he did, the woman teetered on her high heels and fell back. He caught her with one hand and pulled her out of the way. Slamming the door with his foot so the dog couldn’t get out, he steadied her with his hip. Pain shot through his leg, and he sucked in a breath.
“Are you okay?” He kept her upright with his hands around her tiny waist. The sexy librarian look with the falling curls hiding her face, nearly see-through, rain-soaked blouse and tight skirt over sexy curves did dangerous things to his libido.
Down, boy. Down.
“Thanks,” she said as she glanced back at the dog. “I’m fine. I better get Harley back to the shelter. This is the second time this week she’s broken out. Her owner passed away, and she keeps trying to go home. If you ask me, it’s the saddest thing ever to see an animal suffer.” She waved her hand. “Well, there are worse things in the world, but it’s sad that she doesn’t understand that he’s gone.”
“You could have been killed,” he said through gritted teeth, although more from the pain in his leg than being upset with her.
Stiffening, she turned slowly. When their eyes met, a clap of thunder boomed. She jumped and stumbled. He held on to her to keep her from falling down.
Tugging out of his grasp, she raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m aware of the danger.” Her chin jutted out slightly. “Which is why I stopped to get the dog. She was a danger to anyone else who might cross her path. Thank you for your assistance.”
He’d offended her without meaning to. The nurses were right, surly had become his natural state. “I—uh...” He wasn’t sure if he should apologize. With his luck, he’d only make it worse.
“Mr. Clooney’s rooster Pete says the thunderstorms are going to be pretty bad the next couple of days,” she said as she climbed into the vehicle. “And that darn rooster is never wrong. Perhaps you should think about staying inside so you aren’t tempted to help poor defenseless animals.”
With that, she slammed the door shut.
Did he just get the brush-off?
Mr. Clooney’s rooster? Wait, how was that annoying creature still alive?
He remembered when his brother poured half a bottle of cold medicine in the rooster’s feed so they could sleep in one morning during the summer. If anything, the somewhat drunk rooster crowed even louder the next morning.
The SUV sped off toward town.
Yep, that was definitely the brush-off.
It’d been a while since he’d spent time with a woman. Well, besides, the doctors and nurses at the hospital. He’d done four tours in a row, only taking a few months off occasionally to see his mom while trying to forget everything he’d gone through the past two years.
This final tour was one he couldn’t put on the “man shelf.” That’s what his therapist, a woman who was exceptionally bright and never let him get away with anything, had called his ability to shove things that upset him to the back of his brain. Every time he tried to redirect the conversation away from his recent past, she called him on it.
Blake shoved a hand over his newly shorn hair. He’d let it get longer in the hospital, but his mom didn’t like it that way.
And hell if he wasn’t just a big ole mama’s boy. Blake and his brother, J.T., would do anything for her. She’d held their family together after their dad died when he and J.T. were teens.
He might not like the idea of the party, but eating home-cooked meals his mom made was high on his list of favorite things. He could suffer through any inconvenience for that.
Thunder hit again, and the black-haired woman’s heart-shaped face popped into his mind with those almost-translucent green eyes that had seen too much of the world. He wondered if the thunder might be an ominous sign that he should stay away from her.
He grinned.
Nope, that wasn’t going to happen. The last thing he needed was to chase some skirt, but there was something about her. She’d been dressed sexy, but she didn’t suffer fools gladly.
That was something he admired.
He liked a challenge. This was a small town, and he was about to be at a party with some of the best gossips in Texas—and that was saying something in this state. A type like the sexy librarian would surely be a topic of conversation. His mom hadn’t mentioned anyone moving into town during their chats, so the woman had to be fairly new to Tranquil Waters.
After parking the truck in front of the Lion’s Club, he ripped off the wet shirt. He had an extra hanging in the cab. Once he was dressed in his blues, he steeled himself for the oncoming tide of good wishes.
“For he’s a jolly good...” voices rang out as he swung open the door and stepped inside. In other circumstances, he would have run back to the truck. But he smiled and shook hands, all the while thinking about that woman with the raven hair and killer red heels.
Perhaps having half the town at his party wasn’t such a bad thing.
Facing the blue-haired gossip brigade, he gave them his most charming smile.
“Ladies, you haven’t changed a bit,” he said. “If I didn’t know better I’d guess you were selling your souls to keep that peaches-and-cream skin of yours.”
His mother rolled her eyes, but stood on tiptoes to give him a hug.
“You’re up to something,” she whispered.
Oh, he was definitely up to something.
* * *
“BRAN MUFFINS AND fake butter. That was one knight in shining armor,” Macy complained to Harley as she wrapped wire around the lock on her cage. She never swore around the animals in the shelter as she believed they’d been through enough trauma, without listening to her temper tantrums. So when she wanted to use angry words, she thought about foods she hated.
“Doesn’t it figure that ten minutes after I vow no more men forever, he shows up?”
The dog made a strange noise that sounded like “yes.” Great Danes did have their own language. And she bet Harley understood every syllable she said.
“Oh, no. He has to be so hot that steam came off of him. And me.” She fanned her face. The heat from the encounter still on her cheeks.
“Here he comes galloping on his horse to the rescue.” Macy’s last two relationships were nonevents, except for the part where they’d cheated on her. Three weeks ago she’d discovered the man she thought she might marry was having what he called “a meaningless relationship” with an intern at the paper.
Well, it had meant something to Macy.
Harley made a strange sound.
“Fine, it was a truck he galloped in on, but still.”
The dog whined again.
“Lovely girl, I’m sorry. I’ve been going on and on about me, when you have much more to be sad about.” She squatted as much as her skirt would
