Avery, meanwhile, was studying the dog. “What did you do to him?”
Louisa bent down to pet Galahad where he lay panting, his head on her sneakers. “I had to have him clipped, because he was filthy with mats and had sores from flea bites.”
Avery winced at the mention of fleas on his dog, but brushed that aside. “His coat will grow back by the fall show season. But he looks logy, out of condition.”
“No, that’s just the chocolate chip cookies. They didn’t agree with his stomach.”
Dante looked at Louisa as if she were crazy. Actually, she thought, he usually looked at her as if she belonged in a padded cell. Some defender he’d turned out to be! Mr. Avery, though, was gaping at Louisa as if she’d sprouted horns and a tail. “You gave him chocolate? Were you trying to kill my dog?”
“He’s not your dog, and how was I to know chocolate was bad for a dog?”
“Everyone knows that!”
“No, they don’t. The books I read never mentioned chocolate, and the directions on the cookie dough sure as the devil never said ‘Warning, this product may be hazardous to your dog.’”
Dante was shaking his head, and Louisa could feel tears welling up in her eyes, darn it. Had she really almost killed her own dog? The Solomon in work boots seemed to think so. “I suppose now you’re going to say I’m an unfit mother and don’t deserve to keep him. I bet you’re thinking I’m not capable of loving him, caring for him, that he’d be better off with…with his prior owner. That I can’t keep any relationship going.”
“Huh?” Avery couldn’t follow her reasoning, but Dante was all too afraid he could. He’d been around too many emotional women not to realize that once the gates to the loony bin were open, all the inmates started crawling out. Like the runaway groom.
“Now that you mention it,” the interloper was saying, patting his meaty thigh so the dog got up and padded over, “you don’t know the first thing about dogs, do you? You don’t know what to feed him, how to school him. You don’t even have a proper run.” Sunlight glinted off the diamond ring as he waved his hand around the yard. “You won’t stand a chance in court. Give it up now, lady, and save us all a mountain of trouble.” He picked up Galahad’s leash.
Louisa was searching in her blue jeans pocket for a tissue.
“You know,” Dante said, wishing with all his heart that he’d gone fishing today, “instead of picking on Miss Waldon here, you ought to be thanking her for rescuing him. If it wasn’t for her going to that shelter on just that day, the dog might have been put down, no matter what claim you have. She saved his life.”
“Yeah, yeah. And next you’re going to say I should pay her back for expenses.”
Louisa found a wadded tissue that had gone through the dryer. She couldn’t blow her nose, but she could wipe it. “I wouldn’t take your money if I was starving.” She was so mad at herself for losing her composure—again—and in front of the hired worker, that she could spit. Instead she had to sniffle again. “Not even for the outrageous prices they charge for grooming a dog.” She sniffled once more. “Or for getting him fixed.”
“Fixed?” The leash might have been a snake, Avery dropped it so fast. “You had my champion show dog neutered?”
He was gone before the now-useless pedigree hit the ground.
Chapter Nine
Dante reached for the dropped papers. It was that or reach for his privates, just to check. He knew neutering was the responsible way to go, cutting down on the number of unwanted dogs, but it was one hell of a thing to do to a man. Or a dog. He wouldn’t be surprised if the Waldon woman got a lot of satisfaction out of emasculating the only male she could get her hands on, too. That escaped bridegroom had turned her into a regular man-hater, he guessed, unless she’d been one all along, like his ex-wife. Dante supposed he should introduce her to Susan and Cora Alice, but what a waste of those long legs and rounded breasts and tiny waist and— He patted the dog this time instead of readjusting an entirely inappropriate reaction. To Louisa Waldon, for chrissake.
“Poor mutt,” he started, then corrected himself. “Poor pedigreed pooch. You were going to be a champion, and then a lucky stud. Now you’re nothing but a lapdog.”
“But he will be loved, and…and cared for the best way I know how. I’ll read more books, and talk to his vet.” No matter how much it cost. “At least he will never be lost and alone again.”
