food and a chew toy, plus a few other toys he’d gotten excited over. She’d gone into one of those giant pet supply stores that allowed owners to bring in their dogs. She’d had to take him inside to get the right size collar. Then he’d instigated her into making some of the other purchases.
Eyeing everything she was carrying, Rick cleared his throat. “Right. Not your dog.”
She gave him her best irritated expression. Buying this stuff had broken her budget, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. “Someone had to feed him, and no one else volunteered.” Not yet.
“He’s going to eat the toys?”
“I was hoping keeping him busy would keep him quiet.” She’d told herself not to buy anything except the bare necessities, but she’d felt so sorry for the dog that resisting had been useless. “The last thing I need on the job is a barking dog.”
She started off toward the coach house, Rick keeping pace with her, and Kirby—the dog, she reminded herself—racing ahead, leash taut, even though the little stinker didn’t know where he was racing to.
Standing under the tree, Heather looked up to the branches, too high above her. “I need to be able to tie him to something that will keep him put.”
“I’ll find something,” Rick said. “You could set out his water and food.”
Heather flicked her eyebrows up. Suddenly, Rick had taken over. Still, grateful for the offered help, she did as he said while he took the dog into the coach house with him. She filled one bowl with kibble and took the other to the hose attached to the side of the house to get the dog some water.
In the meantime, Rick returned carrying a three-foot length of steel with holes in it. The dog danced around her, inspecting everything she touched. As she set down the bowl of water and the dog crowded her to get a drink, Rick used the hammer he’d brought to pound the steel more than a foot into the ground.
“What is that?”
“Just something I found in the shop. Looks like someone was building a storage unit and left the castoffs.”
When he clipped the dog’s leash to one of the holes, she said, “My, you’re inventive.”
“Just call me resourceful.”
“Okay, thanks, Resourceful.” She snorted but choked back further response.
The mirrored sunglasses aimed her way, and he rose to his full height. “What?”
She grinned up at him. “Actually, my workers already have a nickname for you.”
“What?” he asked a little louder.
“They’ve been calling you The Terminator.” Which, with his features set in a frown at the moment, he absolutely resembled. “It’s the sunglasses.” She wasn’t going to bring up his skinning the grass or plowing down the bush. “Remember, in the movie, he always wore those mirrored sunglasses that made him look so dangerous.”
“They think I look dangerous?”
At first she had, too, especially after he’d flattened her. But now that she knew him better, not so much.
“Tyrone is convinced you’re a spy,” she informed him.
Rick’s turn to snort. “A commando, maybe, but not a spy.”
“Android?” she teased.
“Thoroughly human, I promise.” His lips quirked. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Maybe if I could see your eyes. The sunglasses do come off, right?” She’d never seen him without them.
In answer, Rick slipped off the shades.
His eyes were blue. A clear, sharp blue. And they were large and fringed with thick lashes, quite at odds with the granite features that suddenly took on a softer appearance. His eyebrows were thick, too, and they quirked upward as she scanned his whole face. Nice features. High cheekbones...determined jaw...tempting mouth. She shook away the last and told herself he was decent looking. That was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Still, he’d make a great-looking escort at Kristen and Alex’s wedding...
“Well?” he asked.
Her pulse was thrumming. Could she do it? Ask him?
“It’s just nice to know what you actually look like,” she admitted.
“You approve?”
Not wanting him to get a swelled head, she avoided a direct answer. “I don’t disapprove.”
She was stalling, trying to make up her mind.
“So you’re neutral,” he said.
“Like Switzerland.”
She loved that he was taking the conversation in stride, even seeming amused. She appreciated a man with a sense of humor.
He was grinning at her when he asked, “You’ve been to Switzerland?”
“No. You?”
“I’ve been to a lot of different countries all over the world,” he admitted, “but that’s still on my list of places to see. I love traveling and learning about different cultures.”
In a lot of different countries? “But you’re not a spy, right?”
“Nope.”
“So why all the traveling?”
“My father was a lifer. Army. Different bases all over the world.”
“Oh.” Now on alert, she asked, “What about you?”
“Not a lifer. At least I wasn’t planning to be. I just kind of got sucked in for so many years because it was what I knew.” His expression changed, grew a little grim. “War isn’t pretty, so when my last tour ended, I wanted to see if there was something else for me. So I decided to give civilian life a chance before I make up my mind whether or not to re-enlist.”
As he spoke, her pulse crashed.
Army...thinking of re-enlisting...
Instantly reminding her of her late husband, Scott. He’d been killed along with several other men when their truck had rolled over a land mine.
His answer made her uncomfortable, and Heather was glad to see the EPI truck pull up. “Oh, look, Tyrone and Amber are here with some of our supplies.”
As if tired of being ignored and wanting to be part of the conversation, Kirby barked and looked from her to Rick, who bent over and patted the dog.
Disappointment filled Heather. For a moment, she’d thought...but there was no way she was going to ask a man who might re-enlist in the army to escort her anywhere. Rick might be nice. And good-looking. But she’d lost one man to war. She’d been devastated, and so had her girls.
