Forever After

by Catherine Anderson

  She avoided looking at Goliath, who seemed to be trying to melt her heart. Craziness. Five minutes ago, she’d been afraid he might go for her jugular.

  A charged silence fell over the room, the ticking of her kitchen clock the only sound. Finally, Masters said, “In the morning, I’ll call about getting a kennel built, and until it’s done, I’ll do my best to keep Goliath home. Do you feel comfortable with that?”

  Meredith nearly pointed out that his best effort hadn’t proved to be effective so far, but her wig felt as if it were on crooked, she wore no mascara to darken her lashes, and her padded bra was in the bath. The quicker she got him out of here, the better.

  “Your best is all I can ask,” she replied.

  “If Goliath does get loose again, will you call me first? Instead of animal control?”

  “I’ll certainly try, but I can’t make any guarantees. What if you’re not at home?”

  “Whenever I’m gone, he’ll be locked up.” He thrust out a hand. “Shake on it?”

  Meredith glanced uneasily at Goliath.

  Heath chuckled. “He won’t bite you. It’s kids he’s protective of, not me.”

  Meredith gingerly extended her arm. Heath Masters’ large hand engulfed hers, his palm warm and slightly rough, like fine sandpaper. With the tip of his forefinger, he traced the protrusion of her wrist bone, a twinkle creeping into his blue-gray eyes.

  She was glad when he released her. Scrubbing his touch away on the nap of her robe, she led the way to the door, relieved that he still held the dog’s collar. She tried not to look at Goliath. Those soulful brown eyes were getting to her.

  Holding the door wide, she said, “Well…good night, Sheriff Masters.”

  “Heath. We are neighbors, Meredith. I hope we’ll become good friends.”

  “That reminds me. I don’t recall giving you my name.”

  He flashed her a slightly sheepish grin. “Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “That first night, I wanted to call you and mend fences, so I ran a check on your license plate.”

  Meredith felt as if the floor had vanished from beneath her feet. Just like that, he’d wanted her name and gotten it? By running a license plate check?

  “I see,” she finally managed to say. “Isn’t that an invasion of my privacy?”

  “If your first, middle, and last names are state secrets, yeah, I guess so.”

  Meredith didn’t miss the glint of curiosity that crept into his eyes. She looked quickly away, laughing nervously. “Not state secrets. It just tends to make you feel vulnerable. I prefer the traditional introduction. An exchange of names, shaking hands.”

  “You’re right.” He turned loose of his dog to straighten and thrust out his hand. “My name’s Heath Ian Masters,” he said, his voice laced with teasing amusement. “I’m the guy with the crazy dog who lives up the road.”

  She had endured one handshake. She wasn’t eager to experience another. But there he stood, waiting. She cast a wary glance at the dog then touched her fingertips to Heath’s work-hardened palm, hoping to get this over with quickly. No such luck.

  How was it that he could touch only her hand, yet make her feel the heat all over? A tingling, radiating warmth that shot first to her shoulder, then did a U-turn to her belly.

  “And you are?”

  She blinked. “Oh…I’m Meredith Lynn Kenyon, the woman down the road who doesn’t like your crazy dog.”

  He chuckled at that, then trailed his fingertip over her wrist bone again, slowly and lightly, as if he were committing the feel of her to memory.

  “Or me, either, I’m afraid,” he observed huskily. He released his hold on her and turned to shoo his dog out the door ahead of him. “We’ll have to work on that. Seems to me a lady living alone should be on good terms with the one neighbor she’s got.”

  Not if she had anything to say about it, she thought a little frantically. This man threatened her peace of mind in more ways than one.

  Heath was still standing on Meredith’s rickety porch when she turned off the outside light, leaving him in the moonlight that slanted under the sagging overhang. She had to know he was still out here. A grin settled on his mouth.

  “Well, Goliath, you’ve really done it this time,” he said softly. “What in the hell were you thinking, huh?”

  Goliath glanced at the closed door and whined.

  “I don’t wanna hear it, blockhead.” Picking his way carefully, Heath moved down the rotten steps. When the dog didn’t follow, he snapped his fingers. “Damn it, Goliath, get your keister down here.”

