But as Janet’s coffee was usually strong enough for a spoon to stand up straight, Harper wasn’t going to tempt fate or mess with the delicate balance of her stomach. Besides, she shouldn’t be drinking the stuff now anyway.
Janet was pretty much the backbone of the clinic, and it ran on more than just her coffee-making skills. She’d been working the receptionist desk for the last thirty years, and was still going strong in her sixties.
Before Harper could even respond to the question Janet asked, the woman had set down the coffee mug and pulled her into one of those soul-affirming hugs. Really, Harper should stop by every day just for one of these.
When Janet pulled back, Paul walked into the room, his mouth splitting into that customary grin when he laid eyes—the exact same shade as Harper’s—on his daughter.
No matter what was going on, at least some things hadn’t changed.
“Hey, sweet pea.” He pulled Harper into his arms, giving her a kiss on the temple like he always did, before he let go and took a step back.
“Hey, Daddy.”
“You get off early?” he asked, checking his watch.
“Yeah, my last appointment canceled. And it was a bit of a slow day.”
“It’s been slow here, too,” Janet said as she reached for her coffee and took a sip. But the words were barely out of her mouth when the door behind them opened.
Gabby squawked again—no need for a bell over the door when they had this bird—as Tripp Black walked into the building. Tripp was Mirabelle’s resident fire chief, a job he’d had for the last two and half years ever since he’d moved to the area. He was another insanely attractive man with thick brown hair, and warm chocolate brown eyes. But again, Harper had only ever been friends with the man.
As he was wearing his navy blue uniform pants and a gray polo with the Mirabelle Fire logo, she was guessing he was on duty. He made his way into the room and she noticed he was cradling a rather large ball of white and brown fur in his massive arms.
The ball of fluff shifted, or should she say balls. There were two puppies in Tripp’s arms, and while one lifted its head from the crook of his elbow, the other burrowed deeper into his chest whining.
“Didn’t know where else to take them. Someone abandoned these little guys at the station. No one even saw them drop the cardboard box at the door, but we did hear the barking.”
This was a better alternative than what most people did, which was abandon their unwanted animals on the side of the road. Something Harper would never understand for as long as she lived.
That was what happened to Luna. She’d been no more than two months old when someone found her wandering through a neighborhood. She had no collar, was starving, and covered in fleabites. Her father had never seen the dog before the day she’d been brought in, so he’d had no idea who the owner was.
Weeks went by with no one looking for or claiming the puppy. As Harper had been the one fostering her—and had gotten attached faster than it took to blink—the adoption had been obvious.
As Luna was a purebred French bulldog, Paul always suspected that it was a local breeder who’d just let her go without a care. She was most definitely the runt of the litter and had a slight limp as her left back leg was just a tad bit shorter than the rest.
Apparently imperfection was a reason that meant someone or something wasn’t worthy to live. All a pile of garbage if you asked her. This was one of the reasons why Harper firmly believed there was a special place in hell reserved for people who were that cruel and heartless.
“Let me see.” Finn moved closer, holding his hands out.
“I’d take the girl.” Tripp nodded to the one who was sniffing the air around her. “The boy seems to have clinging issues with me.”
Finn grabbed the puppy that was mostly white, just a few brown spots on her head and back, and pulled her into his chest. He touched one of her front legs, moving his hand down. “Well, I don’t think they are going to stay little for very long. This one’s paws are pretty big compared to her body.”
“Definitely a mix,” Paul said, moving forward and taking a look.
“They’re going to be massive. Probably why someone abandoned them.” Janet moved forward, scratching the chest of the puppy that was in Finn’s hands. She preened, wanting more affection.
“Can you start lining up a foster family while we get them checked out?” Paul asked Janet.
“On it.” She nodded as she headed for her desk and pulled out an address book.
“And if we can’t find a foster family I can take them home,” Finn said.
“I don’t know if this one is going to let you take him from Tripp’s arms.” Harper reached over and ran her hand down the puppy’s back. Even though she could only see about half of him, he looked to be evenly light brown and white all over his body. “You might just need to adopt him permanently.” She looked up at Tripp and grinned.
“I don’t think my town house would hold up to this guy. My yard is a postage stamp.”
“Hey, haven’t you been talking about getting a house? Problem solved.” Finn raised his eyebrows, his blue eyes lighting up like it was the most brilliant plan in the world.
Tripp’s mouth turned down into a frown as he shook his head. “How about you just get them checked out first before you assign me a new roommate?”
“You just stopping in to say hello, or did you need anything?” Paul asked Harper.
“Needed to drop some stuff off for Mom and see if you guys wouldn’t mind watching Luna this weekend,” she said as she gently scratched her nails down the puppy’s back. For the first time he slowly lifted his head from where it was buried in Tripp’s elbow.
“Where are you going?”
“Jacksonville. There’s an extra ticket for the Stampede party,” she answered, barely paying attention to anything besides the dog’s face. He looked like a little teddy bear and he closed his eyes in pleasure when she started scratching under his chin.
It took her a second to realize that all three men had stopped talking. She looked up to find three sets of eyes looking at her in shock.
