Читать книгу More Than She Expected - Karen Templeton - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Seated at her kitchen table, Laurel grinned over her cup of tea as she watched her grandmother contort her eighty-five-year-old body to look out the kitchen window while she washed up the lunch dishes. At, it wasn’t hard to guess, Tyler digging a trench for the wall.

“You do know I have a dishwasher, Gran, right?”

“And you do know he’s taken his shirt off, right?”

“I do now.”

Marian McKinney twisted to frown at Laurel over her shoulder. “And you don’t want to come see?”

“Not particularly,” Laurel said with the most nonchalant shrug she could manage. Tyler in a muscle-hugging T-shirt already left nothing to the imagination. Tyler without the T-shirt...

Yes, she—and her bouncing baby hormones—had gotten over whatever had sent her into a tizzy a few days ago. But still. Some things were best left unseen.

Or thought about.

“And you, Gran, are a dirty old lady.”

Her grandmother swatted in her general direction, flinging water and Palmolive suds across the floor. She had a hot date later, apparently, so was all decked out in a bright purple pantsuit and the diamond studs Grampa had given her for her fiftieth birthday, her glistening white hair appropriately poufed for the occasion.

“I’ll take dirty over dead any day, believe me.”

“Does what’s-his-name know this?”

“Thomas. And if he doesn’t—” she turned, her pale blue eyes twinkling behind her trifocal lenses as she dried her hands on a dish towel “—he’ll soon find out.”

“You hussy.”

“Damn straight,” Gran said, neatly folding the towel before hanging it back up, then carrying her own tea over to sit for a few minutes before she left. Every Saturday, come hell or hurricane, they had lunch—a tradition they’d started when Lauren was in kindergarten, only broken during those years she lived in New York. This time was theirs...and Laurel wasn’t sure which one enjoyed it more.

Despite Gran’s oft-verbalized discomfort with Laurel’s decision to be a single mother. Not because her grandmother was a prude—obviously—but because—

“What did you say his name was again?”

“Tyler. Noble.”

Gran’s forehead crinkled. “Noble, Noble...” She snapped her fingers. “One of Preston and Jeanne Noble’s kids?”

“I have no idea. Who are Preston and Jeanne Noble?”

“He’d just retired from the air force when I met them, oh, way back. Before you came to live with me, when Harold was still alive. Jeanne and I were both working on some fund-raiser or other, Harold and I had dinner with her and the Colonel one evening.” She laughed. “They spent the whole night talking about ‘their’ kids—they’d been fostering for a while by that point, but had adopted two or three as well, as I recall. Not as babies, either, as little kids. Wonderful people,” Gran said on a sigh. “Especially her. I would have loved to have kept up with them, but then Harold got sick and...” She shrugged. “So wouldn’t that be funny, if Tyler was one of theirs? I mean, he’s such a nice young man....”

“Which you could tell after, what, twenty seconds when you took him a sandwich?”

“You’d be surprised how much you can tell in twenty seconds,” she said, and what could Laurel say to that? “Especially when you get to be my age and can spot the BS within ten. And if he is one of the Colonel and Jeanne’s brood—”

“Gran. Honestly.”

“You could have at least invited him in to eat with us—”

“And I already told you, Ty said he only had a few hours to work. He has to go see a client later—”

“Oooh...Ty, is it?”

“For the love of Pete, Gran,” Laurel said, laughing. “Give it a rest.”

“But honey...it’s so hard, raising a child on your own—”

“You managed.”

“You weren’t a newborn. That would’ve killed me.”

“I somehow doubt that.” Laurel got up to rinse out her cup, taking care to avert her eyes from the glorious, slightly sweaty sight twenty feet past the window. After stealing the quickest peek. Long enough to see him bopping his head as he measured, she presumed in time to whatever music was coming through his earbuds. Inwardly sighing, she turned back to her grandmother. “But it’s not as if I’m a teenager, or penniless. Or homeless—”

“No. Just stubborn.”

“Gee. Can’t imagine who I got that from.”