  Head hanging, the Rottweiler finally obeyed. Heath cut across the yard. At the road, he turned to look back. The floors in that house were a hazard. He couldn’t believe she’d set out flower pots to divert the foot traffic. Damn. Why didn’t she just hound Zeke Guntrum to death until the old fart repaired the place?

  Somehow, Heath couldn’t feature Meredith doing that. He recalled the wariness in her eyes and the nervous way she’d hugged her waist in the kitchen. She wasn’t the type to stand toe-to-toe with a man. And Zeke would take advantage of it. The old man had a history of leasing this house, promising to make repairs, then pocketing the last month’s rent and deposits when the snookered tenants left before the lease was up.

  Heath hated to see a single woman with a kid get taken. He ran his gaze over the crumbling foundation and sagging porches, wondering if he shouldn’t call Zeke himself.

  The thought brought him up short. This wasn’t his problem, and it sure as hell wasn’t his business. Meredith wouldn’t appreciate his interference. But, then, she probably wouldn’t be too pleased when she or Sammy fell through the floor, either.

  He remembered how fragile her wrist bone had felt. If she went through that floor, she’d break an ankle or something. The lady wasn’t exactly sturdy. And if she got hurt, who’d play Good Samaritan? Yours truly, that’s who. He was her only neighbor. That gave him a vested interest. It wasn’t that he was attracted to her or anything. He was just anticipating trouble before it happened and trying to head it off at the pass.

  Right. And if you believe that, next you’ll be investing in the Golden Gate Bridge.

  No wonder Goliath was so bent on coming here. There was something about Meredith and Sammy—he wasn’t sure what—that brought out protective instincts. Those big, wary eyes, maybe? Whatever it was, all it took was one look and you were sunk.

  Sighing, he fixed his gaze on her sagging front porch again. It wouldn’t take much to fix the damned thing. An evening or two of work, max. Hell, give him three weeks, and he could have the whole place back up to snuff. He scanned the house from roof to foundation, a list of necessary materials taking shape in his mind. He hadn’t used all of his paid vacation in over four years. If he took off early every afternoon for the next two or three weeks, no one at the department would dare to bitch.

  It wasn’t exactly the best timing, of course. Right now, he had career problems coming out his ears. On the other hand, though, what could he actually do about them? Worry? If the voters in this county disagreed with the way he did things, then he wasn’t the man for the job because he wasn’t willing to change. Doing things his way—trying to save kids—was the driving force in his life and the only reason he’d ever entered law enforcement. That was who he was, what he was all about, and if it was taken away, the job would mean nothing.

  If the citizens of Wynema County hoped to back him into a corner, they were in for a big surprise. Before he’d use intimidation tactics with teenagers, he’d sign that recall petition himself.

  He was whistling when he headed toward home. In the morning when he called a contractor about a kennel, he’d give Meredith’s landlord a ring. Zeke was an ornery old coot and tight-fisted. But Heath had a few powerful persuaders in his arsenal, primarily a threat to testify in Meredith’s behalf if she fell through the floor and injured herself.

  If anything would get Zeke’s attention fast, it’d be the possibility that he might get his ass
sued off. When Heath finished with him, Zeke would be glad Heath was offering to do the work for free and would give him carte blanche to buy the materials. Meredith had already done wonders with fresh paint and cute little window curtains. With new floors, some linoleum, and a decent living room rug, the place wouldn’t be half bad.

  Remembering the way she’d doused the porch light after showing him out, Heath chuckled. She’d have to wait a spell before she managed to get him completely out of her hair. And very pretty hair it was, lying in dark, silky curls over her shoulders.

  That was one thing about her he definitely liked, he decided—that wealth of dark hair.

  Chapter 5

  The next afternoon Sammy came running in the back door as if the devil were at her heels. Emptying potatoes from a bag into the sink, Meredith paused to glance up.

  “Is something wrong, punkin?”

  Sammy worked her mouth, then pointed toward the living room. “That sher’ff man is here. In his big white truck! He gots stuff all over the top of it.”

