Chapter 9
“Are you crying?” I asked Brooklyn.
As soon as the words left my mouth, I silently cursed myself for asking such a ridiculous question. I was standing in front of Brooklyn, and she was sitting on the bottom step that led up to her porch, glaring at me.
I was impressed she could glare, seeing as her eyes were bloodshot and traces of tears still glistened on her cheeks. Her makeup had run, putting black smudges around her eyes that made her look no less beautiful than before. If a makeup artist had created the smudges for her, they couldn’t have been more flattering.
“Of course I’m not crying.” Her tone was as caustic as I’d come to expect. “Why would I be crying when everything’s so freakin’ fantastic? I’m so happy, I’m sitting here singing show tunes.”
“What’s wrong?”
A miniature teardrop trembled on one of her eyelashes. “Why exactly are you here?” she asked. “Are you a stalker? Are you obsessed with me?” She sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand.
Tugging a handkerchief out of my pocket, I offered it to her. “Saw your dog running around by the road back there.” I hooked my head back the way I’d come. “Thought I’d be neighborly and let you know he was out.”
I’d been worried about Duke straying onto the road, but that wasn’t the only reason I’d stopped. It was mostly because she was sitting on the step with her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking. It didn’t matter how much I disliked her, I couldn’t drive past if she was crying now, could I?
She ignored the handkerchief, instead craning her head the way I’d indicated. “He’s on the road? Where?”
“In that muddy bit. Pretty sure he’s rolling in puddles.”
“Dog!” she yelled.
“You haven’t given him a name?” Taking her hand, I put the handkerchief into it so she had no choice but to accept it.
She stared at it a moment, then used it to wipe her eyes, smearing more black stuff around. “Dog!” she shouted again, ignoring my question.
“I’ll get him.” Walking back down her driveway a little, I put my fingers in the corners of my mouth and let out a piercing whistle.
A few moments later, Duke came bounding up, covered in mud. He jumped around me, then rushed off to see Brooklyn. By the time I reached the house, Brooklyn had gotten up from the step and moved inside, trying to coax the excited dog to come in after her.
I followed Brooklyn, intending to get my handkerchief back and make sure she was okay before leaving. But I froze just inside the entrance. Her hallway was in a shambles. White tufts of cushion filler were all over the floor like a polyester snowstorm.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I’m redecorating. What, you don’t like it?”
Her sarcasm was reassuring. If she could muster some bite to her words, she couldn’t be too miserable, could she?
“You left the dog inside all day,” I guessed. “He didn’t pee anywhere, did he?”
She flinched at the suggestion, then moved further down the hallway, peering into corners. Her pained expression made me regret the question. Especially when her shoulders rose as though she was bracing for a fresh blow.
“Hey.” I only realized I’d gone in without being invited once I was striding toward her. “It’s okay,” I said. “He can’t have peed or we’d have smelled it by now.”
Just then, Duke came bounding in from outside, his muddy paws leaving a trail behind him.
“Stop right there, boy.” Scooping him up, I held him in front of me, away from my body. “I only washed you yesterday, and now you’re filthy again.”
“You washed him?” Brooklyn’s brow was still furrowed, and she was squeezing my balled-up handkerchief in one fist.
“Yesterday. You didn’t notice?”
“He did seem less smelly, but I thought he might have decided to roll in some flowers for a change.”
“Well, do you want to grab a towel to wipe him down, or should I put him straight into the bathtub?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing about dogs.”
Her shoulders slumped. The sharpness had drained from her tone, and her sarcasm seemed to have gone with it. That was worrying. Something really had shaken her. Could it have to do with the phone call I’d overheard?
I bit back the urge to ask her again whether she was in any danger, keeping my tone casual instead. “For this level of filth, bathtub would be best,” I suggested.
“It’s down the hall.” She pointed at a door.
I carried the dog into the well-appointed bathroom, plonked him in the tub, then ran the water. While the tub was filling, Brooklyn came in with a towel. I splashed some water over the dog while he tried his best to jump at me and lick my face.
“Would you hold him?” I asked Brooklyn.
She knelt next to me, close enough that our shoulders were touching. As she grabbed him, the dog wagged his tail through the water that was cascading from the faucet, spraying us both.
Brooklyn yelped and I let out a surprised laugh, then cursed when the dog did it again, covering us with water. “Sit!” I ordered. “Sit, boy. Go on. Sit!”