Gran’s grimace bit into a face already deeply lined from too many summers spent on the shore when she was younger, and Laurel smiled. “Besides,” she said gently, “Tyler’s obviously younger than I am, and—”

“Oh, pish. Harold was six years younger than I was. No big deal.”

Laurel’s brows crashed. “I never knew that.”

“Yeah, well, neither did he. Because I lied about my age,” she said with a little “no biggee” flick of her hand. “It was easier to get away with back then. Nobody checked. And since I handled all the household stuff, he had no reason to ever find out. So thank God he went before I did, or that could have been really embarrassing. But anyway,” she said on a huff of air, “Harold could keep up with me, if you get my drift. Until he got sick, anyway. Until then, however—” she did a coy little shoulder wiggle “—ooh-là-là.”

“Except I’m not looking for ooh-là-là.”

“Don’t kid yourself, sweetheart,” Gran said, getting to her feet and collecting the pink quilted Kate Spade bag Laurel’d given her for her eightieth birthday and which she was now never seen without. Thing was getting a little dingy, truth be told. “Everyone’s looking for ooh-là-là.” She nodded pointedly at Laurel’s belly, the pooch still barely visible underneath her roomy—and fortuitously fashionable—top. “Even you, at one point. Obviously.”

“And look how late it is!” Laurel said, ushering her grandmother toward the door. “If you don’t leave now, you won’t make your movie!”

Fully aware of Laurel’s diversionary tactic, Gran chuckled. But at the front door, the older woman turned and grabbed Laurel’s hand. “I can’t help it...I worry about you, baby.” Behind her silver-framed glasses, her eyes filled. “I always have.”

“Then you need to stop,” Laurel said gently. “I’m not that eleven-year-old girl anymore. And believe it or not—” she cupped a hand over The Bump “—I’m happy. Really.”

“But not as happy as you could be.”

Laurel leaned over to kiss her grandmother’s cheek. “I’m fine. Really. Now go have fun with your gentleman friend and I’ll talk to you later.”

“You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

On another air-swat, Gran turned and descended the porch steps, still on her own steam but definitely more carefully these days. But there was nothing cautious about her sure handling of her brand-new Prius as she smartly steered away from the curb and down the street...even if the car’s stereo was loud enough to hear even with the windows up. Billie Holiday, sing your heart out.

Shaking her head, Laurel went back inside, where her laptop glared balefully from her coffee table. Swatting at it much like her grandmother had at her, she walked back into the kitchen. To...put the washed dishes away, that was it. And if her gaze happened to drift out the window...well. Gaze-drifting happened.

Her cell phone rang, startling the bejesus out of her.

“Hey,” Tyler said. “Your grandmother still there?”

“No, she just left—”

“Got a sec, then? Cause I need you to make a design decision.”

“Seriously?”

“You’re gonna see far more of this wall than I am, so get out here and tell me how you want this pattern to go.”

Laurel shoved her bare feet into a pair of leather flip-flops by the patio door, grabbed a bottle of tea out of the fridge, then went out onto the high-railed deck, mostly in shade this time of day thanks to the thirty-foot sycamore planted smack in the center of the yard. Next summer, she could put a portacrib out here, she thought with a little smile, where the wee one could nap while she wrote....

Tyler turned, grinning and sweaty and glistening, and she actually gulped. So wrong. Because, really, how old was this guy? Twenty-five, twenty-six...?

“Looking good,” she said, then blushed. “The trench, I mean.” Since that’s all there was, at this point. Still grinning, the goofball shook his head, clearly finding amusement in her discomfiture. She held up the tea. “Thirsty?”

“That looks amazing. Yes.”

Laurel skipped down the deck’s stairs—something she probably wouldn’t be able to do for much longer—and crossed the small yard, the cool, too-long grass tickling the sides of her feet. Since she still hadn’t mowed. But the idea that she could mow her own yard...the thought still made her a little giddy.

