He set it in her hands, then began untying her shoes.
"My..." Confused, Bev tore open the envelope, freezing as she read the words. "I... I... don't understand."
Mack tossed one of her sneakers aside, then framed her face in his hands. "I bought the property earlier today, not Whittle. You and I have an appointment with my lawyer tomorrow to do all the paperwork to donate the property to your shelter. I contemplated buying you a diamond bracelet or a new car...because you really need a new one...but I decided that the one present you would want would be this shelter. So I bought it for you. Because I love you, always and forever." He rubbed the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. "I assume I made the right decision?"
The tears were falling hard now, her heart absolutely overwhelmed. "I can't even believe you, Mack. I don't even know what to say."
"See? How could we move to California? You have a shelter to run."
Bev smiled through her tears. "Jez already agreed to donate money. Applying her money to operating the shelter instead of buying the property will allow me to quit my other job."
Mack cocked his head. "You got Jez to give you the money?"
Pride swelled in her chest. "Yes. I was so excited. I was going to call you tonight and tell you."
He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her. "I am so proud of you, Bev. I don't know how I'm ever going to live up to what you deserve."
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "That's how I feel."
"Then we're a perfect pair." He kissed her, long and deep, a kiss so beautiful that it seemed to fill her heart with sunshine. He pulled back slightly, grinning. "Our second kiss as an engaged couple," he whispered. "This moment is the beginning of the rest of our lives."
Tears filled her eyes. "You've made all my dreams come true."
He smiled tenderly, brushing her hair out of her eyes as Janey, Mac, and the beagle ran between their legs. "No, Bev. Our dreams. Not yours...not mine... Ours."
Together. Forever.
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Sneak Peek: Pawfectly in Love
Preorder Now! Available October 2017!
Whoa. What was that?
There was a Mercedes in her driveway, parked next to her muddy pickup truck. Not the type of car that any of the locals drove. It was the type of car that a lawyer from her old firm might drive. The same car that she used to have back when she was in the process of losing her mind.
The old sensations trickled back, her chest tightening up and her stomach beginning to burn. Okay, so she wasn't as recovered as she thought she was if the mere sight of a car like her old one could start the old symptoms revving up.
Then again, it wasn't just the sight of the car. It was the fact it was parked in her driveway, driven by someone who most likely represented the world that had nearly destroyed her. Someone had come to see her. To ask her to come back? Heaven help her.
Deep breaths. Think of the meadow. The pale pink flowers. Deep breath.
Bandit abandoned her to her own collapse and raced toward the car, barking his pseudo-vicious defense bark, as if he were going to kill anyone who stepped outside. If she turned around and walked quietly back into the woods, pretending she hadn't seen the car and Bandit ate the person inside, then she could claim complete innocence…
God. Murder? She was actually thinking of murder? She was so much better than that.
Deep breath, Paige. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. What if her old boss got out of the car? Someone from her old firm, coming to check on her?
A retaliatory barking from inside the car sounded as Bandit approached. Paige forgot her breathing rhythm. Dog? Was it a client? Oh, that would be so much better.
She released her last deep breath as she watched the driver's door begin to open. Please, be a client. One in blue jeans and boots who had stolen the car from an impound lot. Not a lawyer. Not from Boston. Not from her old firm. Breathe. Yeesh. She was going to have to go back for more therapy after this visit if she didn't start concentrating on pink flowers.
The progress of the door stopped when Bandit ramped up his barking, the hackles on the back of his neck making him look even bigger and more intimidating than he actually was. He was so happy to be scaring the intruder, so she decided not to call him off. She loved that dog far too much to steal his joy by making him stop.
Then again, if it was a client, she did need to let the driver out of the car. If it turned out to be someone from her old firm, then she'd let Bandit eat him. He would have better access anyway, once the driver was outside the car, right? So, that was good.
She liked that plan.
"Bandit! Heel!"
