second, Sadie had met with a funeral director. Two days later, she’d met a lawyer. In her ladylike script were the words “Settle Mother’s estate.” And two days after that was “Secure death certificate.”
Jesus. Buck swallowed, wondering if her mother’s death had precipitated her moving into his apartment complex. The timing was right. He stared off at nothing in particular, trying to remember how she’d been three months ago, when he’d first met her. Quiet, alone. She’d spent nearly a week moving in, unloading her car each day all by herself. Back and forth she’d go, thin arms laden with cardboard boxes, lamps and small pieces of furniture.
What she couldn’t carry she’d pushed or dragged in. She’d been relentless, tireless. Determined.
Buck had offered her a helping hand, but she’d refused, thanked him and gone back to work. That first day had seemed to set a precedent. No matter what he offered, she always refused.
The dogs came running past Buck’s feet in a blur, ears flattened to their round heads, tiny bodies streamlined. They were a cute distraction. Tish enjoyed Butch’s company, and Butch looked besotted.
Buck narrowed his eyes in thought. He had two weeks’ vacation lined up, and no real plans because it’d all be spent with Butch. If being here made Butch happy, and being with Butch made Tish happy, then surely it’d make Sadie happy, too.
Maybe he could combine things to everyone’s advantage.
He rubbed his hands together as the plan formed. Ms. Sadie Harte wouldn’t be able to deny him any longer.
The best way to her heart was through her dog.
SADIE RAN THROUGH her morning routine in record-breaking time. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but she was half-afraid that if she took too long, Buck would leave. That he was in her apartment in the first place was nothing short of a miracle.
With ruthless determination, she brushed the tangles out of her hair and pulled it back into a quick twist. It wasn’t the neatest job she’d ever done, but then she’d never done her hair with a big handsome man waiting for her in his underwear.
Oh, Lord.
Hands shaking, she cleaned her teeth, even gargled for safe measure—not that she expected to be too close to Buck, but… Several times, he’d invaded her personal space.
She stared at herself in the mirror, breathing hard, unseeing. Every single time Buck had gotten near, she’d enjoyed it. It likely meant nothing; he was a big guy and just naturally took up more room than most. But it still thrilled her, even when she knew she had no business being thrilled. Buck was not the kind of man she could start dreaming about.
But he smelled so good. Hot and musky-male. The freshness of the brisk morning air had competed with his scent, creating an intoxicating mix.
She closed her eyes, took a calming breath and quickly washed her face. She never bothered with jewelry or makeup, so less than ten minutes later she was dressed in a crisp pink blouse, a brown skirt with matching cardigan, and her comfortable weekend loafers. She had a bath towel—the largest she owned—draped over one arm.
Still she hesitated. Buck Boswell was just so…much. So much male, so much muscle, so much appeal.
And he was sitting in her kitchen. In his underwear. With his impressive, hairy chest, wide hard shoulders and flat abdomen all on display.
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