by Janet Dailey
“Huh.”
That was Linc’s signal word for being deep in thought. Bannon heard the clicking of a laptop keyboard.
“So you want to give her a dog to make some noise in case someone comes skulking around. I got it. Is she okay with that?”
“I think I can persuade her.”
Linc laughed. “Don’t tell me how. Okay. I just sent some e-mails and I’ll make some calls. Let me see what I can do. You at home?”
“Yeah.”
Two hours later, his doorbell gave three short rings. Linc had said that it would. Bannon got up and put the cat out the back door, then walked through the condo to open the front door.
A petite brunette smiled up at him, a leash looped around her hand. Beside her sat a big, mixed-breed dog with pricked shepherd ears and a black Lab coat.
“Hi,” she said. “This is Charlie. And you can call me, uh, Karen Michaels.”
He nodded. That wasn’t her name and she wasn’t supposed to be there and neither was the dog. Bannon pegged her for career army, special forces, division unknown. She looked strong for her size, wearing a T-shirt and jeans that hinted at sleek, feminine muscle beneath. Good going, Linc.
“I’m Bannon. Want to come in?”
She shook her head. “I gotta get back.” She handed him her end of the leash. Charlie rose from his sitting position and trotted in. “You don’t need an instruction manual for this guy. He knows what to do. Should work out fine. He was raised by a woman handler, by the way.”
“You?”
She smiled. “No.”
“When do you need him back?”
“There’s no set time. You can stay in touch with me through Linc.”
Bannon looked down at Charlie, whose nose was twitching in the direction of the sofa where Babaloo had been sleeping. “How does he feel about cats?”
She bent down to give the dog a farewell pat. “Like I said, he’s trained. There won’t be any problem. But he’s not staying with you, right?”
“Ah—no.”
The brunette straightened and turned to go. “Bye, Charlie. Be good.”
“I really appreciate this. Thanks, Karen.”
She remembered her name just in time, and gave him a very fetching wink. “No problem. Take care.”
He watched her walk quickly down the hall, thinking of a few good questions to ask his brother next time they spoke. Then he closed the door and went back inside his condo with Charlie.
Bannon observed him sniffing around, and put him through a few commands. True to his training, the dog obeyed perfectly.
“You’ve got all four feet on the ground, pal.” Bannon stroked the dog’s strong neck. Add power and speed to that. He could feel both under the soft fur.
He would cook up some story about Charlie belonging to his brother—make that his deployed brother, while he was lying through his teeth—and throw in condo rules against dogs. Would Erin mind . . . ? Just for a few weeks. His instincts told him she was going to say yes.
“Okay. Don’t get used to my place,” he told the dog. “You’re going to be a country dog for a few weeks. Maybe longer.”
He picked up the leash and scooped up his car keys, then heard his cat yowling faintly at the back door. Bannon sighed, slid the leash handle over the doorkob, and went back to let Babaloo in. Nonchalant as usual, the cat strolled in, then spotted Charlie. His golden eyes narrowed, communicating feline contempt, and the tip of his tail twitched ever so slightly, something he generally did before launching a claws-out attack.
“Chill,” Bannon said to the cat. “He isn’t staying.” He left with the dog, who trotted obediently and silently at his side on his enormous paws.
They made one stop on the drive out to Erin’s, for dog food. Bannon surveyed the bulging bags on the shelves and selected a five-pound one. It might look a little too calculated if he showed up with the jumbo size.
Not that she couldn’t figure out what he was up to. He could bring a big bag over later, once she’d said yes.
Fifteen minutes later, he was walking through the parking lot of the supermarket with a sack of dog food in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He punched in a single number with his thumb. He’d had her on speed dial from the second she’d given him her number. Why fool around?
After three rings, Erin picked up.
“Hello?”
Bannon felt a surge of warm energy at the sound of her low, sweet voice. “Hey, Erin,” he said casually, “it’s me.”
