than one family pet to a roadside accident or a neighbor’s buckshot.
The thought of something happening to Harley gripped him. And then, bam. There came that cold sweat again. His feet stumbled on… nothing. They just tangled up.
“Harley?” he shouted, grabbing the fence for balance, searching the yard as motion sensors clicked floodlights on.
Catriona stepped from behind one of the doghouses. “Hey, Brandon, Harley’s inside, zonked out from playing all afternoon. Come with me and I’ll show you her favorite napping spot.”
Catriona trailed her fingers down a wire fence around a dry baby pool with a Dalmatian curled up with her litter of puppies. She wound her way through the pack of dogs, lightly touching each on the head as she passed, fearless, at peace. This calm, collected woman didn’t know the meaning of a cold sweat.
As always, his eyes were drawn to her, holding.
She had ginger hair, whispery fine and swept back with a headband. She always wore jean capris with a loose T-shirt, dark colored. Most likely so the dog fur and muddy pawprints didn’t show. Not that she ever appeared anything other than serene, natural. She never put on makeup but always wore a hint of sunburn on her cheeks and a light sheen of perspiration that glistened better than the high-priced face creams Stella—his last girlfriend—had kept lined up on her side of the bathroom vanity.
Before she’d dumped his ass a month after he returned all loco in the head. Not that he could blame her.