She handed Tyler the tea, watching the muscles in his damp neck stretch as he tilted his head back, rhythmically pulse as he swallowed. Suddenly not feeling too steady on her pins, she sank onto the bench of her grandmother’s old redwood picnic table a few feet away, grateful for the cool breeze meandering through the leaf-dappled sunlight. Tyler joined her to set the half-drunk tea on the table, then reached behind them for the tablet hidden underneath his rumpled, abandoned T-shirt, and Laurel thought, Whoa. Because, although the bloodhound sense of smell had diminished somewhat after the first trimester, thank God, after a couple hours spent working in the hot sun, the man’s pheromones were singing like the chorus in a Verdi opera.

And she did love her some Italian opera, boy.

“Man, that feels good,” he said, shutting his eyes for a moment as another breeze drifted through. Opening his eyes again, he picked up the T-shirt and swiped it across his chest, and Laurel nearly passed out.

“Nice yard,” he said. “Was it like this when you moved in?”

Yard, okay. That, she could talk about. “The bones were there, but it’d been badly neglected. And of course I moved in during the Winter That Would Not End. Every time I thought I’d get out and start puttering, it’d snow—”

Or she’d feel like the walking dead, tossing her cookies every morning.

“—but now that Mother Nature’s finally stopped with the schitzo routine, I’ve been working on it, little by little, to make it my own. Well, to make it look more like my grandmother’s yard, which I loved. Hers was bigger, though. Much bigger. This is just right, though. For me.”

“Your grandmother’s something else, isn’t she?”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She grinned. “You better watch out—she likes you.”

“I know, older women can’t keep their hands off me,” he said, grinning back. “It’s a curse.”

“I’ll bet,” Laurel said, inwardly sighing as Tyler handed her the tablet and she got another whiff of hot, damp male. One who did not—thank you, Jesus—douse himself in man-stink cologne.

“I was playing around with some design ideas last night, this is what I came up with. But nothing’s set in stone,” he said, then groaned at his own lame joke.

She chuckled then forced her attention to the designs on the screen. “I think...this,” she said, pointing to the top one, all one color except for two rows near the top, where the dark and light blocks alternated, checkerboard style.

“Yeah? Me, too. And you know what else would be really cool, right over there?” Leaning his elbows on the table, Tyler nodded toward the middle of the wall. “A fountain. Like you’d see in an Italian garden. Or English, maybe.” He grinned at her, his mouth adorably lopsided, his hair adorably messy. She could say the feelings surging inside her were more of a maternal nature, but she’d be lying. “You know, where the water’s coming out of the lion’s mouth or something?”

“And where would I get one of those?”

“Actually there’s one at the shop—”

“Of course there is.”

“No, hear me out. It was part of a huge haul from a property over in Weehawken, from like a year ago. If you like it, I’ll let you have it for really cheap.” He winked, and she laughed—because the flirting, it was absurd, really— before, with another smile, he reclaimed the tablet. “Here, let me show you...” He scrolled through his photos, then turned the screen back around.

“Oh, my. That’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

“I know, right? And it would look perfect there, with some rosebushes and sh—stuff planted around it. You can’t really tell much from the picture, though, you should really see it in person. If you’re interested, I mean.”

“Well...I suppose that depends on the price?”

“Like I said, it was part of a huge haul, we’re already in the black with it. So...twenty bucks?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Too high? Fifteen?”

“No! Tyler! For heaven’s sake...you can’t tell me you’d normally price something like that so low. Why on earth would you basically give it to me?”

He got quiet, then said, “It’s a really cool piece, for sure—at least, I think so—but to be honest, it looks like it’s a hundred-plus years old. Part of the lion’s nose is missing, and it’s got a lot of dings and cracks. It works fine, but it’s not...perfect.”

“But isn’t that what gives it character?”

“You would think so, yeah. And it’s not like we haven’t sold stuff in worse shape. Far worse shape. I don’t know why this guy hasn’t moved. Unless...” He looked at her from underneath his shaggy hair. “Unless he was waiting for his right home.”