“I recognized your voice,” she said with laughter in hers. “What’s up?”
She didn’t seem at all annoyed that they were talking for the second time in the same day. In fact, she seemed happy.
“I was wondering—I was kind of out and around—would it be okay if I stopped by? Are you busy?”
“Sure, that’s fine. And the answer to your second question is no.”
The dog was looking out of the car window, then back at him when he replied. “That’s great. Need anything from the store? I’m here already—I just stopped in to get a few things.”
“Oh.” Erin thought for a minute. “A quart of milk, I guess. Two percent, if they have it.”
Wow. What a domestic moment. He felt ridiculously exultant. He wanted to be the guy who brought home milk and eggs and every other damn thing in the world she might need. He grinned at the dog, who seemed to sense that good things were going on.
“Two percent,” he repeated. “No problem. See you in about half an hour.”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
He opened the trunk and slung the sack of dog food in it, then went back to the store for the milk. If they didn’t have two percent, he would hit every supermarket and gas station quick shop in a twenty-five-mile radius until he found it.
He slid open the door to the dairy case and checked the rows of square plastic jugs. Yup, they had it. After completing that transaction—the bored clerk didn’t seem to remember him from two minutes ago—Bannon went back to the car and drove off.
Charlie seemed content to survey the scenery as the road became more rural, and Bannon cracked the window so the dog could get his whiffs in too. It wasn’t long before he spotted the sign for the turnoff to Erin’s house.
The narrow road had no oncoming vehicles and there was no one behind him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, ruffling Charlie’s fur with the other. “You’re gonna like her. I hope she likes you.”
They went another couple of miles and he saw the small white house.
Erin had heard him coming, evidently, because she was waiting on the porch. Her dress, made of some light material, floated around her and showed her figure, even though she wore a sweater over it. Her arms were folded around her middle—it wasn’t all that warm out, although the sun was shining. Bannon took in the fine sight of her waiting for him as he slowed and pulled up to the side of the house.
Charlie stayed in the car when he opened the driver’s side door and got out with the plastic bag containing the quart of milk. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” She noticed the big black dog. “You’ve got company.”
Bannon half turned. “Yeah, that’s Charlie.”
“I thought you said you had a cat.”
“I do.” He walked the short distance from his car to her porch. “Charlie is on loan.” He mumbled something about his brother, intentionally not making that point clear.
“Oh.” She rubbed her arms. “It’s fine with me if he comes along.”
“All right.” Bannon called the dog and Charlie bounded out, sniffing the ground before he looked alertly around. “He won’t knock over your easel or anything, I promise. He has better manners than I do.”
Erin smiled at both of them. “Bring him inside.”
Bannon snapped his fingers. “Let’s go, boy.”
She reached out to take the plastic bag with the jug of milk in it and their hands touched. The simple action seemed like something they’d done every day, but the
friendliness of it touched a flash of deeper feeling in him.
“Thanks. You saved me a trip. Come on, Charlie.”
The dog looked at Bannon, got a silent okay, and went to Erin’s side, accepting the gentle hand that patted him briefly as he walked beside her into the house.
Way to go, Bannon thought with delight. He entered two steps behind both of them and stopped before he got to the kitchen, looking at the art on the easel. She’d done more work on it, without finishing it. “This is looking good,” he called.
“The trick is knowing when to stop,” she said, turning to him. “If I finish it, they might ask for changes. I’m happy with it, though. Now let’s see if I get the job. I really need the money.”
“You will,” Bannon said.
“What do you think?” She glanced down at the dog. “Are you an art lover, Charlie?” He wagged his tail.
Not a crazy-happy wag, because the animal was too well-trained for that. But the dog clearly felt at home.
“Guess so.” Erin laughed. “I wish I had a treat for you. But I wasn’t expecting you.” She patted him again, thoroughly. Charlie was loving the attention.
“Not a problem,” Bannon hastened to assure her. “I mean, I have dog food in the trunk. Besides, does he look like he’s starving?”