His hackles still up, and his tail rigid, Bandit returned to her side, but kept his gaze fastened alertly on the car. One threatening move and he'd attack. Or at least that was how it appeared In reality, he'd interpret it as a game and slobber all over the person with doggy kisses, not that the driver of that car needed to know that. Besides, she could work with Bandit on that. With some excellent training, she was pretty sure she'd be able to turn him into an attack dog trained to launch himself at any man wearing a suit. She was that good.
"Wait until you have a clear opening for the throat," she whispered as she grabbed Bandit's collar and made a dramatic show of restraining him, which probably didn't do her reputation as a dog trainer much good, but it made her feel better, just in case the visitor was unwanted. She took a deep breath. I can do this. "You can come out," she called out.
The door opened the rest of the way, and a shiny Italian shoe crunched gingerly down onto the gravel.
Oh, crap. That was definitely not a shoe that would ever be worn by someone local.
Her heart started to pound as the shoe was followed by a pristine charcoal gray pant leg, with a crisp pleat exactly where it was supposed to be. Another shoe and leg followed, which matched, dammit, and then a hand grabbed the doorframe. It was a hand devoid of any calluses or blisters. The hand of a lawyer?
Oh, God. She felt like she was going to vomit.
Sensing her agitation, Bandit sat up and joined her in staring intently at the tinted glass, as if together they could burn a hole through it. He'd stopped barking and gone still, his fur still up, his tail stiff, his body rigid. Damn. He really would attack for her. God, she loved her dog.
A head of thick brown hair appeared, followed by dark sunglasses that were, unfortunately, attached to the face in a completely appropriate and dignified manner. Where the hell were the lunatic, backwoods serial killers in this town? That's who should be in her driveway, not a well-dressed, proper, dehumanized robot in a nice car. Seriously. What the hell?
Then the driver stood up, and faced her, giving her a full view of him, and she immediately forgot all the complaints that had been forming in her mind.
He was no lawyer. He was a man, in every virile sense of the word, if one were using the word to mean things like tall, strong, broad-shouldered, five o'clock shadow, corded thighs that were visible even beneath the suit, and a strong jaw that would be perfect for running her tongue over...
Oh, crap. Had she really just thought that? She was still too strung out to think about sex, especially sex with strangers, and especially sex with strangers driving nice cars.
His strong jawbone was tensed in apparent agitation, and a muscle flexed in his cheek. Hey, she knew what that kind of tension felt like. They could be besties, and she could massage it out of him…
And…again, with the "oh, crap, had she really just thought that?"
His dark lenses hid his eyes from view, giving him an air of mystery that was irritati
ngly appealing. She knew enough about high-end men's fashion to know that no store-bought suit would have fit his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and stacked thighs. He was wearing custom all the way, which normally would give her hives…except on him…the only word she could think of was yum, which had to be a sign that she was losing her recently recovered sanity.
Honestly, she'd always considered suits on men to be code for "uptight, out-of-shape, misogynist asshole alert." She'd never thought a man in a suit could be hot, utterly male, and viscerally untamed, but she'd apparently been wrong. She could almost see him tossing a load of firewood over his shoulder and hiking through the woods, wearing jeans that fit his butt just right, and beat-up hiking boots that had years of outdoor manly activities scuffed into the leather…
Suit-guy/potential outdoor hottie cleared his throat in that way that people did when they had absolutely nothing in their throats except irritation that you weren't paying appropriate attention to them… making Paige realize she was gaping at his broad chest.
And…yeah. Chalk one up for "how utterly embarrassing." She immediately closed her mouth to put an end to the gaping and potential drooling. She then cleared her throat as well, but it was more to make sure she was capable of sounding at least semi-normal. She wanted to give some articulate, sane welcome speech that made her sound competent, calm, and not on the edge of a freak out.
That's what she wanted. It's what she intended. It's what she thought she could manage to accomplish.
When she started to talk, she realized that she had, apparently, completely overestimated herself. "Hi."
Hi. Hi? What kind of articulate greeting was that? It was so not enough to distract him from her gaping at his hotness.
