see what you’ve got, and we’ll take it from there.”
Could that baby he’d fathered twenty-seven years ago be the miracle they needed?
That evening, as Lissa prepared for bed, she couldn’t find Barney. And when she asked her folks, neither of them had seen him, either. Obviously, the rascally pup had sneaked out again. But it was too dangerous for him to stay outside all night.
She grabbed her robe and put on a pair of slippers, intent on searching the grounds.
As she stood on the front porch and scanned the lawn and the pond, she spotted Sullivan sitting quietly on the deck of the cottage, her puppy in his lap.
“Looking for this little guy?” he called out.
“Yes.” She touched the sash of her blue chenille robe, checking to see that it was snug, then fingered the edge of the lapel, making sure it covered her flannel nightgown.
She walked across the grass, then made her way over the small, wooden bridge.
All the while, Sullivan watched her.
She felt weird letting him see her like this, yet she was probably more bundled up than in her street clothes.
When she neared the guest cottage, he asked, “Why don’t you join me for a while?”
Join him? Sit down on one of the padded, wrought-iron chairs on the wooden porch and chat? She really ought to take Barney and go back to the house, yet something urged her to stay.
“All right,” she said. “Just for a few minutes.”
He glanced into his lap, where the puppy rested. “This little rascal was chasing a duck, who didn’t take too kindly to being barked at.”
Lissa laughed. “Barney has a lot to learn.”
“But he’s brave. Instead of running back to the house with his tail between his legs, he wandered over to me.”
“You were sitting out here?”
He nodded. “I like sitting outside when the day is done.”
She didn’t tell him, since it seemed like an insignificant thing for two people to have in common, that sitting on the deck in the backyard was how she always started her days.
“My great-aunt Clara has a front porch like this. It overlooks the stream that runs through her property.” Sullivan shot her a crooked grin. “You have a lot in common with her.”
“How so?”
He shook his head and chuckled, but didn’t answer.
For some reason, she had a feeling he wasn’t being complimentary. And that the commonality she shared with his aunt wasn’t something to be proud of. But curiosity got the better of her. “Speak up, or I’ll take my dog and go home.”
His eyes crinkled with mirth. “She wears comfortable walking shoes like yours. And she wraps herself in chenille and flannel before going to sleep.”
So, Lissa had been right. He was making fun of her. Yet there wasn’t a cruel edge to his laughter. And she chose not to be offended by his teasing. Heck, there was nothing wrong with choosing comfort over glamour and style.
“What would you prefer I wear?” she asked. “Stiletto heels and a silk scarf?”
His eyes lit up. “Do you have them hidden in your bedroom?”
She swatted at his arm. “No. But I’ve got drawers full of flannel and chenille.”
“Too bad.” He slid her a playful grin.
The conversation had turned a bit sexual, which might have excited her, had she been dressed in satin. But her chenille robe weighed heavily upon her shoulders.
“Well,” she said. “Those few minutes have flown by. And it’s time for me to turn in.”
“I hope you’re not mad. Great-aunt Clara is a great gal. And she’s got more spunk than her eighty-five-year-old sister.”
Lissa arched a brow. “How old is your aunt?”
“Ninety-seven. And she still mows her own yard and works in the garden.”
“Impressive. Then there’s hope for the flannel-and-chenille crowd.”
“Great-aunt Clara has a boyfriend, too.” He tossed her a dimpled grin.
“You don’t say.” Lissa figured she’d be ninety before a guy noticed her.
She glanced toward the house and saw that her parents had turned off their bedroom light. Her mother’s doing, no doubt. Trying to give Lissa a little push toward romance.
When she looked at Sullivan, he was gazing at her.
“Are you involved with anyone?” he asked.
The question took her aback—in part because the truth was too revealing. She didn’t mind if he knew she chose sensible shoes. Or that she wore flannel to bed. But she didn’t want him to think of her as the awkward virgin that she was.
So she said, “No one at the moment.”
He didn’t comment, merely studied her.
But she was afraid he’d see through her half truth, so she stood. “Well, I really need to go. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
He stroked Barney’s head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
She nodded, then reached to pick up the sleeping pup. As she did so, their hands touched, and a warm shiver shimmied through her veins.
Before she could react—or run—Sullivan tugged gently upon her braid. “Do you ever let your hair down, Lissa?”
“Never,” she said, her voice a near whisper.
“You ought to.” His words settled over her like a cloak of crushed velvet.
She slowly straightened, pulling her braid from his hand. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As she strode toward the house, she tried to shake the adolescent fascination with a man who was out of her league.
Yet she couldn’t shake the thought of letting her hair down—for him.
Chapter Four
Do you ever let your hair down?
Lissa stood before the antique floor-length mirror in her bedroom, studying the brown mop that hung over her shoulders and down her back.
Why didn’t she just go to the salon in town and have it all chopped off?
Because she’d become so good at braiding it, so used to twisting it this way