He backed up as he sat, managing to position himself right under the faucet so more water sprayed at us. By the time we maneuvered him away from the stream and turned the faucet off, I was so wet, water was trickling down my face.
When I turned to Brooklyn, she was laughing softly instead of crying, and my heart turned over. She was soaked, her hair clinging around her face in damp strands, and her cheeks were wet from bathwater rather than tears. Her T-shirt was clinging to her too, though I tried to be a gentleman and not look down.
She seemed to have fought back from her despair. Whatever it was that had knocked her down hadn’t been able to keep her there, which didn’t surprise me. She seemed like a fighter.
And she was achingly beautiful. Her full lips were higher on one side than the other. With her hair slicked down, her delicate features stood out. Her olive skin seemed to glow, and the smudged makeup around her eyes only highlighted their warmth.
My admiring gaze stayed on her a little too long, and her laughter died, though her lips stayed tugged up on one side.
“What?” she asked. “Do I have something on my face?” She licked a drop of water that fell onto her lip from her wet hair, then grinned.
I didn’t want to respond to that smile. I tried to remind myself that she was rude and unlikeable. But somehow, I found myself grinning back at her. “I think you have a little something”—I lifted a hand and dragged a soft finger over her wet cheek—“right here.”
I meant it as a joke, but with the tip of my finger touching her face, a shock of awareness shot through me. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted as though she was surprised. Maybe she’d felt that sensation too.
The water glistened on her lips, and I realized I was staring at them, my breath hitching with a rush of desire. And her eyes darkened as though she was as conscious of how close we were as I was.
We sat frozen, the moment stretching out for a beat longer than I’d meant it to. Then Brooklyn pulled back, turning her face away from me.
“I think the dog’s clean enough now,” she said.
Grabbing the towel, I rubbed the dog dry while I pushed that spike of unwelcome desire out of my mind. “Two baths in two days,” I grumbled to him. “You’d better stay out of the mud from now on.”
Brooklyn fetched some towels for us, handing one to me, and I dried my face and hair while she did the same.
“Why haven’t you given the dog a name?” I asked when I was mostly dry.
“He’s not my dog. Nobody’s claimed him yet, but I can’t keep him. If I can’t find his owner, I’ll have to take him to the shelter.”
That was a shame. Despite his attraction to mud, Duke was a nice dog. Brooklyn seemed to like him. And the dog clearly liked her, though that had to be because he didn’t understand English, so he had no idea how rude she could be.
“At least give him a name in the meantime,” I suggested.
She tilted her head, thinking. “His name could be . . . Zeppelin.”
“Like Led Zeppelin, the band?”
“Exactly. They had a reputation for trashing hotel rooms, and John Bonham once drove his Harley through a swanky hotel on Sunset.” She gave her hair a last rub with the towel. “But the band was less destructive than the dog has been since he’s been staying with me. So maybe the name will be a good influence. Encourage him to clean up his act.” Hanging her towel over the edge of the bath, she smiled.
Maybe I didn’t like her, but I sure liked her smile. I liked the slight crookedness of it, and its warmth. The way it had reappeared so easily, despite the way she’d been crying. One look at that smile, and I decided not to tell her that I’d been calling the dog Duke. Zeppelin suited him better anyway. His nature was too boisterous to be a Duke.
“Anyway, thanks for helping to wash him,” she said, combing her damp hair with her fingers. “I appreciate it. Really. But I’m okay now.”
It sounded like an invitation to leave, and she probably wanted to clean up. Collecting my handkerchief from where she’d left it on the bathroom counter, I headed to the door.
She walked behind me, and when I got to her front porch, I turned to face her. She was standing inside the door, waiting to shut it behind me. Her T-shirt was still damp, clinging to her, highlighting her generous curves. She really was something. That face and body combined with her quick tongue and biting sarcasm. Had Green Valley ever seen the likes of her? I certainly hadn’t.
“I’ll look after Zeppelin tomorrow while you’re at work,” I found myself saying. “Then he won’t rip any more of your cushions.”
She blinked at me. “You’d do that?”
I shrugged, not entirely sure why I’d offered. “He’s good company.”
“Carla doesn’t even know about Zeppelin yet,” she confessed. “If he destroys any more of her stuff, she might disown me.”
“I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
“Could you come at seven, before I have to leave for work?”
“Okay,” I agreed, though it was earlier than I’d expected.
It wasn’t until after I left that I questioned why I was so willing to go out of my way to help her. Was it because she could be in danger? Or was it simply because we’d had an entire conversation in which she’d managed not to insult me?