"Good afternoon." He nodded, his head tilted at the wrong angle for him to be looking at her face. She studied the angle of his sunglasses and then tracked the likely path of his eyes…holy crap. Was he staring at her chest?
Dear God. No man had looked at her like she was a woman in years. He had to be a pervert, or suffering from a neck cramp, or just randomly insane, right? But just to be sure…she looked down just to confirm what he was looking at…and immediately wished she hadn't. Or at least wished the ground would swallow her up.
She'd forgotten that she was covered in dirt and leaves from her wrestling match with Bandit. But that was no big deal, at least not in comparison to the fact that her wet, white tee shirt was spotlighting to the world, and to her nice-car-hottie specifically, that she had not bothered to put on a bra for her afternoon walk.
Double crap.
Going braless was so not a big deal when the only male she was with had four legs and a tail. An entirely different matter when faced with a ridiculously handsome man dressed like he was ready to pose for a cover of GQ.
Damn. She wasn't sure she could ethically attribute all sorts of nefarious adjectives to him now. It would have taken a eunuch not to at least glance at a pair of nipples gawking at him, and given the way her body was reacting to his overpowering maleness, she was willing to wager that he had a couple of perfectly functioning testicles inside those expensive pants. Gritting her teeth, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to appear nonchalant. "Can I help you?"
"I'm looking for Freedom Dog Training, but I must have taken a wrong turn." His voice was a deep rumble, so insanely delicious that she almost asked him to keep talking, just so she could listen for a while.
Dear God, he was like a sex-demon-incubus-hypnotic-vampire-seducer or something. He had to be, because she simply didn't find men in suits attractive, and she was not the type to start purring at the sound of a man's voice.
Oh, wait…she belatedly processed his words, and realized that he'd come looking for a dog trainer.
This delicious cauldron of smoking hot male, who clearly represented the world that had almost destroyed her, come looking for her.
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Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy for Christmas
Preorder Now! Available November 2017!
A deathbed promise should never involve snow, subzero temperatures, and family who don't know you even exist, and sure as hell don't know you're coming.
Especially a deathbed promise given in front of one's six-year-old daughter, who won't ever let you forget your oath. Like, ever. Not even for one headache-laden, frostbitten-toes moment.
"Mom!" The six-year-old in question tugged on Jaimi Hamilton's hand, apparently not remotely concerned about the wind that was knifing through their clothes. Because that was how six-year-olds operated. They never felt cold, unless it was eighty degrees and they wanted to leave the park the minute the attractive, single dad with decent moral standards and a car that actually worked showed up. "Do you see them? Are they here?"
Jaimi squatted down so she was level with her daughter, her heart tugging at the way Emily's blue eyes sparkled in the wintry snow. She gently pulled Emily's stocking cap lower over her forehead. "Baby cakes, remember. This is a secret mission. They can't ever know we're here for them, unless we decide to reveal our true identity, right?"
Emily's lower lip jutted out. "What if I don't want to be a spy?"
"We have to be spies. What if they're evil, and we have to stop their plan to steal toys from all the children in the world on Christmas morning? Then we don't want them to know who we are, right?"
Emily giggled and rolled her eyes. "They don't have a plan to steal toys from all the children in the world."
"Really? You're so sure about that?" Jaimi gave her daughter her most skeptical look. "How do we know until we spy on them for a while?"
Emily put her hands on her hips and eyed her mom. "Grandma would never tell us to come to Wyoming to find them, unless they were nice. Don't you trust Gram?"
Jaimi laughed. "Sweetie, no one ever trusts Gram if they know what's good for them." Wait. Not trusts. Trusted. Because Gram was gone now. God, she felt like she'd never get used to that fact.
Laughter bubbled out of Emily. "Gram was such trouble."
"That she was." A lump formed in Jaimi's throat, but she quickly swallowed it away. She'd promised her mom that there would be no tears. Life was too short for tears and regret. Every moment was a gift to be treasured. "And so are you."
Emily's grin widened. "Gram says you're trouble, too."
