by Lucy Gilmore
“There you are, my precious,” she said, wincing at the pitiful image of the Pomeranian curled in on herself in the corner. “You’re pretty fast for such a small thing—has anyone ever told you that? You knew there was danger the second you smelled smoke, and you reacted without even thinking about it. That’s what makes you such a good alert dog, you know. You see a thing that needs to be done, and you do it. No questions, no doubts. I envy that about you.”
“Uh, Soph?” Dawn’s voice came from behind her.
Sophie stuck a hand out from under the bed and waved her sister away. “That’s my sister you hear out there, Bubbles. If she knows what’s good for her, she’ll stand exactly where she is and be quiet, so you don’t get even more scared.”
Dawn took the hint. Sophie proceeded to spout more nonsense, mostly about knitting and dog sweaters and some people’s inability to follow the simplest of recipes without burning a church down. Bubbles relaxed a little, but she didn’t show a desire to leave her safe haven.
That didn’t happen until a gruff voice sounded overhead, causing them both to perk up.
“Goddammit, Sophie. What part of two whistles didn’t you understand?”
Strong hands clamped around her ankles and pulled her out from under the bed. She barely had time to register what was happening before Harrison let go.
He didn’t, as expected, drop to his knees next to her to grab Bubbles for himself. Instead, he planted his booted feet firmly on the ground and said, his low voice rumbling. “Be quiet, Bubbles. And get out from under there.”
“You can’t—” Sophie began, but the dog’s gentle whimpering stopped almost immediately.
“Out, Bubbles. I’ve had just about enough of your antics for one day.”
The soft skitter of nails over linoleum sounded from under the bed skirt. Seconds later, the puppy’s small, twitching nose peeked out into the open.
“Come,” he said. “Sit.”
Sophie watched from her perch on the floor as the commands she’d been working so hard to instill in both man and beast worked to perfection. Harrison might sound gruff and rough, but Bubbles knew that voice, took comfort in that voice.
She came. She sat. And she waited, looking expectantly at her owner as though he contained the answers to all the world’s problems.
He paused just long enough to murmur a commendatory good girl before sweeping the puppy into his arms and turning his anxiety on Sophie instead. He’d all but forgotten about Dawn standing in the doorway watching the pair of them, a look of intense curiosity rendering her more silent than usual.
“Is this what we’re training her to do?” Harrison demanded. Fear made his expression harsher than usual, lines of worry pulling his mouth down at the corners. “To run away from me at the first sign of danger?”
Sophie hated to see him like this. Not the bluster, which was only to be expected from a man like this one, but the worry. The pain. Bubbles had obviously wormed her little way much deeper into his heart than she’d ever thought possible.
“She’s not hurt, Harrison,” she said, her voice gentle. “That’s the most important thing. A little shaken, yes, but none the worse for her adventure.”
“Adventure?” he echoed. “Is that what you’d call this?”
“Yes, actually. I would. At least she came out from under the bed willingly this time.” Sophie got to her feet with a brush of her knees and a squaring of her shoulders. Already, Harrison was looking less like a man who’d been pulled back from the edge of a cliff. “And she didn’t try to escape, which is a plus. She follows a pattern when she’s scared. Patterns are good. Patterns are predictable. I can work with patterns.”
“Abject fear is not a pattern. It’s a problem.”
“Not paying taxes is a problem. Yelling at your very expensive and highly professional dog trainer is a problem.”
His lips began their telltale quiver. “I wasn’t going to yell.”
“Yes, you were. You’ve been wanting to do it all day. Think about how much you hate knitting. Think about all those eensy-weensy loops and tangles in your big man hands.”
“Nice try, Sophie, but you can’t break me with yarn.”
She thought she heard a chuckle from her sister’s direction, but she didn’t dare pull her gaze from Harrison’s. This wasn’t at all how she’d choose to break down Harrison’s walls, but there was no denying that they were crashing down around them.