“What?” she asked, not stopping the attention she was giving to the puppy.
“You’re going to a party with the most recent Stanley Cup winners?” Finn’s voice didn’t spare an ounce of envy. “Do you even watch hockey?”
“Sometimes.” She shrugged. Meaning when it was on one of the TVs at the Sleepy Sheep she’d occasionally look up at it and see a game. The only sport she really followed was baseball, and that was because Grace was a hard-core Boston Red Sox fan and her friend’s fandom had carried over.
“Sometimes?” Tripp asked aghast. “I think we’re friends with the wrong people,” he said to Finn. “We need to get in with Dale and Hamilton.”
“You think we can bribe them with a dog?” Finn eyed the girl puppy in his arms that reached up and pawed at his face. He scratched her under the chin and she leaned into his chest, nuzzling his neck.
“I don’t know. I think we’re going to have to think bigger. You got any horses you’re willing to trade?” Tripp asked.
Not only was Finn a vet, but he worked out at his aunt and uncle’s farm helping with the horses they trained and boarded.
“Not at the moment.” Finn shook his head. “But I’ll get back to you.”
“I want to hear more about this trip of yours,” Paul said, focusing on Harper. “And your mother and I watching Luna shouldn’t be a problem. But you should double check with your mom anyway.”
“I’ll go do that now and let you guys get them checked out.” She gave the puppy in Tripp’s arms one last good scratch before she kissed her father on the cheek, said good-bye to everyone, and headed outside.
She grabbed the box of lemon oils and lavender lotions from the back of her Cruiser before making her way to the house. When she walked inside, she was enveloped in the seventy-two-degree blast of air that was the standard in the Laurence household.
�
�Mom,” she called out as the door closed behind her.
“In the kitchen,” Delilah answered.
Darby, her parents’ border collie/mutt mix, came sprinting into the hallway barking excitedly.
“Shhh, nothing to get worked up over,” Harper told the dog. “It’s just me.”
The familiar scent of the Angelo family’s homemade marinara sauce, or gravy as her mother called it, filled Harper’s nose as she made her way to the kitchen. Her mother’s side of the family was Italian, and a good amount of extended family still lived in Italy. Her mother and aunt had been born and raised in the States, and certain traditions had carried over. Like cooking…and Catholic guilt.
“I brought the stuff for the baskets,” Harper said when she walked into the room to find her mother at the stove, spooning the gravy into rows of mason jars. No doubt these were going to be added to the baskets as well.
“Oh good.” Her mother turned around, eyebrows raised and mouth pursed as she did the Delilah-once-over. “You look exhausted.”
Code for you look like crap.
Well, wasn’t that a lovely greeting?
“It’s just been a long couple of days.” Harper put the box on the counter before she knelt down and petted Darby. The dog started sniffing her hand like she was attempting to inhale it. No doubt trying to figure out what other dog—besides Luna—Harper had come in contact with.
“Hmmm. I’m beginning to think it’s been a long couple of months with you.”
Truer words couldn’t have been spoken. “It has been. Which is why I was actually planning on going out of town this weekend with Mel and Bennett and the boys. Would you mind watching Luna for me?”
“Didn’t you just go out of town a couple of weeks ago? You know constantly running from your problems isn’t going to make them go away.”
Well, Harper was wrong. Those were truer words.
“Mom, can you watch her for me or not?”
“You know I have no problems watching Luna. She’s probably the only grandchild I’m going to get anyway.”
Well, two out of three accurate observations wasn’t too bad for Delilah. Her mother sure was in for a surprise.
Chapter Seven
You’re Gone and I Can’t Move On
The sun was sitting low in the sky, a smear of bright yellow surrounded by a pinkish orange. The orange turned to a magenta, then transitioned into a purple and finally ended in a deep blue. There was an area where the purple met the blue that was the exact same shade of violet as Harper’s eyes.
Damn. Liam was so beyond screwed.
It had been almost six weeks since she’d walked out—since he’d woken up without her—and he still couldn’t stop thinking about her.
It was ridiculous.
There was no way for him to find her, either; she hadn’t given him anything in the way of that information.
Nothing personal.
Well, he’d thought that rule had been bullshit from the very start. Everything about the time they’d spent together had been personal, both in and out of bed. Every word spoken. Every time she’d laughed in his ear. Every single touch. Every single everything.
Yet, she’d left anyway.
She’d just used him to forget. Used being the key word. And part of him felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world for being so pissed about it, because he’d done it before. He’d spent the night with someone with no intention of it being anything more than sex. But that hadn’t been the case with Harper, and that’s why this whole situation just didn’t feel right.
Why he didn’t feel right.
He’d said it before, she’d been more than a one-night stand, or as it turned out a two-night stand. Because there’d definitely been more between them than the sex. He knew it. Knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. But there was absolutely nothing he could do about it now.
She was gone.
Maybe if he told himself that enough he’d start to believe it. Start to move on. Because he wasn’t any closer to moving on now than he was six weeks ago.
And there’d been plenty of opportunity. There was always plenty of opportunity. But he wasn’t interested in any of the women he’d been around. Wasn’t interested in going to bed with someone else to fill the void.