“And you think my wall is it?”

“Could be,” he said with a shrug—and another wink—before getting up again, grabbing the tea to finish it off. Laurel sighed.

“What?” he said, twisting the cap back on.

“Are you even aware you’re flirting with me?”

He actually blushed. “Sorry, I... No. I mean, that’s just me.” Which was exactly what she’d thought. “Didn’t mean to offend you or anything—”

“Oh, I’m not offended at all. Amused, perhaps. And I was going to say flattered.” She sighed. “Until you made it clear it’s not personal.”

“It’s not. I mean...please don’t take this the wrong way, but—”

Yes, that was the story of her life, wasn’t it? And again, exactly as she’d figured. “S’okay, I totally get it. Really. But you might want to pull back on the flirting thing. Because someday, somebody is going to take it the wrong way. And that wouldn’t be good.”

“No, ma’am, it sure wouldn’t.”

Thirty-five, and already ma’amed. So sad.

“So. Anyway,” he said, “I’ll get the footing poured tomorrow. Once that’s set I can start building the wall in the evenings. I don’t intend for it to take too long, though—I miss my dog too much.”

“Oh, that’s right—where is Boomer?”

“At my brother’s. Matt’s Newfoundland and Boomer are best buds—”

“A Newfie? Wow.”

“Wow, is right. Alf’s paw’s about the same size as Boomer’s head.”

Laurel stood as well, the breeze messing with her loose top. “So you have a brother?” At Tyler’s puzzled frown, she smiled. “I’m an only. The idea of siblings always intrigued me.”

With a slight snort, Tyler grabbed the shirt, yanked it over his head. “Actually, I’ve got two. And two sisters.”

“Seriously? Kudos to your mom.” Little Bits started up with his jazz routine, but Laurel stopped herself from laying a hand over her tummy. Even though she had no idea why, it wasn’t as if this was a secret. “That’s a lot of babies to push out.”

“Actually, she didn’t. Except for Abby, the youngest, the rest of us were adopted. And there was always the occasional foster, too—”

“So your family is the one Gran was talking about!”

“Excuse me?”

“When I told her your name, she wondered if your dad was Preston Noble.”

“That’s him, yeah. He—they—adopted me when I was ten.”

“She remembered briefly meeting him and your mom, when my grandfather was still alive. So, years ago. How are they?”

“Pop’s doing okay, I guess. But Mom...she passed away several years ago.”

“Oh...I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, it was rough on the old man. And Abs, she was only fourteen, fifteen, something like that.” He paused then said quietly, “It’s rough, losing your mother when you’re still a kid. Which I guess you know all about, huh?”

“Yeah.”

He picked up the tablet, tucking it to his side. “Mom was great,” he said softly. “Not that the Colonel wasn’t—isn’t—but she was more about going with the flow. Pop’s...he’s a good man, don’t get me wrong, but he had pretty definite ideas about how things should be done—” His phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket, frowned. “Damn, it’s later than I thought. I really need to go—”

“No, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“Look, I meant it, about wanting you to come see that fountain. Make sure you really like it before I lug it over here. Whenever you want... Here.” He dug in the same pocket for a business card. “If I’m not there, Abs will be. So. Deal?”

“Deal,” Laurel said, and he smiled. Like, right into her eyes, smiled. Then he hopped over the trench and up on his own deck before she finally hauled herself onto hers and back inside, where she turned on the central air the previous owners had installed, bless their hot little hearts.

Unbuttoning her blouse, she stood in the middle of the living room, where cool air washed over her bare, bulging belly. Not as much as some bellies bulged at five months, perhaps, but she definitely no longer looked as though she’d just gone on a doughnut binge.

As in, soon people would start noticing.

Like, say, hunky neighbors and such.

Hunky neighbors who were surprisingly easy to talk to, given how uneasy and tongue-tied and awkward she usually felt around men.

