by Bella Andre
“I wonder how long they’ve been alone?” Tasha asked.
Daniel mixed up another two bowls. “Couldn’t be too long, or they would have died of dehydration in that hole. A full-grown dog can go maybe three days.” He frowned. “But puppies?”
While Tasha cradled the sated puppy, Daniel knelt by the makeshift crate, murmuring softly to the other two.
There was something incredibly moving about watching a big, strong man be so tender with a tiny, helpless animal. His caring shone through. Men with animals were like men with babies—enough to make her eyes tear up.
But with Daniel it was more. Considering how wealthy he was, he could have been high-and-mighty. He could have called in a minion—she was sure he had dozens of employees—to shunt the puppies off to the pound. But he’d scrounged around inside that hole himself to rescue them, driven into town for food, and trudged door to door to talk to the neighbors.
In many ways, his kindness made him far more dangerous than if he’d been a self-obsessed jerk.
It was one thing to give up something she didn’t want.
It was another entirely to have to turn away from a man like Daniel.
Tasha studied the strong lines of his face, the laugh creases at his eyes, the smile curving his mouth. She wanted to touch him to make sure he was real, but by now, in the aftermath of their puppy rescue mission, she was absolutely sure there wasn’t a single phony thing about him.
If only she could say the same about herself, but her life had been a lie. Even now, while she was supposed to be alone in the mountains atoning for her family’s sins and all the people they’d hurt, she was mooning over a sexy, handsome, rich man.
“Come on, little guy.” Daniel’s voice was soft and coaxing as the middle puppy stuck its face in a bowl, getting the food all over its muzzle in its haste to gulp down the gruel. But the smallest one barely moved.
Daniel picked it up, trying to get it to stand, only to have it collapse immediately.
“Do you have a spoon?” he asked Tasha. “I think he needs to be hand-fed.”
“He is actually a she.” Tasha stroked the biggest one still in her arms. “Boy.” Then she pointed at the one currently wolfing down food. “Another boy.” And finally to the poor little mite who could barely stand. “Girl. And yes, I have a spoon.” With her free hand, she fumbled through her cutlery box on the floor and came up with a small jam-pot spoon she’d found at a thrift store.
Daniel spooned a smidgen, trying to get the little puppy to take it, but she didn’t even open her mouth.
“I’ve got an idea.” Tasha grabbed one of the hand towels she’d laid in the crate. “Let’s wrap her in the burrito bundle like we did when we carried them home. Holding her on her back like a baby might make her feel more comfortable.”
“Great suggestion. The big and medium guys didn’t seem to have any problems, thankfully.” After a moment, he added, “You know what? They need better names than the big one, the medium one, and the runt.”
The thought of naming them made Tasha a little queasy. Already, she wanted to keep them forever. She could too easily imagine the fun they would have together once the puppies were fattened up. Three furry companions who would make all the difference in her life. Who would make this place a true home. As it was, just having Daniel here make her shack feel like home.
“Larry, Curly, and Moe,” Daniel suggested as he rolled the tiny female in his arms. Her eyes remained pathetically closed.
“You watched The Three Stooges?”
He put a spoonful of mashed food to the puppy’s mouth, obviously hoping the scent would tempt her. “Saturday mornings when I was kid, on whatever stations we could get from our old antenna, we watched reruns of all the old shows. Wile E. Coyote, the Marx Brothers.”
This magnificent man had grown up poor, without even cable TV. Whereas she’d had every channel known to man. Courtesy of stolen money.
“How about Heckle, Jeckle, and Hyde?” he asked when she didn’t agree to his first recommendation. Just then, a little pink tongue finally flicked out and licked at the spoon. “There you go, Heckle.”
“That’s a terrible name for a puppy.” But Tasha still laughed, loving the name game. “How about Groucho, Harpo, and Chico?” she said, even though she knew her suggestions weren’t much better than his had been.