Erin caressed Charlie’s muscular sides and gave him an affectionate thump or two. “No.” She chuckled. “I’d say he’s healthy. These mixed breeds are great dogs.” There was a pause before she asked, “Is he staying with you for a while?”
“Actually, no.” Bannon took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “What happened was—well, my brother—he’s special forces, don’t know if I told you that—anyway, he was deployed in kind of a hurry and he dropped off Charlie late last night. But he forgot that my condo doesn’t allow dogs.” He rushed the answer, maybe a little too much.
“Really.” He saw a twinkle in her eye, but forged on anyway.
“So if you don’t mind my asking—”
“Not at all.” She laughed. “It seems I need protection, according to you, even though yesterday you couldn’t say why, and today you happen to have this dog. What a coincidence.”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “Busted.”
“Yes, you are. Where did you get him?”
“Through my brother,” Bannon replied. “Even though he doesn’t actually belong to Linc, Charlie works with his, um, team. He comes highly recommended.”
“Glad to hear it,” she said impishly. “So how big is that bag of dog food in the trunk?”
His grin widened. “Five pounds. I could go get more. He can stay with you for as long as you want.”
“Why don’t you do that? I’ll make us a late lunch while you’re gone.”
Bannon hesitated for only a second. “Deal.”
Then he left, thinking to himself how cool it was that she didn’t kick up a fuss about not knowing absolutely everything. Clearly, when Erin Randall wanted something, she went for it.
It took longer than he thought to find a jumbo bag of dog food, and he ended up backtracking to the supermarket where he’d gotten the milk. By the time he returned to the house, Charlie was sacked out in front of the wood stove on a folded blanket. Erin was kneeling in front of it, adding a split log to a pretty good little blaze.
“Hey. Welcome back. Just thought I’d take the chill off the afternoon,” she said as she got to her feet and straightened up.
“Looks like Charlie appreciates it.” Bannon laughed.
Erin glanced down at the dog, who raised his head and half opened his eyes at the sound of Bannon’s voice. Then he settled down again. “We went out for a long walk. I swear he sniffed every blade of grass and molecule of air between here and the mountain. And he stayed by my side the whole time.”
“Smart dog.” Bannon was pleased. “Good. I don’t want to worry about you.”
Erin tucked a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, an unconscious gesture that made him want to take her in his arms. “That’s nice of you. I mean it, Bannon. Even though I think you’re overreacting.”
He took a deep breath before replying, damned if he would scare her unnecessarily. “Maybe I am. But the Montgomery case has a lot of twists and turns, and I’m only at the beginning of it. I’m not sure if I’m always alone, let’s put it that way. And you’ve been seen with me. What I’m getting at is—well, this house is a little isolated.”
“I’m fine here,” she reassured him. “But thanks for bringing Charlie out. Keeping him for a while isn’t going to be a problem. We hit it off right away.”
He felt a little awkward for not telling her the entire truth, not that he could, but her sincere reply eased his mind on that score. Still, he wished he knew who had been out there yesterday. He knew Charlie could track the watcher in the woods if the dog ever picked up a scent trail on him.
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I found some stuff. Mostly nibbles. Right this way.”
She reached out to him and he took her hand. Her slender fingers were warm and strong. All he wanted to do was pull her against him and start kissing her again.
Jesus, maybe it was him she wasn’t safe from. He restrained himself. “Lead on.”
This time the tray was set up on an old pine table in an alcove off the kitchen area. “I didn’t see this yesterday.”
“Yes, you did. But it was covered with a tablecloth and a mountain of folded laundry on top of that. I put it all away. We don’t have to eat off that old trunk.”
She’d set out a bottle of wine and two glasses. On the tray were different kinds of cheese, crackers, and slices of apple in a bowl. The kind of food they could feed each other if they felt so inclined. Nibble by nibble.
