Chapter 8 #2
gave an unexpected kick, and something warm skittered around inside her. All that lean muscle mass . . . great shoulders . . .
tight butt . . . It had been so long since she’d been turned on that she’d nearly forgotten what it felt like.
“Are you still here?” Clint acted as if he was surprised to see her.
“And loving every minute.” She rubbed at the paint blotches on her arms.
“Don’t get too attached. You only have four days left.” He stacked the lumber on the ground and retreated up the path.
Dancy wished Clint were the kind of man her adult self could fall in love with. Someone solid, honorable, and off-the-charts
sexy who would love her—not for her hair or face, not for her breasts, but only for her.
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself.
Clint reappeared with a set of sawhorses, set them down, and disappeared again.
She gazed at Watch and shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I have no idea what he’s doing.”
Watch couldn’t seem to figure out what Clint was up to, either.
She returned to the caboose, glad to focus on finishing the ceiling instead of pondering her future. Despite her misgivings,
Clint had picked exactly the right buttery yellow for the walls, a warm and cheerful shade, both cozy and welcoming. As she
reached for the paint can, a mechanical screech pierced the quiet. She flew to the door.
Clint was cutting a piece of lumber with a power saw connected to the caboose. She shouted over the noise. “What are you doing?”
“Building steps to the platform.” He quieted the saw long enough to respond. “I planned to start them a few days ago, but
an unwelcome visitor disrupted my plan.”
As he resumed his work, she took in the sawhorses, lumber, and tools, admiring the fact that he knew how to build steps. One
more gold star on his helmet. But when she turned to go back into the caboose, she noticed only an abandoned yak in the mossy
spot where Watch liked to nap. She jumped off the platform, shouting, “Where’s my dog?”
Clint stopped sawing and looked around. “He was here a minute ago.”
“Watch!”
No reassuring bark or scrambling in the brush echoed back. Panicked, she spun on Clint. “You scared him!”
Clint set down the saw as she ran into the woods. “Watch! Watch, come here!” She’d only found him three days ago. Was that long enough for him to know his name? She tripped over a tree root, barely keeping herself from falling. “Watch! Here!”
The information sheet she’d been given at the shelter had advised against tying up dogs, and since he never strayed, she hadn’t
worried about leaving him outside. A terrible mistake no experienced dog owner would have made.
“Watch!” She finally reached the road near the place where she’d found him. Nothing. She dug her fingernails into her palms.
First she’d lost her baby and now she’d lost her dog. So many losses. Marriage, career, reputation. She couldn’t bear it.
Clint emerged from the woods and came to her side. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Her pain needed a target. Any target. “What kind of asshole turns on a power saw next to a dog who’s already skittish!”
Clint stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. He couldn’t have gone too far on that leg. I’ll get my car.”
“You do that,” she snapped.
But as he began to walk away, she called to him. “Wait.” She couldn’t stand herself. “This isn’t your fault, I should have
kept him inside with me while you were working.”
He stopped and regarded her strangely. “I’m afraid this is on me.”
“No, it’s not.” He didn’t know she was a person who kept losing precious things. She followed him back into the woods, fighting
tears. He veered off to the right, while she took a smaller trail to the left. As she called for Watch, she heard him doing
the same.
She retraced her path to the road, growing more despondent with each step.
She could not lose this dog. She absolutely could not.
She moved back onto the main trail as Clint came from the woods on the other side.
A leaf was caught in his hair, and a briar scratch ran down the side of his thigh.
Neither of them spoke. There was nothing to say.
They approached the edge of the forest, and the trees opened into the clearing where the caboose stood.
And there Watch was. Lying in his favorite spot, the yak under his paws, his gaze fixed suspiciously on the power saw lying
beneath the sawhorses.
“Watch!” Dancy ran to the stupid dog and knelt beside him. “Don’t ever do that again.” He’d chewed at the bandage on his leg
and briars clung to his hair, but she didn’t care. She nuzzled his nose with her forehead, oblivious to his dog breath, and
ran her thumbs along the side of his head, finally drawing back. “Look at you. You’re a mess.” She began picking at the briars.
“Are you okay?”
Only then did she realize she was crying. She ducked her head. “I’m fine.” Her voice shook. “He’s only a mutt.”
Clint couldn’t do what most men did at the sight of an emotional woman and slink away. Oh, no, not Saint Clint. He had to
kneel beside her. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
“He’s my responsibility.” She swiped her wet cheeks on the shoulder of her T-shirt. “Really. It’s fine.”
“It’s obviously not.” He came to his feet and gestured toward the lumber and the sawhorses. “I’ll get this out of here.”
“No, don’t do that. Having steps would be nice.”
“But . . .”
Words she’d never intended to utter spilled out of her. “I lost my baby.”