Not bothering to button her top—like who was gonna see?—Laurel returned to the kitchen for her own bottle of tea, reminding herself that even if she hadn’t been pregnant, Tyler and she would have never happened. For a whole slew of reasons, spoken, unspoken, sort-of spoken...whatever. That, frankly, as sweet a kid as he was—and as much as her libido was letting her fantasies run amok—compared with her, he was a kid. And she hadn’t been a kid since...well, ever, really.

She twisted off the cap, took a long swallow, then rubbed the cold, smooth bottle to her overheated forehead. Because for too many years—and except for one single, if major, lapse of judgment—she’d been about what made sense. What was practical.

Which Tyler Noble was definitely not.

On her return to her living room, her laptop once more caught her eye. She should really try to get at least a couple pages done today. Except, you know what? Her deadline wasn’t for another month. And last week the words had flowed quite nicely, thank you. So if all went well she’d get the next book in well before the baby came, and then...

And then, she thought on a sharp intake of air.

Her life would change forever.

A little freaked, truth be told, Laurel plopped on her sofa and grabbed the remote, clicking through the menu until she found, of all things, a cooking show. Since, if she was going to be somebody’s mother, she should probably learn how to feed the kid.

Because that was the practical thing to do.

* * *

Judging from the sounds and scents when Ty stopped by his brother Matt’s after work to pick up the beast, everybody was in the backyard, where Matt’s fiancée’s kids rushed him and both dogs serenaded him like they’d been apart for years.

In front of the grill, Matt was tending enough burgers to feed all of Maple River. Boomer duly acknowledged and reassured, Ty scooped Aislin, Kelly’s curly-headed three-year-old, into his arms and marched over, his stomach rumbling and his head fizzing a little, like it always did when he was around kids. Especially cuties like this one.

“Weren’t expecting you ’til later,” Matt said, flipping the sizzling meat and sending a plume of cow-scented smoke wafting into the humid, early-evening air. “Thought you had a date.”

“She canceled,” he said. Matt gave him a look; Ty shrugged. “It was pretty much done, anyway.” His older brother gave a low chuckle. “What?”

“Nothing. You wanna stay for dinner? Kelly made potato salad that’ll make you weep, no lie. And some ridiculous dessert.” Ty’s future sister-in-law was a caterer. Damn good one, too. “Seriously, if you don’t help us eat this stuff, I’m not gonna fit in my uniform anymore.”

“Can’t stay. Since, now that I’m free—”

“Again. Or is that still?”

Tyler ignored him. “I might as well start on the wall. And you’re a detective, when was the last time you wore a uniform?”

“Whatever—”

“Hey, Uncle Ty!” Tyler grinned over as Cooper, Kelly’s eight-year-old son sprinted across the grass, the late-day sun glinting off his glasses, his warm brown curls. Ty gave the kid a high five.

“How’s it goin’, dude?”

“Great! Dad said he’s gonna set up one of those big swimming pools, right over there!” He pointed to the far corner of the yard, where the Boomer and Alf were noisily wrestling. “Cool, huh?”

“Very cool,” Ty said, shooting his brother a glance. Then, to Coop again: “You can swim?”

“Not yet, but Dad signed Linnie and me up at the Y for lessons—”

“Hey, sport, these are almost done. Go see if your mom’s got the rest of the food ready.”

“On it!”

Linnie squealed to get down; Ty obliged, watching the kids bound off before turning back to his brother. “Dad?” he said, shoving aside the strangest twinge of...something.

Underneath a dark beard haze that passed five-o’clock shadow at least three days ago, Matt grinned. “It just popped out the other day. Not sure which of us was more surprised.”

“I can imagine. How’s it feel?”

His brother lowered the lid on the grill, then crossed his arms. “Amazing? Scary? Humbling, for sure.” Matt glanced toward the house. “I only hope I don’t screw it up.”

Like Tyler, Matt—and his twin sister, Sabrina, who lived in Manhattan—had been adopted when they were older, in their case after their parents died in a car crash. And, since Matt never mentioned his father, Ty suspected there were some unresolved issues there. True, they’d only been six when their folks died, but some things imprint early. He should know.