She sniffled, and the dog immediately went to her side, wagging his tail and leaning against her. At least the animal didn’t seem to know what he was missing, wriggling and reveling in the hugs and kisses Louisa bestowed on him. Dante stomped down a twinge of jealousy at the sight of all that obvious affection between the two. He swore to himself that he wouldn’t curl around Louisa Waldon’s legs unless… Well, maybe if she asked nicely.
Maybe he ought to get himself a dog. No, he had enough people to worry about. Like now, the damned woman was pale and trembly in reaction to that pig’s threats, and the dog was getting soggy. Dante couldn’t stand a woman’s tears. He jerked his head toward the stack of fence posts. “You’ll need gloves,” was all he said.
He was giving her a chance to regain her composure, Louisa knew, and wipe her face. So he wasn’t such an insensitive clod after all. And he had come to her aid, more or less. Even if he hadn’t supported her claim to Galahad his presence had been protection, which she should not have needed, of course. But he’d been there, and he would still be there after she blew her nose and found her gardening gloves, the ones with the rubber palms and the roses on the backs.
“Thank you,” she said, when she went back out, trying to encompass the dog, the fence, the rout of that awful Avery person.
Dante looked at the silly gloves that would give her blisters in ten minutes and shook his head. Not his problem. He nodded for her to start rolling the chicken wire he’d been pulling off the rotten posts. “Four thousand dollars,” he muttered.
Louisa let go of the wire fencing so fast it uncurled and snapped back, tearing a hole in her last pair of everyday jeans, the ones she’d delegated as work pants. “Four thousand dollars? I don’t have that kind of money! You said you would help fix the fence for free because it was between the houses and you had the lumber and—”
“That’s what he paid for the dog. From the bill of sale he showed me.”
“Oh.” She started rolling the chicken wire again, keeping a better grip on it so he wouldn’t think she was a total incompetent. “Can you imagine spending that much money on a dog?”
“No. Or for a wedding dress.”
Everyone knew that too? Did they have nothing else to talk about in this place but her affairs? Damn. Whatever warm feelings Louisa might have been harboring for the gorgeous workman took a sudden chill. “That is none of your—” she began, only to remember that she needed the fence for her dog—her dog—and so she needed Mr. Small Town, Small Mind Rivera. Besides, he was a pleasure to watch, even if she had to peek out of the corner of her eye so he wouldn’t see her looking. Any man that good-looking had to be conceited enough without adding her admiration.
He was pulling the old posts up now, while she stacked the rotted cross rails in the renters’ driveway for his helper Rico to pick up later. Her back was aching already, but Dante was lifting and tossing the uprights as if they were those bamboo garden stakes she’d bought to support her new tomato plants. His denim shirt hid the muscles he obviously possessed, and Louisa found herself wishing he’d take it off so she could see the suntanned, rippled skin of her imagination. Most likely he had too much chest hair, she tried to convince herself, or a beer belly hanging over his belt. His blue jeans were well worn, but without stains and rips like hers. They fit well enough not to show his butt when he bent over. What kind of handyman was that, anyway? If she’d been paying the guy, Louisa would have felt cheated. On the other hand—the one without the blister—with his thick black hair, Dante Rivera would have a hairy butt too. He had to if there was any justice in the
world. No man could be that perfect except a paperback cover model. So what if Aunt Vinnie’s nephew had the brains—and the manners—of a flat, glossy piece of cardboard? He was putting up her fence, so she’d put up with his snide comments. Besides, she wasn’t interested in any man, no way, no how, and certainly not any sweaty, red-faced, gasping low-life laborer.
He wasn’t sweaty or red-faced or breathing hard, though. She was, damn it. No matter. She wasn’t about to quit and let the ape think she was some weak, whiny female. She kept quiet, concentrating on not whimpering, wincing or wobbling when she brought the next post over to him.
