an ink-blue sky, was truly mesmerizing.
“My God, it is beautiful,” she said softly. “It almost takes my breath away.”
“Yeah. Mine, too. Night after night.”
The barking had stopped, now it started up again.
“Let’s move it. Sounds like the welcoming committee is getting restless.” There was brusque affection in his tone now. Even his impossibly square jaw seemed to have softened slightly.
“Are they tied up?” she inquired, endeavoring to sound merely curious, rather than hair-trigger nervous. If she ever decided to take on the responsibility of being a pet owner, she would choose one of those fluffy little dogs you could carry around in your purse. If the barking was any indication, the members of the “welcoming committee” were neither fluffy nor little.
“Tied? You mean chained?” He sounded offended. “My dogs are never chained.”
Her stomach seesawed. “Never?”
“No need. If you’ve got control of a dog, a word or a hand signal is as good as a chain.”
“And if you don’t have control?”
“Then you’re a damn fool. I wouldn’t keep a dog around I couldn’t control with my voice alone.”
“What would you do with him?”
“Shoot him,” he said matter-of-factly, and started walking toward the house.
Olivia hurried to catch up. “Shoot him? You mean with a gun?”
He slowed enough to eye her dubiously. “Yeah, Olivia, I mean with a gun.”
“Isn’t that rather drastic?” she asked, falling into step with him again.
“No. It’s smart.”
“But what if that particular dog just didn’t click with you? As an individual, I mean. Maybe another—”
“‘Click’?” He sounded appalled. “I’m not running a dating service, for God’s sake. I’m turning dogs into lethal weapons. And I’m the best there is at doing it. If I can’t bring a dog to heel, that’s a dog the world is better off without.”
They walked a few yards before she said, “What makes you think you’re the best?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.” He slanted her a self-satisfied smile and cocked his head toward the barking, which sounded louder and nearer with each step they took. “Of course, if you want a second opinion, you can ask them.”
“Why are they barking that way?”
“They’re glad I’m home. And they’re hungry. They heard my truck and they want to know what’s taking me so long. Then, too, they might’ve picked up on you.”
“Me? Why me?”
“A woman’s voice is pretty much a novelty around here.”
“I see. I guess that means you’re not married.” Another dumb remark. But not, she realized, as dumb as not even considering the possibility he might be married until that moment. There was just something about him, that classic lone wolf demeanor of his, that said—no, screamed—that he was a man who made his way through the world alone and liked it that way.
“No, I’m not married,” Rancourt replied with a faint, knowing smile. “Thanks for being interested.”
The man had a real talent for being irksome.
“Trust me, I’m not. I was making conversation.”
“Okay. Let’s make conversation. You shouldn’t have needed to ask if I was married.”
“How?”
“If I did, there’d be a light in that front window for me when I got home. And you wouldn’t have needed Doc’s word that you’d be safe here.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
He took the porch steps in one stride and started to set his load down a short distance from the front door, piece by piece.
“Care to explain?” he asked without looking up.
“It just seems to me that a man who’d put his hands on another woman when he has a wife at home, could be capable of other indiscretions, as well.”
“Makes sense.” He straightened and met her gaze. “Hypothetically at least, since I don’t have a wife.”
“Right. Hypothetically.”
“Come on,” he said, pulling open the door. “I’ll introduce you to the family I do have.”
He reached inside to turn on the light.
Olivia hesitated. “Maybe you should go in first.”
“You can tell your teeth to stop chattering,” he advised, humor lurking in his deep voice. “They’re in the yard out back. It’s fenced.”
“How is a fence any different from a chain?”
“A fence is a necessity when I have to leave them here alone. They still have plenty of freedom to move around, choose whether they want to be in the shade or sun, run, sleep.”
“And a chain?”
His expression took on a note of contempt. “There are no good options with a chain. And listing the drawbacks would take too long. It amounts to this—a long chain risks a dog getting tangled around something and hurting himself trying to get free. A short chain will eventually break his spirit.”
“I see.” It was good that she lacked the energy to challenge his opinion, because she couldn’t find anything in it to disagree with. She had to settle for a disgruntled “And my teeth were not chattering” as she stepped past him on her way inside.
The interior was as much a surprise as the house itself. But it shouldn’t be, she realized, after looking around. She’d heard somewhere that a perfectly decorated home reflects the unique personality of those who live there. If that was so, this place qualified for Decorator’s Dream Home of the Year.
If she’d been asked to conjure up a decorating scheme to convey Rancourt’s personality, this would be it. No frills, no extras, no nonsense. Apparently the man was no more enamored of excess “stuff” than he was unnecessary words. She might not be able to literally count the pieces of furniture he owned on the fingers of one hand, but that was the impression. Add that to the bare wood floors, windows clad only in white wooden blinds and the total absence of tchotchkes and you could sum up in a single word, austere.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
He’d shut the door and was leaning against it. “You were looking around as if you’re thinking of buying the place. I’m curious what you think of it?”