“Screw it up? Are you kidding? You’ve so got this, man.” Ty clapped his brother’s shoulder. “Seriously.”

Matt sighed, but through a crooked smile. Dude was the happiest Ty had ever seen him. After his skank ex had cheated on him like that? On somebody who, as far as Ty knew, had never done anything wrong in his entire freaking life? He totally deserved to be happy—

“So you ready for the wedding?” Matt asked.

“Hey. All I have to do is show up.” He snatched a piece of American cheese off the plate by the grill. “You’re the one getting married. Again.”

“Your time will come, buddy. Yes, it will, don’t give me that look. You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? Or you just gonna eat all my cheese?”

“Don’t hold your breath, no, and don’t get your boxers in a bunch, there’s still four pieces left. Okay, three,” he said, stuffing another slice in his mouth.

“Why aren’t you staying?” Kelly appeared like an apparition, setting a bowl of creamy potato salad flecked with bits of red and green something or other on the tempered glass table beside him.

“The wall,” he said, trying not to drool, and she nodded.

“Right. Forgot. Then at least let me send home a doggie bag—”

“You don’t have to do that...”

“No arguments. There’s plenty. And if you stare any harder at the potato salad you’re going to meld with it. Coop, honey? Go get... Oh, never mind, I’ll do it.” She patted Ty’s shoulder. “Do not move.”

After she tromped off, her red curls bouncing between her shoulder blades, Matt chuckled. “The woman lives to feed people. I am so blessed.”

It was true, Ty thought later, as, laden with enough rations to see him through next winter, he parked in his driveway, Boomer panting his head off behind him. His brother had been blessed, in ways Matt probably couldn’t have imagined a few months ago. But then, he’d always wanted a family. Kids. And Ty had no doubt his big brother, who used to keep an eye on all of them like a frickin’ sheep dog, would make a damn good father. Ty, however...

The very thought made him shudder. Not that he wasn’t crazy about his nieces and nephews—their oldest brother, Ethan, had four kids—but having his own? No way. As far as that went—he shoved the dog’s head out of the bag of food, grabbed it and got out of the car—he definitely knew who he was. Or, in this case, wasn’t—

“Boomer! What the hell? Get over here!”

Halfway to Laurel’s, the dog stopped in his tracks, turned around. But only to plant his butt in the grass, then look over his shoulder. Then again at Tyler, all jowly pleading. In the distance, thunder rumbled from black-as-soot clouds, threatening another storm. So much for working outside tonight. Although, truth be told, by the time he finished eating it’d probably be too dark—and he’d be too wiped out—to get much done, anyway.

Then, faintly, even over Laurel’s rumbling air conditioner unit and another round of thunder, Tyler heard music. Not clearly enough to make out what it was, even when he went closer—to get his mule-headed dog—but definitely not punk rock.

He grabbed the dog’s collar and marched him back to the house and up the steps...where he looked over at Laurel’s prissy little house, which sat more forward on the lot than his did. Meaning he could see in her side window pretty good. She had a lamp on, her back to him as she worked at her computer. She’d bunched her hair into a pair of ridiculous-looking ponytails sticking out on either side of her head...and she was swaying to the music. Like, from the depths of her soul.

And...singing?

She stretched out her arms, her head falling back... Yep. Singing.

He laughed out loud.

And Boomer whined, straining to break free of Ty’s grasp. He looked at those pitiful yellow eyes, that even more pitiful underbite...and Kelly had hooked him up with so much food, he’d never be able to eat it all...

This, he could share. In fact, it would be wrong not to.

Phone in hand, he scrolled through his contacts and pressed Send, smiling when he saw Laurel jump. She fumbled for her phone beside the laptop, but he couldn’t see her expression when she checked the display.

“Ty? What—?”

“You eat yet?”

She paused, still staring at her computer screen. “Why?”

“Turn around.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just do it.”

