by Zoe Dawson
“It was an accident. What kind of agreement have you come up with?”
“Owen has offered us the pick of the litter.”
“That sounds fair,” Kate said, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Then she turned to him. “Owen, not to sound elitist, but what is Jill’s pedigree? I’d also be very interested in her medical records. Danes can be prone to hip dysplasia, and other types of diseases and abnormalities that make any dog that has them a poor candidate for breeding. We’re very careful in our breeding program to maintain the highest quality, both for our Danes and for the breed as a whole.”
“I can appreciate that. I brought her papers and medical records for you to look at. She does come from championship stock.” Owen pulled the papers from his back pocket.
Kate took them and started reading. She nodded her head as she read. “Oh, nice! Champion Martin Lacy’s Coal Black Miner for her sire and Champion Hollywood’s Marilyn Monroe for her dam. Excellent dogs. I know Hollywood’s owner personally, but am only acquainted with Martin and Lacy Ball. I see she’s registered as Martin Lacy’s Jill St. John Diamonds are Forever. I know that Lacy is a big fan of James Bond movies. That all seems to be in order. She also has a clean bill of health. Well, get her out of the car and let’s take a look at her.”
He nodded and walked back to let the dogs out. Jill jumped down and was instantly greeted by the rambunctious puppy and the brindle adult who looked almost exactly like her.
“Callie, take Lila and Summer back into the house.” Callie reached down and awkwardly scooped up the seventy pound “puppy” and gave Summer a hand signal. The dog fell into step with her. It only took her moments to return.
Jack made a beeline for Kate and gave her plenty of kisses when she knelt down. Giving him gentle pats, she said, “It’s nice to see you, too, Jack. Looks like you have been getting yourself into some mischief. Let’s take a look at your sweetheart.”
Kate approached the dog, but didn’t make eye contact, and Jill stood easily, smelling the wind. When Kate touched her, she didn’t react, and Callie’s mother nodded in approval. She ran her hands on either side of her muzzle, then the head and the neck down to her back. She nodded again and her expression eased some. “Could I see her move, please?”
Owen clipped on her leash and ran with her to the edge of the house and back. Kate watched with an intent expression on her face, and then she smiled.
“Well, I’ve got this to say. If you ever want to show that dog, she would be a champion. She’s regal and graceful. She has a beautiful, full, square jaw with a deep muzzle, and a long, well-arched neck. Her croup slopes perfectly. Her temperament is also good, but if she’s a bit unruly, Callie could probably help you with the training. She’s top notch.”
“I already have them scheduled,” Callie said.
“I appreciate your graciousness regarding this situation with our dogs,” Owen added. “I can assure you that I’ll take very good care of her while she’s pregnant.”
“I’m sure you will, and thank you for the offer of the puppy. I’m not really sure what the protocol is regarding accidental pregnancy in purebred dogs, but this will suffice. I think we might get a Harlequin out of the litter.”
“Why don’t you show Owen the kennels?” Kate continued. “You can leave Jill here with me and take Jack to see his daddy. He’s in number six. Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”
“Okay, Mom. Jack,” Callie called. Jack looked at her, then at Jill, as if undecided. Her mother gave Callie a wink and a soft smile.
“Ah, he’s torn between his two ladyloves. Hold onto his collar and I’ll take Jill into the house.”
Callie grasped Jack’s collar, but he didn’t even try to bolt. He whined softly when the door closed behind Jill, but obediently followed Callie as she turned to head toward several fenced-in areas that had numerous dogs in each.
One was full of puppies of all different sizes and colors frolicking on their long, gangly legs. Callie stopped and they came running to the gate. She petted a few and moved on. When they had walked for about ten minutes, they came upon a pen that held a regal Harlequin. His ears pricked and he came alert as he saw Callie and Jack. With a soft woof, he bounded toward the gate. Callie laughed as he pranced around impatiently while she unlatched the gate and let Jack in. Father and son exchanged greetings. When that was done, it was Callie’s turn, and she obediently obliged the reigning champion of Lassiter Run with long stokes along his head and back.
“I can see why this is a championship Dane. He’s magnificent.”
“Yes, he is. And he’s a good boy. Aren’t you, Samson?”
She rubbed the dog’s face, and he clearly reveled in the attention. Her hands were strong and sure, the slender fingers buried in the dog’s soft fur. “Samson?”
She smiled at Owen’s confusion and gave him an indulgent sideways glance, her green eyes animated. And once again, he had to remind himself that she wasn’t his type.
“That’s his call name,” she explained. “Registered names are a formality. Sometimes dogs will be called a variation of their registered name like my friend Harper’s standard poodle, Blue, and others, like Samson, are called by a totally different name. He’s named after my grandfather, who built this kennel and passed it on to my father.”
She bent down and picked up a ball. Both dogs stood at attention, and she hurled it across the run. Four hundred pounds of muscle dashed after it in long-legged strides.
Callie wasn’t hard on the eyes. That was for sure. And he admired a woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. It appeared she wore little or no makeup, and had pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail beneath the baseball cap she wore as easily as some women wore diamonds.