Dante liked the way she worked, despite himself. Louisa Waldon didn’t fret about her ripped jeans, and she didn’t chatter to fill the silence, she just kept doing her job. He couldn’t stand a woman who yammered. His cousin Francine never shut up, and his ex-wife had always filled every second with conversation, whether he was interested in her day’s minutiae or not. Most times not, but that was past history. He wouldn’t be thinking of Susan at all, except for thinking of her having his baby. Maybe she would change her mind, or maybe she wouldn’t conceive. And maybe, if he finished this lousy fence, the Waldon woman would stay on her own side of it and stop complaining about her neighbors. He worked faster.
She kept up with him despite her slight build, moving the rotted rails, putting the new wood right where he needed it. Half the work crews he had couldn’t follow directions as well. None of them were half as pretty.
She’d been stunning as a bride, right off the cover of one of those wedding magazines at first, but he liked her looks better now. With a streak of dirt on her cheek instead of makeup, she seemed more like a flesh-and-blood woman than a skinny, sexless, lifeless mannequin. With all that fussy hair lopped off, she looked younger, more innocent than the tough career woman he knew her to be. Light blond hair hung straight to just below her ears now, held off her face by a single blue doodad. She didn’t keep fussing with it, either, to his surprise. Dante would have thought a near-professional beauty like Louisa Waldon carried a mirror in her back pocket—if one could have fit in those tight blue jeans.
He’d been disappointed at first that she had on long pants today, so he couldn’t see those slender, shapely legs, but the striped tank top made up for the lack. He had no trouble picturing what was under those stripes, with no bra to get in the way with seams and elastic and wires. Louisa’s breasts didn’t need the constraints or the construction. Firm and high, they would be a perfect handful, not soft and melony.
He missed the post he was pounding and almost crushed his own ankle.
Oh, no. He was going to replace the lady’s fence, not replace her missing groom. No way was he going to lust after a stuck-up, spoiled snob. By the end of summer, maybe earlier, she’d get tired of playing at country girl and go back to the city where she belonged. Besides, he reminded himself, she didn’t like men. Which suited him fine. Now if only she would stop bending over to pick up the wooden posts, he’d get his mind back on the rails, instead of on her rear.
She went inside and came back with cans of iced green tea—it figured—and a hammer and nails. She’d wiped her face, but left a cobweb in her hair. He didn’t tell her. She might get hysterical, like his cousin. She might get more hysterical if he offered to pull it out. Drinking his tea, he couldn’t help notice that she looked pale and limp, as if someone had washed the starch out of her. He gestured toward the hammer. “I’ll come back tomorrow with the heavy-duty staple gun to put up the chicken wire. It will be tighter that way, and less apt to come off.”
“Thank you, but the wire is on my side, for my dog. It’s my responsibility.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t charge you.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended. Did she dislike men—or him—so much she didn’t want one around, even to do the dirty work? Hell, his ex-wife’s girlfriend called him to unclog the drains. It wasn’t as if he wanted to give up another day to finish the frigging fence, either, now that he thought about it, whether Louisa wore a bikini or a burnoose. He didn’t leave jobs unfinished, though, and he didn’t leave helpless women in the lurch, especially not favorites of his aunt’s. “I am being neighborly, that’s all.”
“I appreciate that, but Galahad—”
“It’s not as if the dog is going to run away before we get the yard enclosed. He hasn’t left your property the whole time we’ve been working.” He slapped his thigh and the blue-gray terrier trotted over to sniff his hand. “You wouldn’t run away from such a good home, would you, champ? You’ve got no reason to go visiting the ladies now.”
What about squirrels, though? Or deer? Without the fence Louisa would have to walk the dog late at night, with no streetlamps, nobody home on either side next door, and a couple of acres of woods across the street. She bit her lip. She couldn’t admit to being afraid of the dark, not to Mr. Musclehead. He’d already had enough laughs at her expense. And he’d tell everyone in the town, besides. “I’ll just tack it up temporarily. Okay?”
Dante shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s your fence and your dog. And your blisters.” Louisa’d taken off her gloves to drink. Now she tucked her sore hands in the dog’s coat. “I’ll be fine. Thank you. Again.”
Dante bent down to gather up his tools. Then he looked up at her. Big mistake. She looked like a waif, all big green eyes and a cobweb in her hair. Damn. Besides, he’d promised Aunt Vinnie he’d make sure Louisa was all right. “I, ah, have to go watch my nephew’s Little League game. I could come back afterward if you want, to get the job started.”