“They don’t look like the Marx Brothers,” he argued. “And she deserves a more feminine name.” He rocked the puppy, who was at last eating every bite he offered.
Tasha laid the big boy in the box, where he rolled over to sleep.
Daniel came up with another idea. “All right then, how about Froggy, Spanky, and Darla?”
She picked up the medium puppy and he too immediately fell asleep, starting to snore softly, his breathing raspy through his open mouth. “You know what?” She smiled, aware that she was happier than she had any right to be. “I think we’ve got a winner.”
* * *
Daniel’s stomach growled as the smallest bundle fell into a deep sleep in his arms, finally sated. “All right, this one is Darla. That guy”—he pointed at the one in Tasha’s arms—“is Froggy.” The relatively fat puppy suddenly yowled in the box. “And he’s Spanky, because he’s always hungry.”
“Honestly,” Tasha said, “that sounded more like your stomach than Spanky’s.”
“Come on down to my place. I’ve got some sandwich fixings.”
Anticipation flashed in her eyes, but just as quickly, it was gone. She set Froggy in the box, and once Daniel put Darla in there too, Spanky stopped in mid-yowl and flopped over, succumbing to the warmth of his brother and sister and once again falling asleep.
“Thanks for the offer.” She was already rising, and he heard the but before she said it. “But I’ve got a can of soup I was planning to heat up.”
She was such a strange—and beautiful—creature. Open and laughing one minute, closed in on herself the next. Almost as though she thought it was wrong to be happy, bad to feel joy, and needed to constantly shut it down, no matter how difficult it might be to hide away the naturally sunny part of herself.
Instinctively, he knew there was more to her story. But what was it?
And should he even try to find out?
He’d waited thirty-six years to find the perfect soul mate, someone without shadows or secrets, someone totally open, so that he could have the same amazing marriage as his parents. Only, he hadn’t known about any bumps then, had he?
His parents had been totally committed to each other since forever, so what kind of bumps could they possibly have encountered? It had to be way more than money problems…
Frustrated, he said, “Soup sounds great,” even though Tasha hadn’t actually offered him any.
“It’s tomato.” She said it in a flat voice, obviously trying to make the soup sound as unappetizing as possible.
“I love tomato soup.”
“Nobody loves tomato soup.” She retrieved a can from a box on the microwave. “I only bought it because it was on sale.”
He couldn’t think of the last time a woman had tried to kick him out. He’d always been the one trying to figure out how to leave. Now, all he wanted was to stay, even though his rule had always been: Don’t get involved in messes.
Yet here he was getting more and more involved with Tasha, and the mystery of her, with each passing day.
“Bet you’re regretting not letting me have the puppies at my place, aren’t you?” He moved closer, until he could smell the outdoors and the dirt and the puppies on her. Nothing had ever been more erotic. “Now you can’t get rid of me.”
Her mouth moved until she was biting down on her bottom lip, clearly trying to keep whatever she was dying to say from leaping out of her mouth.
“Come on,” he whispered, the hair at her nape ruffling with his breath. “Admit it.”
Her chin trembled. He wanted to stroke his finger along her lower lip.
Suddenly, she laughed, shoving at him wi
th her elbow in his stomach. “Yes, I’m totally regretting it—I can’t even open a can of soup without you getting in the way.”
He liked her feistiness. He liked her laughter too. Mom and Dad would love her. Daniel had no doubt they’d get the dirt on her secrets in no time.
But what about his parents—did they have secrets? And if so, did he really want to know them? Was it even his business?
Tasha held out a can and the opener. “If you’re going to stay, make yourself useful.”
“I was useful,” he reminded her, not above using a little puppy love to his advantage. “I helped get those three furballs to safety.”
She stopped, her two hands against his chest, one with the opener, the other holding the can. “Jumping out of bed to run up the hill and dig them out. Getting the food. Canvassing the neighbors. Feeding them.” Her words were slightly rough with emotion. “You’ve gone above and beyond.”