She did, gasping a little when she saw him watching her. The phone still to her ear, she got up, came to the window. Opened it. Now he could hear the music, some kind of jazz. Sultry. Blood-stirring. Was she wearing...pajamas? Hard to tell behind the screen.

“What are you doing?”

Pocketing his phone, Tyler held up the bag. A rain-scented breeze skirted across the porch, messing with his hair. “Inviting you to share a feast. And you can put down the phone now.”

“Oh. Right.” She did. “What kind of feast?”

“Burgers. Potato salad. Regular salad with homemade ranch dressing. And some dessert that defies description.”

“Where did you—?”

“From my brother and sister-in-law. Well, soon to be. In a month. She’s a caterer. As in, her cooking kicks butt. You do not want to pass this up, believe me.”

Laurel lifted her hand to the back of her neck. Apparently felt the ponytails. “I’m already in my jammies,” she said, yanking out first one, then the other, band. She ruffled her hair. To make it lay down again, he supposed. Didn’t work.

“So I see,” he said. “You do realize it’s only seven-thirty?”

“Since I wasn’t expecting company, what’s it to you?”

He grinned. “Should I put mine on, too?”

“Let me guess. You don’t wear any.”

“You spoiled the surprise,” he said, and she laughed. “So. You want to help Boomer and me eat this stuff or not?”

“Do I have to get dressed?”

“Not on my account. Do I have to stay dressed?”

“Yes.”

“Party pooper,” he said, and she laughed again.

“Bring the dog. We’ll eat outside!”

* * *

Laurel’d eaten dinner already, of course. Hours ago. But the budding baby carnivore in her womb leaped at the prospect of hamburgers. And potato salad. As long as the salad was fresh and the hamburgers well-done. Because she wasn’t taking any chances.

As if she hadn’t done that already, she thought, ramming a comb through her sticky-outty hair. And was doing it again, since simply letting Tyler come over was a challenge to what little was left of her hormone-ravaged sanity.

She tossed a lightweight robe on over the pajamas, a set of her grandfather’s she found while packing up Gran’s house. Silk, no less. Comfy as hell. And roomy enough to hide an elephant in. Or, in this case, her little passenger.

The doorbell rang. The loose robe flapping around her thighs, she tramped barefoot through the house and opened the door, bending to get kisses from Boomer before grinning up at Tyler. All nonchalant and stuff.

“I thought the deal was, you were supposed to build the wall and I’d supply the food?”

“And you still can. Just not tonight.” He came in, handing her the bag. “You sure about outside? Sounds like a storm’s coming in.”

“Not here yet, is it?”

“True.”

She carried the food to her kitchen, Boomer keeping her company as she emptied the bag of its carefully packed goodies—still-warm burgers swaddled in heavy-duty foil, the salads in plastic containers inside a thermal lunch box. With an ice pack. Laurel smiled: Whoever this chick was, she already liked her.

“Nice place,” Tyler called from the living room.

“Isn’t it exactly like yours?”

“Not even remotely. I mean, your place actually looks like a grown-up lives here.” He came to the door, leaning on the jamb with his thumbs tucked in his pockets. Grinning. Sexy as hell. “Although the colors are a little girlie for my taste.”

“Well, since a girl lives here, it’s all good. Let’s see...I’ve got tea, milk or water to go with. Name your poison.”

“No beer? Or even soda?”

“’Fraid not,” she said. “Hate the taste of beer, and I stopped drinking soda years ago. Although...hang on...”

She opened the fridge, rummaging about for a moment until she found the half-drunk bottle of white wine, way in the back. She pulled it out, triumphant. “Ta-da!”

Tyler looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Really?”

“What?”

“A, white wine with burgers? And B, how old is that?”

“Okay, you might have a point. Or two.”

He chuckled. “Tea’s fine.” He pushed away from the door and over to the counter, where he started opening containers, and she thought, In another life...

“Silverware’s in that drawer right in front of you,” Laurel said, pulling out another bottle of tea for Tyler, water for herself. “Paper plates in the cupboard above...”