“I, on the other hand, am an amazing knitter,” Sophie continued. “I could make you and Bubbles matching rainbow glitter sweaters by tomorrow.”
“I wish you would. I love rainbows.”
“Hats too,” she warned. “And I can make you wear them as part of your training. If I tell Oscar it’s necessary for bonding purposes, you know he’ll back me up. Matching hats and sweaters for every day of the week.”
“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work.”
“Are you sure about that? It sounds an awful lot like it’s working.”
And it did. The more they stood there talking, the more Harrison’s smile widened, his eyes lighting with laughter. If they had time, she would have turned around and demanded that Dawn take a good look at those eyes. Her sister might think Harrison’s smile was dangerous, but Sophie found that lurking twinkle to be much more powerful.
He could be happy, if only he’d let himself. If only he’d let me in.
He squared his stance to meet hers, Bubbles held under one of his arms like a football. With his broad shoulders and menacing air, he might have been preparing to tackle any number of oversize defensive linemen.
But he wasn’t. He was preparing to tackle her.
And if the look on his face was anything to go by, he knew he was up against a formidable foe.
“You, Sophie Vasquez, are nothing more than a tyrant.” He took a step forward, drawing so close their toes bumped. His were encased in steel-toed boots and big enough to give Sasquatch a run for his money; hers were daintily shod in ballet flats with vibrant teal bottoms.
“A tyrant?” she echoed. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re a tyrant and a deceptively innocent tormentor who delights in making me dance at her bidding.”
“Getting better.” She tilted her head up to his. “Keep going. What else am I?”
“A devil. A fiend. A hellhound in puppy’s clothing.” Each word was quieter than the one before, as though he was wooing her with sweet nothings. They felt like that too, his gruff voice causing a ripple of delight to shiver up and down her spine. “In other words, you’re my worst nightmare.”
She swallowed heavily, unable to look away from the intensity of his gaze. She’d thought his kisses by the barn had devoured her, but they had nothing on this total engulfing of her soul. In all her life, she’d never felt this powerful, this beautiful.
This strong.
“Anything else?” Her voice was hoarse.
“It’ll never work.” For the first time since this whole conversation had turned, he didn’t sound playful. Nor was he his usual rough and grumble self. In fact, he’d never sounded more earnest. “That’s the one thing I can guarantee. No matter how hard you fight or how many times you try, I’ll never be anything but this. The sooner you realize it, the better it will be for both of us.”
A gasp from the doorway caught her attention before she could process anything Harrison had just said. She turned, prepared to scold Dawn for what had to be the worst timing known to womankind, only to find that two of the ladies from the knitting circle had joined her. Her sister appeared to be doing her best to usher them out of the room, but it would take someone much more determined than Dawn to get rid of a busybody like Paulette.
“Well, I never,” Paulette said, a hand clutched to her throat. She wasn’t wearing a pearl necklace—she was more of a New Age, healing-crystal sort—but the idea was the same. “Sophie, honey, we came to ask if you needed any help with that puppy. I can see we’re not a moment too soon
.”
Sophie bit back a groan. “I’m fine, Paulette. Hey, Hilda. As you can see, we found Bubbles safe and sound. Is the kitchen fire all cleared?”
She’d hoped the change of subject would encourage the women to move on, but Paulette pushed past Dawn and planted herself in the center of the room. She wasn’t a large woman, but she was a formidable one. It was the result of forty years working as the charge nurse on the pediatric cancer ward. She mothered and bullied in equal proportions.
Sophie had known her for just about forever. In fact, Paulette was the one who taught her how to knit in the first place. You can either knit or sit around this hospital room feeling sorry for yourself, Ducky. And I, for one, am getting sick of all the moping.
“I don’t think I care for the way this young man was talking to you,” Paulette said. “Why don’t you come with me, and I’ll see both you and your sister safely home?”
“There’s really no need—” Sophie began, but Paulette cut her short.
“I’m sure it’s what your mother would want me to do. We won’t take no for an answer, will we, Hilda?”