"That's been my lifelong goal, so I'm still working on it." Jaimi pulled off her glove and held up her hand. "Trouble-making girls rock the world, right?"
"Right!" Emily whipped off her pink fuzzy mitten and hooked her pinkie around Jaimi's. "I swear to cause trouble my whole life," she said with a solemn giggle as they squeezed pinkies. "Just like you and Gram."
"And I swear to continue to cause trouble my whole life, just like you and Gram." God, how many times had she made that oath with her mom over the years? A thousand times? And then, after Emily had been born, it had been the three of them…until two months ago. Now it was back down to two.
Two pinkies were not nearly as good as three when it came to pinkie swears.
Emily beamed at her. "They'll love us, Mom. We're amazing like that."
Jaimi couldn't help but smile at her daughter's self-confidence. Her number one goal as a mom had always been to raise a daughter who lived life on her own terms, who would never be held back by what anyone thought of her. It meant she had a little hellion on her hands at times, but she'd never trade a second of chaos for a daughter who shrank from who she was, who she wanted to be, and what anyone thought of her.
In terms of embracing her badass self, the pupil had far surpassed the teacher long ago, and was turning out to be a lot like her Gram, which was awesome. Jaimi, on the other hand, wasn't nearly the self-confident, f*ck the world, mover and shaker that her daughter thought she was. But hey, that was her little secret, right? As far as Emily was concerned, Jaimi was everything she told Emily to be. So, she smiled. "Of course they'll love us. Who wouldn't want two fabulous girls appearing on their doorstep the week before Christmas and announcing
they're family that no one ever knew existed, right?" Oh, God. Just the idea of that made her stomach knot. What on earth had her mom been thinking, making Jaimi promise to make this trip? She hadn't specifically made Jaimi promise to actually introduce herself, however, so Jaimi was holding tight to that little loophole.
"Totally!" Emily clapped her hands. "Can we do it today? You have the address, right? To their huuuge ranch? What if we moved onto the ranch? Can I get a pony? I could become a barrel racer—"
"Slow down, cheetah-girl. We're not moving here. We're just here for Christmas vacation, and we both have to be back at school after New Year's."
Emily wrinkled her nose. "You don't like teaching. I heard you telling Gram. Why do you teach if you don't like it? You always tell me to follow my heart, and you're not." Emily set her hand on her hips and glared at Jaimi, apparently completely offended by her mom's failure to deliver.
Sigh. Maybe she should have focused more on raising a wimpy child who hid in her room all day after all… She tweaked her daughter's nose. "I do like teaching, and I keep teaching because it works perfectly because we're in school at the same time, so you don't need to go to late care, right?"
Emily shrugged. "Late care is fun. Three kids got bloody noses last fall. I missed every one of them. All the blood was cleaned up by the time we had recess the next morning. What fun is that?"
"Recess without blood is definitely a downer." Heaven help her. "But you'll get another chance when we go back there after New Year's. For now, we're here for Christmas, checking out the town, and learning how to enjoy our first Christmas without Gram."
The tenacious little pugilist was not swayed from her agenda. "And we're going to meet our family, right? We're going to go up to them, and you're going to say 'Hey, Chase Stockton, I'm your sister—"
A few heads turned toward them at Emily's raised voice, and Jaimi quickly interrupted. "Shh, sweetie, I—" She suddenly noticed the sheriff lounging nearby, watching them. His gaze was intense and hooded, and his casual stance failed to hide the raw strength of his body. His cowboy hat was tipped back, showcasing a strong, whiskered jaw, and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. But it was clear he was staring right at them, and her stomach jumped again…though she wasn't sure whether it was fear of being caught before she was ready to declare herself, or because he was just so freaking male. His jeans were faded, and his long jacket was open, flapping about his calves, as if he didn't feel the cold at all. There was something untamed and unruly about him, as if he were the kind of man who lived life without walls, exactly how she wanted so badly to be.
Paws for a Kiss (Canine Cupids Book 1) Page 17