He couldn’t help but pull her close, couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. “So have you,” he whispered into her hair as he gently stroked her back.
She stayed there for five seconds, a heaven’s length of time in which he absorbed every curve, every texture, every scent.
Especially since he knew it wouldn’t last. Not yet. Not until she trusted him with whatever it was that kept sending those shadows into her eyes.
But just as he’d thought about his parents’ secrets, did he really want to know Tasha’s? Or would it be safer to keep his distance and wait for perfect and uncomplicated to come along?
Deep within himself, Daniel knew better. Knew that what he felt for Tasha, even after only a couple of days, was special.
Even if it wasn’t quite perfect.
Just as he’d known she would, Tasha sprang away from him. As she clutched the soup can and opener to her chest, her eyes were wide, her gaze full of something that looked a heck of a lot like self-recrimination. Just because she’d let him hug her.
He wanted to say something that would soothe her—and make up for the huge gaffe of pulling her too close, too soon—but he had a feeling anything he said would only make things worse.
“You know what? I probably should head back to my place.” The last thing he wanted was to leave. But he needed to give her time to miss him the way he’d miss her. Time to think about him the way he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Time to long for him the way he’d been longing for her since the moment he’d pulled her off the roof and into his arms.
When disappointment flashed in her eyes, it took every ounce of his control not to smile. Especially when she bit her lip and said, “Are you sure? I suppose I could add a little milk to make this go further.”
She obviously wanted him to stay, but at the same time, getting too close to him seemed to terrify her.
Why? Who had hurt her? Who had taught her to be afraid to trust?
Just the thought of anyone hurting Tasha made Daniel’s hands fist. He’d never felt this protective of anyone other than his family and the other Mavericks. Certainly not about a woman. Still, she wouldn’t miss him, wouldn’t long for him, if he stuck around too long today.
“Remember, I’m just down the hill if you need any help with the dogs.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead—a kiss that sent shockwaves through him—and was gone before she could pretend the gentle kiss hadn’t sent aftershocks through her too.
Chapter Eight
A storm hit viciously that night, a day earlier than the weatherman predicted. As it raged against the windows, Tasha was afraid the panes would break. The wind ripped the plastic tarp off her roof, the crackle of it flying into the night.
Yet, for all its power, the storm had nothing on the one raging inside her in the aftermath of Daniel’s sweet kiss.
The feel of his arms around her in the makeshift kitchen had been powerful enough to make her want to stay there forever, as though she’d finally found a real home after jumping from place to place for so long. Her head on his chest, the spicy man smell of him, the texture of his shirt beneath her fingers, the steady thump-thump of his heart in her ear. She’d felt so safe. So warm. Like one of the puppies beneath his gentle hands as he stroked her back.
She’d wanted him to stay for more than soup—so much more—and it had freaked her out. Thankfully, he’d changed his mind about staying for lunch.
God, she was such a bad liar, especially to herself. She hadn’t been thankful he’d left. She’d felt bereft. And so were the puppies—she swore they’d been pining for him all afternoon and evening.
Where’s the big guy who knows how to scratch us just right? their round eyes seemed to say.
She felt their pain. Daniel not only knew how to rub a puppy’s belly, he also knew how to kiss a woman until she was breathless. The mere imprint of his lips on her forehead told her that.
What wouldn’t she give to feel his mouth against hers…
She had to remind herself that it wasn’t possible. How could a woman with a despicable past—and a desolate future—ever deserve a man like Daniel Spencer?
One of the puppies mewled, and she rushed to the box. The lights had gone out fifteen minutes ago, and she’d lit a hurricane lamp. But she didn’t have enough bowls to catch the leaks that were quickly coming down all around them.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, reaching in to stroke Spanky.
She could only thank God—and Daniel—that they were out of that cave. They would have been soaked, then frozen. They wouldn’t have survived the night.