A few minutes later, the storm having moved off to torment someone else, they were out on the deck, the setting sun beginning to tinge the quivering sycamore leaves an apricot gold. Laurel planted herself in one of the two wicker rockers she’d also taken off her grandmother’s hands, while Ty took the other one, setting their food and drinks on a small wrought-iron table between them. Out on the lawn a pair of robins scampered in opposite directions, occasionally stopping, heads cocked, before jabbing their beaks into the grass for a juicy earthworm.

As ravenous as those birdies, Laurel unwrapped her burger, checking to make sure it was cooked through before biting into it. Tyler, who’d chomped down willy-nilly, frowned over at her.

“S’it okay?”

“Delicious,” she said, chewing. “Thank you.”

“Matt tends to cook ’em to death, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Really.”

Tyler took a swig of his tea, then leaned back in his chair. “So...you said you were a writer?” Her mouth full, Laurel nodded. “What do you write?”

She swallowed, then grabbed a napkin to wipe ketchupy juice off her chin. “Young adult novels. For hire, though, not really my own stuff.” At his frown, she smiled. “And...you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Umm...I’m guessing somebody pays you to write books for them?”

“Pretty much, yeah. My publisher gives me the storylines and I flesh them out. For a series aimed at tweens—nine-to twelve-year-old girls. The Hamilton High Good Luck Club. I’m guessing you’ve never heard of it?”

“Um...no. But I’ve got a fifteen-year-old niece... Maybe she has.”

“Very possible. The series has been going for nearly twenty years now. But I’ve only been writing for it for five.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really,” she said with a light laugh. “I write fast, and it pays fairly well. And I don’t have to worry about—” She caught herself. “Traffic. Or clothes.” She plucked at her attire. “Or office gossip. In some ways, it’s the best job in the world. For me, anyway.”

“So you’re cool with telling somebody else’s stories?”

“Oh, I’ve had a couple of other things published. Made bupkiss with them. Love to write, not a big fan of starving. So for now, this is good. And does Boomer always stare like that?”

Because he was sitting in front of them, mouth open, drooling, his eyebrows twitching as he looked from one to the other.

“God, dog,” Tyler said, “you are beyond pathetic. Go lay down!”

On a groan, the dog chuffed over to the railing and collapsed on the boards...but without taking his golden eyes off the burger in Laurel’s hands.

“Oh, come on,” Laurel said. “How can you say no to that face?”

Ty stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth, reached for his plate of salads. “That face is what got me into trouble to begin with.”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah. Okay, so a couple years back, I was dating this girl who decided she wanted a dog. So she asks me to go to the pound with her, help her choose. I say, sure, whatever. And while she’s looking at all these little rat dogs—you know, with those yippy little barks?—I turn around and see this thing sitting in his cage, just...watching me.”

At that, Boomer lifted his head, his attention fixed on Tyler. Whose attention was every bit as fixed on the dog. Laurel smiled.

“He knows you’re talking about him.” Grunting, Tyler dispatched another bite of potato salad. “So what happened?”

“I looked away. Because the dog was creeping me out, staring at me like that. And those teeth.” The dog cocked his head, and Laurel nearly choked on the bite in her mouth. “So anyway, the girl—Hannah—she picks out her dog, we do all the paperwork, and then we leave—”

“You left him there?” Ty looked at her, then tipped his tea bottle at the dog, and Laurel nodded. “Right. Sorry. Continue.”

“Anyway...so I take Hannah and the rat dog back to her house, and then I come home, and I can’t get the damn dog’s face out of my mind. That one, not hers. Hers, I forgot about the minute I dropped her off. But I’m thinking, I don’t want a dog. Don’t need a dog, don’t want the responsibility, the pressure of having to keep something alive...” He blew out a breath. “But that face. Yeah,” he said when Boomer heaved himself to his feet again and came over, his whole back end shimmying as he laid his chin in Tyler’s lap. “This face,” he said, cupping the saggy-jowled head in his hands. “Suckered me right in.”