Long hair. He liked that. He’d be lying to himself if he denied wondering how it would feel in his hands, how it would look loose and free around her shoulders. He was a guy, after all. But it was clear she wasn’t all that caught up in the more conventional rituals of being female. Actually, Owen unapologetically enjoyed that extra emphasis on femininity in the women he chose to spend time with. Tomboys had their appeal, but he typically preferred a woman who embraced her femaleness.
The dogs came bounding back, Jack proudly displaying the ball for his mistress. Callie threw it several more times. Finally, she said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “Let’s leave Jack here, and I’ll show you the kennels. They’re probably empty right now, because the weather is good, so they’re all in the runs.”
The kennels were immaculate, with deep green trimmed lilac hedges that would shade the kennels to keep them cool. Baskets of pink impatiens hung from the extended roofs that protected the walkways and kennels from inclement weather. About halfway down the first row they came upon a man hosing out one of the kennels.
“Dad.”
He gave her a brief, one-armed hug. “Hello, sweetheart. Who do we have here?”
“This is Owen McKay.”
Her father reached out his hand, his eyes speculative. “Hello Owen, welcome.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Daniel.”
“We’re here because Jack got Owen’s dog pregnant.”
“Oh, ho, what did your mother say about that?” His eyes sparkled.
“She checked her over, and she’s fine with it. It was a total accident.”
“These things happen. Are you staying for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Giving Owen the tour?”
“She has been, and you have a very nice facility.”
“Thank you. We try. I’ll let you get back to it.”
As they walked off, her father called out. “Callie, before you go, could you grab a screwdriver out of the tool chest in the shed?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Callie led them to a small shed situated under a sycamore tree. She pushed open the door and ducked inside. He followed. The shed looked as though it had been built by hand. “Did
your father build this?”
Callie pulled up the lid of the toolbox. “No, my mother did.”
“She did?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said as she looked up at him. “She redesigned this whole kennel, too.”
The light slanted in through a small window and fell on her face. The dancing sparkle in her eyes captured him as effortlessly as a beautiful view.
His breath hitched a bit when she looked down again and rummaged around in the toolbox. Her brown hair came alive in the sun. Golden highlights mixed with rich chestnut glowed with color.
She scowled and dug deeper into the box. He stepped closer, partly to be nearer to her, and partly to see if he could distract himself by looking for the elusive screwdriver.
“Don’t be a sexist,” she said, giving him a censuring look and nudging him with her shoulder. Body contact is not what he needed right now.
“I try not to be. It’s a guy thing. We automatically think that anything this well-built must have been done by a man.”
“So, you’re really more egotistical,” she said with a grin.
He tried to remember that she wasn’t his type. Remember that they were neighbors and that it was stupid to get involved with someone who lived that close. She was a sweet, commitment-type girl, the sort who set off his alarms. But either the volume was turned down, or he’d gotten too used to hearing them, because for some reason he couldn’t seem to heed those alarms at the moment. Wholesome and down-to-earth described her perfectly, and seeing where she grew up only solidified his assessment of her character. He’d had no idea how seductive wholesome could be. Then, of course, his guy mind started wondering how sweet she would taste. How that taut little body would feel, would respond to his touch.
He leaned across her to check a specific part of the toolbox, caught her clean, fresh scent. She turned her face, and it was so close to his. He glanced down to her mouth and felt control simply evaporate.
Chapter Four
“It must have been amazing growing up here,” he said softly, his face much too close to hers. His eyes were heavy-lidded, the blue peeking out from ridiculously long lashes. This close, his eyes were still really blue, cobalt maybe, a color that seemed to intensify as he looked at her, his pupils dilating. His skin was incredibly smooth, despite the hint of five o’clock shadow, with such a gorgeous golden tone that she imagined it would always be naturally warm to the touch. And yet the angles of his jaw, the hard line of his nose, his chin, the arch of his brow, all combined to make him more rugged than pretty. Made her want to touch.
Where was that damn screwdriver? “It was. What about you? What amazing place did you grow up in?” Her voice came out soft and wispy. She felt her resolve slipping. She tried to imagine Brooke’s stern face, but her vision was full of Owen and his seductive, bad boy mojo, a face that could wreck any woman’s resolve, and a hard, muscled body that begged her hands to smooth over its hard planes.
He looked away, presumably to focus on the contents of the toolbox. His body tensed and his eyes shuttered. “I grew up on the streets until my great aunt found me and took me in. It was a hard-knock, learn or die type of existence, and didn’t include any expansive lawns, drowsing puppies, or pretty hanging baskets full of delicate flowers. It was gritty and dirty and terrifying.”
For a moment, the harshness of his statement shocked her. But when she recovered, her heart tilted, and his blunt confession gave her a glimmer of why he was a man who pursued many women but never settled on one. She didn’t want that insight, because it made it just that much more difficult to resist him.