The thought was irresistible. The meal was impromptu but he got the feeling she was sending a message by adding wine to it. He didn’t have to be that restrained. After they ate, talked, hung out, whatever—he could allow himself to claim another kiss. No harm in that.
“I opened the bottle,” she said, letting go of his hand. “You’re supposed to let it breathe, right? Whatever that means.”
Something that Bannon was having difficulty doing at the moment, and not because the fire she’d built was doing an excellent job of warming the whole house. No, it was because she’d picked up a slice of apple and bitten into it. There was a trace of slick juice on her lower lip.
“I don’t actually know myself.” He wrapped a hand around the thick green glass of the bottle and picked it up, examining the label. “Hey, this is the good stuff. Am I worth it?”
“Of course you are.”
He grinned at her, but waited to pour. “How much do you want?”
Erin finished her bite of apple and inclined her head. “Half a glass is fine.”
They both sat down to the light meal. The first several sips of wine relaxed him. There was an easy intimacy between them. It made him think how long it had been since—
Never. There was no comparison to be made between her and any other woman he’d been with. Erin was one of a kind. Here they were on what could be defined as Date Three, and he was in . . . in something with her. It was too soon to call it love.
“By the way,” she said suddenly, putting down her cheese-topped cracker, “I found Pinky.” His confused look made her smile. “The bear you were asking about.”
That was the last thing he wanted to talk about at the moment. “Oh, right,” he said politely. “I forgot his name.”
“Her name,” she corrected. “Pinky is female.”
Bannon nodded. “I’ll try to remember that.” He took another swallow of wine, a big one.
Erin got up, brushing a few crumbs from her dress, and went over to the pine shelves in the studio area that held the boxes marked Home. “She was in this one—whoops, no.” Cardboard flapped and squeaked a little as she investigated. “Wrong box. This one.”
She dragged out the right box and Bannon immediately rose halfway to help her before she foresta
lled him with a wave of her hand.
“Don’t get up. It’s light.”
He sat back down again and moved the tray and both wineglasses to one side. But she put the box on the floor before she sat down herself.
Erin reached in and pulled out a cloth bear that looked handmade, just as she’d said. Glancing at it snapped him out of his amorous thoughts—it seemed the same as the one in the photo of Ann Montgomery as a child, which he’d given back to Doris along with all the other visual evidence.
He had to hope she was staying one step ahead of Chief Hoebel, and wished he’d been able to check in with her that morning.
Erin gave the bear a dusting-off and a couple of affectionate little squeezes to plump it, then propped it against the wine bottle. “Sit up, Pinky.”
The bear toppled over and Bannon nudged it upright with a finger. Women sure saved a lot of odd stuff.
“And I found something else I’d been looking for.” Giving him a bemused smile, she reached down into the box of clutter again. “Plus some junk, of course.” She used both hands to show off a cracked but handpainted flowerpot broken into two pieces. “Fabulous, huh? Why did I keep this?”
He shrugged. “I have a high school bowling trophy that would go great with it. The bowling ball bit fell off, though.”
Erin tossed the pieces of flowerpot into a nearby wastebasket. “Bye-bye.” She dove into the box again and came up with an old scrapbook. “This is it. My whole childhood is in here. My mother started it. She could be a little obsessive about memories and stuff. Sometimes my dad added things. He kept all my drawings. He told me now and then that I was going to be a great artist.”
Bannon was definitely interested. “He was right.”
“Oh, I don’t know about the great part,” she said softly. “I’m just happy to be doing what I love.”
Without looking at him, she opened the scrapbook, which was crammed with stiff-looking pages sheathed in clear but yellowing plastic. Erin slid a finger under the plastic of one and adjusted the crooked document inside, moving it over a duplicate beneath until the edges lined up.
“This book got a little knocked around. But here’s my birth certificate. Two copies. My dad was a great one for documenting everything.” She pointed to a box in the middle of the document. “Look at those teeny-weeny footprints. Boy, things have changed. I don’t think that hospital even exists anymore.”