  The sheriff man? Her stomach twisting into knots, Meredith set the potatoes on the drain to go investigate. Glancing out into the yard through the parted living room curtains, she saw Heath Masters’ white bronco in her rutted driveway, WYNEMA COUNTY SHERIFF emblazoned on the passenger door. Just as Sammy had said, there was a load of wood and other stuff on top of the vehicle.

  Meredith frowned. An instant later, she heard footsteps on her porch, then the wall-shaking sound of a man’s fist connecting solidly with wood.

  When she opened the front door, the man himself stood on her welcome mat, his booted feet spread, his large hands resting at his hips. As her gaze met his, a jolt ran through her. There was something about him, with his broad shoulders and dark good looks, that invariably rattled her.

  Today he wore a dark brown Stetson cocked at a jaunty angle, the crown adding inches to his height. The wide brim cast a shadow over his face that did little to lessen the impact of those penetrating slate blue eyes. In the afternoon sunlight slanting under the porch overhang, the badge above his left shirt pocket flashed every time he moved.

  Prying her tongue loose from the roof of her mouth, Meredith managed a tinny, “Hello.” She nearly added, “May I help you?” At the last second, she bit back the question and settled for saying, “How are you today?” That scored low on originality as well, but at least it didn’t make her sound like a truck stop waitress.

  Jabbing a thumb in the direction of his vehicle, he flashed her a crooked, purely masculine grin that was so devastatingly attractive she wondered if he practiced it in front of a mirror. “Your landlord enlisted me to do some repairs on the house.”

  She glanced at his rugged looking four-wheel drive, the tires slightly compressed from the load it carried. “He did what?”

  Evidently her stunned reaction must have shown on her face, for he quickly added, “I’ll stay out of your way. At least until I have to move inside.”

  “But—” Meredith broke off, her mind a jumble of half-formed protests.

  He bounced on one foot, making her entire porch rock. “No way around it. You or Sammy could fall through. It isn’t safe. And the floors inside aren’t any better.”

  “I bought some particle board. I already laid some on the utility porch.”

  “That’s a stopgap measure, at best, not to mention that an abrupt edge like that in the center of a room is a good way to trip and fall.”

  Meredith couldn’t argue the point. She’d already stubbed her toe in the utility room once and undoubtedly would again if something wasn’t done.

  As if that settled the matter, he swept off his hat, touching his shirt sleeve to the beads of perspiration on his forehead. Looking into the sun, he said, “I can’t believe this weather. You ever seen the like? Not even June yet and it feels like midsummer.”

  The warm weather was the least of her concerns. He whacked his Stetson against his leg, making her jump.

  “I’m going over to my place to change before I start. I’ll be back at”—he glanced at his watch—“oh, probably four-thirty. If you hear a bunch of noise, you’ll know it’s me.”

  Her mouth still slightly agape, Meredith watched him vault off the porch with surefooted agility. He cut across her yard and started up the road in a loose, long-legged jog. It occurred to her as she gazed after him that she’d just been bulldozed. Very cleverly and politely, to be sure, but bulldozed, all the same. He hadn’t bothered to ask if she minded his doing the repairs on her house or tried to schedule his visits at her convenience. He was just going to barge in, and if she didn’t like it, too bad.

  Closing the door with more force than she intended, Meredith whirled to go back to the kitchen and nearly tripped over a flowerpot.

  “Hang it!” she said, her frustration making her voice shrill. “Between that man and his infernal dog, there’ll never be any peace and quiet around here!”

  Pale and big-eyed, Sammy stood in the archway that led to the kitchen. Tugging on the hem of her pink T-shirt, she said, “Mommy? What’s he gonna do?”

  Meredith took a steadying breath and went to kneel before her daughter. Gently smoothing a golden curl from the child’s cheek, she said, “He’s going to fix these awful old floors, sweetness. Won’t that be wonderful? And our porches, too!”

  “How come don’t you feel happy, then?”

  Good question. It wasn’t the gift Meredith had a problem with, but the packaging. “I’m just not used to having a stranger around, that’s all.”

  Sammy rubbed her nose. “Me, neither. I don’t want him here. Don’t let him come in, Mommy. ’Kay?”