A fat raindrop plopped through the roof onto Darla’s head, but it seemed she had no strength to shake it off. Tasha had coaxed the puppies to eat twice more and had given them water, but she feared they still had a ways to go toward full recovery after dehydration and near starvation.
She pulled the crate closer to the wood stove to keep them warm, until another leak appeared and she had to move them again. The bedroom was relatively dry, but the stove’s heat hadn’t yet penetrated that room.
Boom! A particularly loud crash of thunder shook the house.
Froggy started to howl—even Tasha shrieked in surprise—and when she picked him up to soothe him, Spanky joined in the melee. “It’s okay, you guys, I’ll keep you safe and warm.”
She had two puppies in her arms when her front door flew open, sheets of rain blowing in to soak the floor. Daniel followed the rain in, stepping into her life and her house just when she needed him most.
Again.
* * *
Free of its ponytail for once, Tasha’s hair flowed down her back, black as midnight in the lamplight, silky, shiny. Beautifully touchable as she sat cross-legged with two puppies in her arms.
Daniel shoved the door closed against the wind and rain. “I knocked, but got worried when no one answered. The wind blew the door right out of my hand when I opened it.”
She nodded, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “I couldn’t hear anything over the thunder.” She bent to kiss a furry head. “But the storm scared the puppies. They keep howling.” She glanced into the crate. “Except Darla. Even through the racket, she’s barely moved. I’m worried about her.” Her fears were written all over her face as she turned from the puppy to him. Her eyes suddenly widened when she took in his drenched-to-the-skin state, his clothing plastered to his chest and thighs. “It couldn’t have been safe for you to walk up here. You’re soaked.”
“I drove the truck.” He surveyed his wet clothing and the puddle he was making on the floor. “This was just getting from the driveway to your door.”
Not that one more puddle seemed to matter, considering all the bowls and pots and pans that littered the floor of her cabin, the plinking of raindrops a counterpoint to wind and thunder. Rainwater pooled in spots where she’d run out of cookware.
“I noticed your tarps blew off,” he said.
The roof had more holes than actual wood. If stars had been out, he’d able to see them right through it. Ho
w the heck had she survived the last three wintry months? A beaded raindrop hanging from a beam above chose that moment to drop on her forehead and roll down her nose. He would kill to kiss it off.
“I was going to offer to help you tack them back on,” he continued, “but as bad as this storm is becoming, I’m thinking we should head back to my house. My roof is watertight. The fire’s going. And there’s hot coffee. Good food.” In case she was thinking of turning down his offer, he played his trump card. “The cold and damp can’t be good for the puppies. Especially Darla. You said she’s not doing well.” He didn’t want to pound home any guilt, but no way was he letting Tasha stay in this falling-down wreck when the next big gust of wind might blow it away. “They need to be somewhere warm and dry. And I’ve got it.”
Right then, Darla made a little snuffling sound from deep in the box. That sealed the deal.
“You’re right,” Tasha said. “It would be better for the puppies if we went to your place.”
Victory. It was so sweet.
Even if he sensed it was only temporary.
* * *
Daniel went out of his way to be helpful, driving his truck right up to the porch, toting the puppies’ box out to it, getting drenched all over again in the process while miraculously keeping the box relatively dry. At his house, he helped her bundle up the puppies, carry in their food, then set them up by his big, lovely fireplace. And he was still working, this time getting dinner ready for them. And later, when she slept in his big bed—which he’d insisted she have because he’d obviously been raised a gentleman—she knew she wouldn’t have to be afraid that he’d sneak in while she was sleeping. Daniel wasn’t scum like her ex.
No, the only person she had to worry about stepping over the line was herself. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to make all the bad, all the dark, all the evil go away.
She wanted to lose herself in him and forget everything—and everyone who was hurt because she’d failed to face up to her father’s shortcomings.
But Daniel deserved someone better, someone who was able to see the difference between good and bad. Someone brave enough to right all the wrongs, instead of running away.