He reached down and stroked Watch along his bony spine. “No, you didn’t. He’s fine.”
She told herself to let it go. Not to say another word. But her silence had become a caged bird. “No. I lost my baby,” she said hoarsely. “She was only ten weeks old.”
He crouched next to her. “You had a baby?”
“A miscarriage.” Talking to Clint was like talking to a priest. She needed to do this. Tell him. Get it out before her pain
and shame ate away at everything hopeful inside her. “I—I don’t really know if she was a girl, but that’s what my heart said.”
He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “That had to have been tough.”
She sat back in the moss, hugged her knees, not looking at him. “Roth didn’t want kids. Ironic since his fiancée is pregnant.”
“And you did?”
“Very much.” She swiped her nose on her wrist. “The divorce wasn’t even final when I started looking at profiles of sperm
donors.” She stroked Watch’s head. “When I finally got pregnant, it was the happiest day of my life.” She swallowed. “And
then it wasn’t.”
She looked up, waiting for him to tell her what others had said. It was for the best. She could always try again. It wasn’t
a real baby. At least she wasn’t further along—or some other bullshit people said that she didn’t want to hear. But he surprised
her. “It shocks me to say this, but you’d be a great mom.”
“All that’s missing is a baby.” Embarrassed that she’d revealed so much, she wanted the conversation to be over.
Perceptive as always, he sensed her discomfort and knew she couldn’t handle any more sympathy. Rising to his feet, he held
up his hands and smiled. “Don’t look at me to help you out.”
She gave a choked laugh, grateful that he understood. “That would be million-dollar sperm. Seriously, Clint. You’re already worth zillions, but you could buy an extra yacht if you sold your stuff.”
He pretended to think it over. “My financial adviser has been telling me I need to diversify.”
“I can see your profile now.” She rose to her feet. “Professional athlete. Six feet, two inches. Muscular. Healthy. Doesn’t
do drugs.”
“Does weed count? Only in the offseason,” he clarified.
“Hardly drinks.”
“I drink. Just not around you.”
“College degree. Sterling character. Rich.”
“Rich is not a character trait,” he pointed out.
“Moderately high IQ.”
“Very high IQ.”
“Can be a little stuffy, but easily correctable with the right woman.”
“Meaning?”
“Thirty or over.” She patted his arm, more grateful for his understanding than she could ever express. “Watch and I’ll head
to the lake and leave you to your sawing. Give me a few minutes to change into a suit before you start again.”
“Take all the time you want.”
Clint was way more shaken by what she’d told him than he’d let on. Dancy’s world orbited around looking beautiful, not around
being a mother and raising a kid. It would take a while for him to adjust to this new person.
Her own mother had been vain and self-centered, more interested in how her daughter looked and dressed than in her academic performance, and her father had been the same.
Despite their absence and their screwed-up values, Dancy had always worked hard in school, and he was beginning to realize that she could only have done that for herself, since her parents had paid no attention to her.
Dancy emerged from the caboose, paint spattered and wearing Rory’s swimsuit, the one he’d brought over with some other clothes.
It was a white two-piece printed with red strawberries. On Rory, the suit had been modest, but on Dancy, the top couldn’t
contain her breasts, and the bottom settled beneath the blades of her sharp hipbones.
With no warning, a rush of heat blasted right through him.
You have to be fucking kidding me! He was getting hard! He couldn’t believe it. Of all the jokes the universe could play on him, this was the cruelest. One
look at Dancy in a swimsuit and he wanted to rip it off her and see what was underneath. For months he’d worried he’d lost
his manhood, and now here he was, lusting after her as if he were sixteen all over again.
His arousal was unacceptable, ludicrous, and just plain wrong. He couldn’t handle it.
Dancy hopped off the platform, the tops of her breasts bobbing above the halter. She landed gracefully on those long-stemmed
legs. “You’re looking at me funny.”
He could barely pull himself back together. “You have paint all over you. And the lake’s cold to swim in.”
“I’m hot.”
Definitely true. The dark shadows under her eyes had begun to fade, but those bony shoulders haunted him. “Did you have anything decent to eat yesterday?” It was more a growl than a question.
“I’m doing fine.”
“I doubt that.” As he glowered at her, a compulsion he couldn’t control gripped him, and he made the biggest mistake he could
possibly make. “I’m grilling burgers on the patio tonight. Meet me there at seven. Only on the patio. You’re not allowed in
the house.”
Her eyes lit up with amusement. “I remember. House bad. Food good. Come on, Watch. Let’s go to the lake.” She pointed toward
the lumber. “Those steps aren’t going to build themselves, my man. Get to work.”
“Stay out of my house!” he exclaimed.
She blew him a saucy kiss over her shoulder and set off for the lake.