Sophie cast a silent plea in Dawn’s direction, but all her sister could do was mouth an apology and shrug. Sophie was just as powerless in this situation. If there was a way to oust a well-meaning family friend who had held and rocked her during her worst moments, then it was a way Sophie had yet to discover.
She was hemmed in on all sides and had been for as long as she could remember. Had there been a villain in her story, a malicious being she could stand up to once and for all, she would have banished him years ago.
But she didn’t have a bad guy. She had good guys. Dozens of them. She had people like Paulette and Hilda, Lila and Dawn, her parents, even, to some extent, Oscar. Each and every one of them would put their life on the line to keep her safe, and they had no qualms about making sure everyone knew it.
What they couldn’t understand, however, was that Sophie didn’t want to be safe.
She wanted to be set alight.
“She’s right,” Harrison said, his voice quiet but determined. “It’s not a good idea to leave you here with me.”
Sophie whirled on him. The overwhelming solicitude from family and friends she could bear—she didn’t like it, but she could bear it.
But not from Harrison. Never Harrison. That was what made him so incredible. He didn’t look at her and see a hundred-and-ten-pound weakling who needed to be shielded from the world. He saw a strong, confident woman who had the power to seduce him. He saw someone to fear, to fight, and maybe even to fuck.
And, oh, how she wanted to be that strong, confident woman bringing him to his knees. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice dangerous.
He didn’t flinch. “Go with your friends and family. We’ve done enough work here for one day.”
“So help me, if you take their side in this—”
“You’ll what, Sophie?” he asked. This time, his voice carried only kindness, his eyes touched with a smile. “Tell Oscar on me? Take my puppy away again?”
It was impossible not to answer that smile with one of her own. “Don’t think I won’t,” she warned. There were a dozen other things she longed to say—a dozen other things that needed to be addressed between them—but this was neither the time nor the place. And Harrison, for all his self-professed inability to understand people, knew it.
That’s because he does understand me.
“You and Bubbles should take a long weekend,” she eventually said. “Relax. Unwind. Have fun. We’ll pick up where we left off on Monday.”
Paulette’s harrumph signaled her displeasure with this plan, but Sophie wasn’t moved.
“I will be there,” she said, just in case he thought this was the last of the conversation. “And we will figure out what to do next about all this.”
To the bystanders in the room, all this could have easily meant Bubbles and the fire, the fact that Sophie was training a dog for a job that it appeared to have no qualifications to hold. To Harrison, however, her meaning was clear. She knew it the moment he caught her eye and nodded his consent.
“Sure thing, Soph,” he said. “We’ll take care of it first thing on Monday.”
Chapter 11
“Surprise, my darling!” Sophie’s mom stood on the front porch, her arms flung out and a beaming smile on her face. Those two signs were ominous enough on their own, but they were accompanied by a stack of suitcases more suitable to a lengthy cruise than a brief visit. Her next words confirmed it. “I’ve come to batten myself on you and the girls for a few weeks. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mom!” Sophie cried, and then, because it was the only thing she could say, “Of course I don’t mind. But I don’t understand. I thought you were going with Dad on his sabbatical to Greece.”
Her mom engulfed her in a warm hug, the lavish scent of her floral perfume blanketing them both. “I know, and I was so looking forward to it, but I’ve had this dratted tickle in the back of my throat I can’t seem to shake. You know how hard your father goes when he’s out in the field. My immune system would never be able to catch up.”
While it was true that Victor Vasquez had a tendency to lose himself in his antiquity studies whenever he slipped off the collegiate leash, her mother had never looked in better health. Not even the fake cough she remembered to emit a few seconds later was enough to convince Sophie that this was anything but a ploy.
“Lila called you, didn’t she?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Lila never tells me anything. That girl is an oyster.”
“Dawn.” Sophie clenched her hands. “The sneak. What did she say?”
