toward the dogs. “They seem to like each other. It’s too bad people can’t make friends that easily.”
She eyed the dogs, grinning at their wagging tails and their snouts sniffing against the chain links. “You mean, as easily as rubbing our noses together?”
His grin broadened. “Sure, if we were Eskimos.” He winked.
Why had she said “our” noses? Noses would have been bad enough. Feeling the heat reach her cheeks, she averted her eyes. While she grappled with her discomfort, she watched the dogs’ antics. Fred appeared smitten.
When her cheeks cooled, Steph decided the dogs were safer conversation. “Your dog looks like a big rag mop. What breed is she?”
Nick’s dark eyes twinkled. “A Bouvier.”
“Bouvier. So that’s what they look like.”
He glanced over his shoulder, appearing to look for an intruder, then leaned closer as if sharing a secret. His breath whispered against her cheek. “If you ask my brother her breed, he’d tell you Suzette is a Bouvier des Flandres. She’s actually Martin’s dog.” He drew back, giving her a crooked grin. “Martin thinks it sounds classier.”
“Well, la-di-da.” La-di-da? Get a grip. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Fred’s just a border collie from Michigan.” Steph hoped she sounded sane.
“But a very nice one, I’m sure.”
He’d ignored her lunacy or else didn’t notice. That made her feel better.
“Martin’s pitiful with his pretentiousness at times. I don’t know where he gets it.”
Steph appreciated the distraction. “I’d like to strangle my brother once in a while.” More often than she wanted to remember. He’d upset her much too often. “My parents were thrilled to finally have a son to carry on the family name, and Hal knew it. He seemed to think he’d been born with a crown, and he expected us to bow to his every need.”
She peered at Fred, his tail slapping against the grass.
“Fred usually doesn’t carry on like that. He’s used to being around other dogs.”
“Suzette’s a flirt.” Nick flashed Steph a grin, then crouched down and put his finger through the chain link. “Is she playing with your heart, old man?”
Fred gave his finger a sniff and then swiped it with his tongue.
Suzette had no intention of being outdone. She wiggled between Fred and Nick, then nuzzled her nose against the links. Nick petted her, then looked up at Steph. “If you’re not familiar with a Bouvier, feel her coat.”
Steph leaned over the fence and drew her hand across the dog’s fur. “She’s not a rag mop at all. She feels like chenille.”
He ran his fingers through her coat, too, their hands brushing against each other’s, and when he rose, they stood eye to eye.
Something happened. Her stomach flipped, and she felt out of control. Steph motioned toward the patio door. “It’s been nice, but I need to get inside. This is housework day for me.”
His lips curved to a teasing frown. “That doesn’t sound like fun.” He shoved his hand into his pocket. “It’s been nice talking with you, Steph.” His brow arched. “I hope it’s okay to call you that.”
“Consider yourself a friend.”
“I’d like that.” He took a step backward. “Maybe we could walk the dogs one day. They seem to get along well.”
Her stomach shot to her chest, and her response followed at the same speed. “We have a park nearby.” She swung her hand in that direction. “That would be fun.”
He stepped back. “Great. I’ll talk with you again.” He backed away, then pivoted and headed toward the house with Suzette bouncing beside him.
Fred let out a whimper and so did Steph.
She made her way to the patio and through the door, then caved into the same kitchen chair she’d been sitting on before the distraction. She’d flirted with the man. Flirting wasn’t her style, and on top of it, she’d talked about rubbing noses. Where did that come from?
Steph rolled her eyes as she got up and opened the refrigerator. She pulled out a soft drink, snapped the tab and took a swallow before leaning against the kitchen counter. She’d been a widow four years, and as time passed, she’d decided relationships were too difficult. Before he’d died, Doug had drifted from her like bubbles on the wind. She reached out to grasp him, and he vanished. Her life became dark, but these past years, she’d finally found the light. Artificial light sometimes, but she’d learned to keep her eyes wide-open. Today she’d squinted and look what happened.
Steph pulled her spine from the counter and grasped the dust cloth and lemony spray. Back to work and forget the few moments of backyard fantasy. Reality made more sense.
Nick stood inside the house and gazed through the window at Steph as she strode toward her patio door. Her straight blond hair whisked against her shoulders. The woman put a grin on his face. She loved that dog. Fred. The name gave him a chuckle. The border collie seemed well behaved and friendly. So did Steph. His mouth pulled to a grin again.
He rested his hand on the windowsill as he watched Fred trot beside her. Steph’s large blue eyes, canopied by long lashes, reminded him of a summer sky. He’d been drawn to her blunt comments, especially the witty ones that made him smile. And she’d flirted, but in a nice way. She’d even flushed. His pulse heightened, picturing her playfulness.
The garage door rumbled and dragged him from his thoughts. Nick heard a car door slam. Then the garage door closed and he listened for his brother’s footsteps.
Martin came through the doorway with a puzzled look. “What are you doing here?
“Want me to leave?” Nick didn’t wait for an answer. He opened the refrigerator and gazed inside.
“You can’t afford your own food with that business of yours?”
Nick’s back stiffened. When it came to his business, Martin’s humor grated on his nerves. He forced himself to let it go, then faced his brother. “You asked me to drop by to walk your dog and feed her because you’re too busy. Now you begrudge me a drink?” He pulled out a cola and popped the tab. “I stopped by to offer my service.”
“Service?” Distrust grew on Martin’s face.
Nick motioned toward the boxes. “Thought I’d help you unpack.”
His chin raised as he eyed Nick. “Unpack? Why?”
“Why not? If you tell me where you want things, I’ll unpack some of the cartons or they’ll be there forever.”
A questioning look filled Martin’s face. “You’re not looking for a handout?”
“No handouts.” The reference stabbed Nick in the gut. He’d never asked Martin for anything, and he never would.
“You