The sun came out in her face. “Would you? That would be wonderful. I can make cookies.”
He doubted that, after the other day. “Maybe a beer.”
A beer. Of course. One didn’t offer cookies and milk to a grown man, a man who drove a battered red pickup truck. Louisa rubbed her face against Galahad to hide her embarrassment. At least she had a couple of cans left from her brother-in-law’s visit. “There is some in the fridge.”
Dante remembered the drunken bride. He’d bet there was beer in the house, and wine and a full liquor cabinet, too. He determined to have one bottle and get out. Not that this one couldn’t do with a little loosening up, but Louisa Waldon sober was pain in the neck enough. “Fine. Later, then.”
She smiled. Dante couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen her smile before. Talk about pain. It was as if the female barely recalled how to curve her lips upward. She was watching him gather his tools, alone except for the dog. The smile faded, leaving her looking sad and vulnerable. Oh, hell. “You could come to the ball game, I guess. It’s just at Heroes’ Field at the end of the village. They’re playing the kids from Montauk.”
“Oh, no. I don’t know anything about baseball.”
“Neither do the kids. That’s not the point. Half the town comes to watch.”
She took a step back. Half the town, who knew all about her aborted wedding, right down to the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses? “No, thank you. I don’t know any of them, or their children.”
“You know Aunt Vinnie. She never misses one of Teddy’s games. Francine will be there when she gets off work.”
Louisa shook her head. The hair clip fell out and a blond lock fell across her right eye. She brushed it back with a quick motion, then twisted the hair in her fingers, a nervous habit she had outgrown in high school, or so she’d thought. Her fingers touched something sticky, which she tried to wipe on her jeans. “No, I couldn’t. Too much to do, you know.” She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the run-down cottage behind her, as if she was going to reshingle it before supper.
Dante didn’t want to think she was too snooty to mingle with the common folk. Somehow he didn’t want to think she disliked him too much to spend the five-minute drive with him, either. That didn’t leave a whole lot of other choices. Guessing, he nodded toward the posts and rails. “You know, fences work both ways.”
“I don’t understand.”
“They keep pe
ople out. They keep people in.”
Louisa couldn’t pretend not to understand. He thought she was building walls around herself, just because she didn’t want to go to some idiotic children’s game—with him! Of all the conceit. And all the gall of him to be questioning her motives. He was a handyman, for heaven’s sake, a hot-looking hole-digger, not her shrink. “No, no. It’s for the dog. I promised the lady at the pound. Really. And to keep the renters from running over my flowers, of course.” He raised one dark eyebrow, obviously disbelieving her protests.
She was not afraid to face the locals. She was not! She simply saw no reason to make herself the object of gossip, or pity, any more than she had to. “I am, uh, waiting for an important phone call.”
“The errant bridegroom? It’s been what? A month? If he hasn’t called by now, lady, he’s not going to.”
“Howard? Of course not.” She’d stopped listening for his voice weeks ago, eager for the opportunity to hang up on him. “If you must know, I am waiting to hear about a job.”
“In the city?”
“No, here. At the library. They need someone to help computerize the card catalog.”
That had to be a comedown for a personnel manager at a big law firm, and for minimum wage, besides. His aunt would know if Ms. Waldon actually needed the money, or was playing at Lady Bountiful doing volunteer work. Meantime, he said, “Mrs. Terwilliger at the library will leave a message.”
“She would if I had an answering machine. I haven’t had time to buy one yet.” She lied; she didn’t have the money to buy one yet. “And no, my email is not hooked up yet either.”
“We could stop at the library on the way home from the game.”
“We could, if I wanted to watch little boys run in circles, and their parents shout themselves hoarse in the bleachers.”
“See? You do understand softball. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“I can only suppose that females rarely refuse you anything, Mr. Rivera, but this time you shall just have to accept a no. No, I will not go to your nephew’s ball game, and that is final.”
Love, Louisa Page 7