Her mother adopted her loftiest pose. “Dawn doesn’t tell me anything either. None of my daughters do. I might as well be in my grave for all they care about involving me in their lives.”
She added a disdainful sniff for good measure. It was a good look on her—like her daughters, Alice Vasquez was a beautiful woman. Her hair was a light brown that her hairstylist kept from fading into gray, and strategic makeup applications and good lighting held her crow’s feet at bay. Her figure was still the envy of many, if a little more on the buxom side than in her youth, and she dressed with the ease of one who’d had a lifetime to learn what suited her best.
In other words, her mother was an impressive woman—confident and elegant and controlled in all the ways Sophie would never be.
“I don’t understand. If neither one of them ratted me out, who called you?”
“If you must know, I had a chat with Paulette late last night.”
“I should have guessed,” Sophie groaned, but she pushed the door open to let her mom in anyway. If there was one thing she’d learned from long experience, it was that her mother wouldn’t be shaken off easily. If Sophie wanted to put her on a plane bound for the Mediterranean—and she wanted nothing more—it would take a concentrated effort on her part.
“It wasn’t me.” Dawn sprang from the couch the moment Sophie and her mom struggled into the living room under the weight of all the luggage. “I have an alibi. Three of them.”
“Honestly, you’re both acting as though I’m not welcome.” Alice pulled a genuine frown. “I know I’m only your fusty old parent, but I thought it would be nice to spend some time together. Just the four of us girls, you know? Shopping, a spa day or two, maybe a weekend trip to Seattle. We haven’t done anything like that in ages.”
Sophie instantly felt guilt-ridden. Even though her parents only lived twenty minutes away, she didn’t spend nearly as much time with them as she should have—especially since her mom’s entire life revolved around her daughters. Or daughter, rather. While she was an affectionate parent to all of her offspring, there was no denying that the bulk of her maternal worries had been tied up in Sophie for so many years that it was impossible for her to shake the habit. She’d even given up her career as
nonprofit executive to take care of Sophie, which meant that now, at fifty-eight, she had little to occupy her time.
Other than, you know, stopping by for unannounced visits that lasted weeks at a time.
“What did Paulette tell you?” Sophie motioned for Dawn to resume her seat on the couch. Her mom didn’t follow suit. Instead of sitting in her favorite floral armchair, she elected to stand there among her suitcases, looking like the picture of staged rejection.
“That daughter of hers just had twins. Did she show you the pictures? She’s up to eight grandchildren now. It must be so wonderful, being surrounded by all those babies…”
“Mom.”
“What? It’s not unusual, you know, for a woman of my age to fantasize about grandchildren. You’d have thought, with three daughters of a marriageable age…”
“Mom.” Dawn was the one who spoke up this time.
“Oh, I know. The marriage part isn’t required in this day and age, but it would be so nice to see at least one of you settled down. Lila would be such a responsible parent. And you, Dawn, have so many men to choose from.”
“Gee, thanks,” Sophie said dryly. She studiously avoided her sister’s eye for fear that tacit commiseration would cause them both to break out into laughter. That or tears. “Does this mean I’m the one who’s been chosen to grow into lonely spinsterhood and take care of you and Dad in your old age?”
Her mother’s cluck was neither an assent nor a denial. It lay somewhere in between, a confirmation that whatever else Sophie was—or wasn’t—she’d never be like her sisters. Her life had never been one of independence and adventure. And if her relatives had their way, it never would be.
Even though no one in this room had said the word cancer—or even alluded to it—it was still everywhere around them. In the extra wrinkles around her mom’s mouth, where frowns had outpaced smiles for seven long years. In the way Dawn sat with her body angled on the edge of the couch, ready to jump to Sophie’s aid should Alice’s care get too officious. The room itself was a testament to everything this family had sacrificed for her. Her sisters would have happily gone off to live in separate apartments, but no one had felt comfortable with the idea of Sophie being on her own, so their parents had put a down payment on a lovely house with a kennel out back.