She wasn’t sure he was telling her this to shock her, create distance, or gain sympathy. Little did he know that she was a sap for all things orphaned or in need. Not that he was either of those things, but still, she couldn’t imagine a life without the strength and wisdom of her parents. She had a haven to return to, and support every day, even when she wasn’t present. It was a comfortable safeness that permeated her life. Maybe that was why she sought out these kinds of men, the ones on the edge, to experience a bit of that thrill, some of that danger.
“I don’t know why I said all that. Maybe I feel too comfortable around you. You’re so open and caring.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. It’s not.”
“I’ve experienced the caring from my great aunt, but I’ve never trusted it.”
“Never?”
He shook his head, his eyes caressing her face as he stood close to her in the swath of sunlight from the window.
“I’m sorry for you, then.”
“Don’t be. I might be cynical when it comes to relationships, but I’ve done just fine. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Relationships. You believe in happily-ever-after and saying I do—”
“I never said that.”
“But you believe it.”
She looked at his mouth, tried to focus on the conversation. His mouth looked firm and soft at the same time. “My parents have had a long, happy marriage, so I’ve had wonderful role models.”
“No broken hearts?”
She shook her head. “I’ve had my share, but I was young and susceptible.”
“To men like me?”
“If I’m being honest, yes.”
“By all means, be honest. It makes it easier.”
“Easier for what.”
“To know the ground rules.”
“Oh, Owen. I know your ground rules.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. No commitment, a fun time while it lasts. Everything free of messy entanglements.”
“You do know the ground rules. And yet you still get hurt.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Can’t help how I feel. Controlling emotions is pretty much an illusion. Managing them is closer to the truth.”
“But ultimately you want what your parents have.”
“Yes, I want what my parents have. Who wouldn’t? The bond, the support and commitment they give to each other is priceless. They are each other’s best friends. And I guess I wouldn’t settle for less than that, either.”
“So you just trifle with men like me while waiting for Mr. Right?”
“I don’t trifle with anyone, Owen.”
His face grew serious. “I can see that you don’t. That was the wrong word choice. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. I assume you can say the same thing.”
“I don’t trifle with women, Callie. I make sure they are all aware of my limits going in. There are no surprises.”
“Right. We wouldn’t want that. Well, I’m not that naïve young girl anymore.”
He took another step closer, and her breath suddenly felt trapped inside her chest. So much for being brazen.
“Still, you’re not my type.”
She didn’t back down, and his comment didn’t offend her. She might not be the most experienced person in the world when it came to relationships, but she knew his focused, intent gaze wasn’t of the innocent variety. “Who are you trying to convince? You or me?”
He stepped closer still, crowding her against the workbench, the search for the screwdriver as lost as she was in his eyes.
“Fuck if I know.”
His eyes were so dark, so deep, she swore she could fall right into them and never climb out.
“I think you’re the girl next door, sweetheart, and I should leave you alone.”
“And what, you’re the big bad boy I should avoid at all costs? I think that is a good idea. I’ve sworn off bad boys,” she whispered as his head descended and her breath backed up in her throat.
He lifted his hand, barely brushing the underside of her chin with his fingertips, and tipped her head back. “Have you?” he said, his voice nothing more than a rough whisper.
His mouth settled on hers like kindling to fire, and ignited. He backed her up so she was pressed against the workbench, but she barely felt the wood digging into her spine. She wa
s too busy feeling Owen McKay’s mouth moving over hers with a sensual pressure that made her blood sing. Then she heard a deep groan and realized, distantly, that it was her own.
Her arms slipped around his neck, her forearms against hard shoulders, her fingers sliding along the back of his neck and burrowing into all those thick, dark waves. He pressed his hips into hers, growling just a little, as she ran her thumbs over his rough cheeks.
His heavy chest pressed tight against her tingling breasts as she welcomed the heat of his desire in the cradle of her hips, eliciting another growl deep in his throat.
His muscles flexed as if he was going to push away, his head lifting. When their lips broke apart, he looked dangerous and angry. Then his mouth covered hers again, taking her lips in a flurry of deepening, sensual kisses that made her head spin.
He trailed his fingertips from the pulse point in her throat all the way down to the tops of her breasts. Sharp awareness flared in her belly and spread through her bloodstream, triggering a slick, erotic warmth.
His mouth followed the path his fingers had taken, until they brushed the tops of her breasts.
“Callie?”
He reeled away from her as her gaze went to the door of the shed. Frantically, she snatched up her baseball cap and jammed it on her head. And that is when she saw the screwdriver sitting innocently on top of the toolbox. She snatched it up and called out just as the door opened.
“Found it.”
“Excellent,” her father said. “Now you can get back to what you were doing then wash up for dinner.”
Callie almost snorted. She knew her father hadn’t meant fusing their lips back together, and, as she looked over at Owen, she could see the same thought emblazoned across his face. But it was fraught with too much…just too much.
Oblivious to Owen’s attempt to get himself under control, Callie’s father strode out of the shed and let the door slam. Owen braced his hands against the workbench, the muscles in his arms bunching beneath the sweater. With a quick pull he yanked the sweater off, his face flushed, his breathing slowing.