It wouldn’t be fair to the other person…because all he’d be thinking about was Harper. And in the end, he’d just make the void bigger. He couldn’t pretend. Couldn’t act like that weekend was just a passing thing. Couldn’t act like Harper was just another girl.
Because she wasn’t.
Which was probably why Liam was more than a little upset with his manager’s newest PR plan. Liam was pretty sure his frustration was permeating through his pores at this point. Gary Kirkland was a man all about opportunity, and obnoxiously persistent when he needed to be. He firmly believed that a “relationship”—real or not—with a very popular starlet was the best thing for Liam’s career at the moment.
Kiera “Kiki” Jean Carlow was one of the lead actresses on Mason-Dixon. The show was about two families from small towns on opposite sides of the line, one in West Virginia and the other in Pennsylvania. It had a Romeo/Juliet thing going on with a feud dating as far back as the Civil War.
Kiki played the villain, the girl trying to steal the hero away from the heroine, and everyone loved to hate her.
Even though the show was supposed to take place on the actual Mason-Dixon Line, they filmed in a city right outside of Nashville. So Kiki was never too far away. The girl was a good actress. He’d give her that without argument. But her sweet-as-pie persona when the cameras were off was the real act. She was much more like the villain she played on the show. Conniving and manipulative.
Everything was a game to her, and she liked to play as many people as she could.
He’d witnessed it in full force, too. He wouldn’t exactly call the time he’d spent with her dates so much as forced proximity. It hadn’t taken him very long to realize he didn’t want his name—or anything else for that matter—anywhere near hers. He’d known that months ago…and he most definitely knew it now after Harper.
Not that it mattered, because again, she was gone.
Liam stretched his legs out, his boots sliding across the wooden floorboards of his brother’s back porch as he slowly rocked in his chair. The humidity in the air was in that transitioning stage of unbearable to mostly tolerable, and the breeze coming off the Intracoastal Waterway that ran behind the house wasn’t too shabby, either.
Or maybe the supposed cooling in the air had more to do with the fact that he was on his third beer of the evening. The bottle was sweating in his hand, trying its damnedest to stay cold. But no matter, it would be finished in another couple of minutes.
Liam had been in Jacksonville, Florida, for the last two weeks, going to the final games of the Stanley Cup playoffs where he got to witness the Stampede’s—and his brother’s—victory firsthand. Now he was sticking around for the big celebration that was the following evening.
Might as well, it wasn’t like he had any place else to be before the next leg of the Isaac Hunter tour started the following week. So he was getting in some time with his siblings and parents who’d also come into town for the festivities.
They’d all had dinner that night, a meal prepared by his mother Edie, sister Adele, and Logan’s new—and very serious—girlfriend Abby. The three women were now sitting at the dining room table chatting as Liam, Logan, and their father Dustin sat outside.
Logan and their father were carrying on a conversation while for the most part Liam sat there in silence. Brooding, as he was prone to do of late. But he supposed that was to be expected when he was comparing a woman’s eyes to the sunset.
Fucking sap.
He needed to shake this off. Needed to pull his head out of his ass and move on. Sure his time on this side of things was few and far between as he was normally the one doing the leaving. But he’d gotten over stuff like this before, and he’d damn well do it aga
in.
Right?
It was a little before eleven when his parents headed upstairs to go to sleep, and it was just Logan and Liam sitting out on the porch, fresh bottles of beer in both of their hands.
Maybe more beer wasn’t the answer at the moment…he tended to do stupid things when he was drinking, like hit on gorgeous girls at bars. An image of Harper filled his brain and he was tipping his bottle back immediately. Maybe if he drank enough he could kill the memory cells of her.
Or probably not as she was permanently branded into his brain.
“So, you going to tell me what’s eating at you, or would you prefer to suffer in silence?” Logan asked after about five minutes of nothing but the cicadas talking to each other.
Liam stopped rocking and turned to look at his brother. Most of Logan’s face was in shadow as the only light was coming from the dining room behind them—where Adele and Abby were still talking as they finished a bottle of wine. But shadow or not, Liam had no doubt as to the expression of concern on his brother’s face.
Logan was three years older than Liam, and as they’d shared a bedroom for fifteen years growing up, it was safe to say that they knew each other pretty well. And distance or time apart hadn’t changed that.
Not only were they brothers, but they were best friends.
And if anyone looked at them side by side, there was no doubt that the men were related. They’d both inherited their father’s strong jaw, though Logan’s and Liam’s were just slightly dusted with scruff whereas their father sported a clean shave. Then there was their green-gold eyes that were the perfect mix of their mother’s golden brown and their father’s sage green. The really big difference was their hair, Logan’s shorter and the lighter brown of their father’s, while Liam’s was an inch-ish longer and the dark brown of their mother’s.
“It’s up to you and I’m not going to bust your balls either way. But if you think this,” Logan waved a hand in the air at Liam, “whatever it is that you’ve got going on has escaped anyone’s notice in our family…well, you my friend are pretty fucking delusional.” He finished before he brought his beer to his mouth and tipped back the bottle.
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