  It wasn’t quite that simple. “We do need our floors fixed. Sheriff Masters is right about that. One of us could fall through and get hurt.”

  Her expression glum, Sammy hugged herself. “I hope he don’t gots his gun when he comes back.”

  Sammy got her wish. Ten minutes later, Heath Masters returned wearing faded jeans, a blue chambray work shirt, dusty cowboy boots, the same Stetson hat, and a leather tool belt slung low around his lean hips. Fanciful though it was, Meredith couldn’t help thinking he looked like a gunfighter straight off the set of a Western film, the only difference being that his side arm was a claw hammer instead of a Colt .45.

  He immediately started unloading the lumber from atop his Bronco and stacking it on her patchy front lawn. For such a large man, there was a curious sort of grace in everything he did, steely muscle and bone working in fluid harmony.

  When he started ripping up the rotten boards from her porch with nothing but the claw hammer and forceful precision, Meredith experienced an odd, tight sensation low in her abdomen. A purely knee-jerk reaction, she assured herself. There was something potently sensual about a well-muscled man in a sweat-dampened shirt with the sleeves rolled back over his forearms. It was only natural that her eyes were drawn to his anatomy. It was on a par with admiring a sensational sunset or studying a work of art.

  Meredith soon noticed she wasn’t the only observant female in the house. Sammy was staring out the window as well, eyes wide with fascination. Sammy’s father Dan had been the suit-and-tie type, and the child had never had an opportunity to closely observe a man doing physical labor. It was an impressive sight.

  Meredith’s heart kicked against her ribs when Heath paused to jerk the tails of his chambray shirt loose from his jeans. With deft flicks of his fingers, he unbuttoned the front placket. As he straightened to wipe his forehead, her attention shifted to his chest, a burnished copper only a shade lighter than his face. From there, her gaze dropped to the ladder of muscle that formed tracks across his abdomen. A narrowing swath of dark hair ran from his navel to the waistband of his jeans. He reminded her of a carving done in seasoned oak, every line masterfully defined and rubbed to a rich, dark sheen.

  As if he sensed eyes on him, he turned toward the window. His gaze locked on her. Caught in the act of gaping at him, she almost dove to the floor.

 
His mouth kicked up at one corner, and his flinty eyes took on a mischievous, knowing glint. Cheeks burning, Meredith turned away, nearly running over Sammy who stood partially behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Heath grinning and winking at the little girl.

  Grabbing Sammy by the arm, Meredith headed for the kitchen. “Come on, punkin, it’s not polite for us to stare. Let’s go fix supper.”

  “But Mommy, he’s got a funny-looking tummy.”

  Meredith wasn’t about to bite on that one. Funny didn’t begin to describe Heath Masters’ tummy. The man was a heart-stopper, no two ways about it, which was all the more reason for her to stay away from him. She’d fallen prey to a case of raging hormones once. Look where it had gotten her.

  “How about pudding for dessert tonight?” she asked Sammy in a twangy voice.

  “Is he gonna have supper with us?”

  Heaven forbid. “No, sweetness. Just you and I, like always.”

  Stepping back to the sink, Meredith began dumping potatoes out of the bag again. A light breeze came through the open kitchen window, cool against her cheeks. When she realized she’d dumped enough potatoes to feed a dozen grown men and one boy, she said, “Confound it,” under her breath and began shoving spuds back in the bag. Visions of Heath Masters still tumbling inside her head, she scrubbed the potato skins, then grabbed a knife from the wooden rack over the stove. After peeling the vegetables, she began quartering them into a pot sitting on the counter.

  “Say, Meredith? About the front door.”

  The unexpected sound of Heath’s voice coming through the window startled Meredith so badly that she jerked. Pain shot to her elbow, and almost instantly, blood seemed to be everywhere. She dropped the potato and knife into the sink and wrenched on the faucet handle to shove her hand under cold water. “Oh, my stars!”

  Heath, who stood head and shoulders above the windowsill, leaned in and saw the blood streaming from her hand. “Jesus H. Christ!”

  The next instant, he disappeared.