Home Is Where the Bark Is

by Kandy Shepherd

It wasn’t the most obvious observation to make about Serena St. James. But he wasn’t thinking of the sexy siren with the seductive eyes, her perfect body just asking to be licked free of its silken coating of chocolate. It was a valid observation to make about the Serena he knew—strong, savvy, and confident with animals. As well she had—in his book—the most important attribute of all for a farmer’s wife: she could cook.

  He could see her in the valley fitting right in on his farm. One day.

  Right now the valley was the last place he wanted to be. As soon as he was able, he’d escaped from what he’d seen as the straitjacket of a predetermined life. His father and his father’s father and his father’s father before that had farmed in the valley. His brother Sam had accepted his destiny without question. Sam willingly farmed the parcel of land his grandfather had left him. He also farmed the adjoining land his grandfather had left Nick. The resulting income was what allowed Nick to do things like adopt an injured dog with a big vet hospital bill.

  The land was prime real estate, on the fertile flat with good water and views of the river and the eternally snow-capped mountain that stood guard over the valley. Nick had been offered good money for that land many times but had never been tempted. The land was his backstop, his security, a place he knew was always there for him. One day, maybe years from now, he might want to return and make a home there. He would never, ever sell.

  Would Serena like it in the valley? The slow pace of life, the social life centered on family and school and church might be too slow for Serena St. James. But Serena Oakley? He would have to take her there so she could see for herself.

  Serena got up from Mack’s side. “He’s settled, though we need to put a big bowl of water within easy reach. If you sort that out, I’ll go get Snowball and Bessie from your truck. The windows are down but I don’t want to leave the dogs any longer.”

  Nick got the water for Mack, then followed Serena out the front door. He found her standing on the porch, drinking in the view of the bay, gloriously blue in the late-afternoon sun, white sailboats scudding across the water to San Francisco. The burnished roof of the Palace of Fine Arts glinted in the distance.

  It seemed very right she should be there at his home, albeit his temporary home. He hadn’t known her long, but he had the feeling that wherever she was would seem like home to him.

  He came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened for a moment at his touch, and he remembered how recently it was that she’d cringed from him. Then she relaxed on a deep, outward breath. He slid his arms under hers and pulled her back against his body, her back to his chest, the curves of her bottom against his thighs. He rested his chin against the side of her head.

  “Some view, huh?” he said.

  “If I had superhero vision, I could see Paws-A-While from here,” she murmured. “It’s beautiful. The house. The view. I love it.”

  You’re beautiful and I love you, he thought, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. He nuzzled into the satiny smooth skin of her neck and was encouraged when she tilted her head back with an almost imperceptible sigh of pleasure.

  Love?

  So soon?

  Oh yes. This was it. She was The One. He knew that with absolute, unshakeable certainty.

  He pulled her closer and she rested her hands on top of his. His body reacted instantly to her closeness.

  His woman.

  Every male instinct urged him to pick her up, carry her into the bedroom, and make her his. But Serena needed gentler handling than that. There were her trust issues. The stalker. He didn’t want to scare her off. Then there was the work scenario. They needed to talk about how they would handle this. It would be best if they kept their relationship private at this stage. He turned her around to face him. Her face was flushed, her eyes luminous, her mouth ripe for kissing. “Serena, I—”

  In the distance a neighbor’s dog barked. Serena’s eyes widened and she dropped his hands. “Ohmigod, the dogs.”

  The truck was just yards away from them, the windows down, the two animals clearly visible asleep. Nick saw no need to panic. But maybe Serena was panicking over something altogether different. He’d noticed how effectively she could use the dogs to put a distance between them when it suited her.

  “What am I doing up here admiring the view when the dogs are still in the car?”

  “The dogs are just fine,” he said.

  She dropped his hands and headed toward the steps. “Can’t risk leaving dogs too long in cars,” she said.

  Nick had to laugh. If he didn’t laugh, he’d grind his teeth in frustration. Dogs. Did they always come first for Serena?

  He stomped inside to check on Mack.

  Sixteen

  With Bessie still drowsy in her arms and Snowball by her feet straining at his leash to sniff every new interesting scent he could find in the front garden, Serena paused to step back and admire the house Nick was looking after for his aunt.

  Built on the hillside that rose steeply from the main street of Sausalito, the small, Victorian-style house was one of the most beautiful she’d seen. It was not at all the place she’d imagined Nick would live in. She saw him in a ranch-style house, cedar maybe, very masculine with lots of space. But boy, was this the kind of house she would give her eyeteeth to own.

  It nestled in the hillside behind a low stone fence, white-painted clapboard with the decorative railings on the porch and the upstairs balcony picked out in gray. The front door was a surprise splash of bright red. A fat palm tree was the focal point of the front garden. Roses rioted over the fence, lush with fall’s final flush of generous yellow blooms. Hydrangeas with big heads of faded, dried flowers flanked either side of the steps up to the porch. A tub of impatiens, the same cheerful flowers she had in pots in front of Paws-A-While, sat by the front door in welcome. She breathed in the scent of roses that suffused the air.

  A wave of longing swept over her. She liked old houses, not just for their charm and character, but also for what they represented—permanence and stability, two things lacking in her early life. This house was perfect. Lucky Nick. Lucky Nick’s aunt.

  A child with a different personality might have thrived on her parents’ peripatetic lifestyle. Not her. She’d longed for suburban security and an established circle of friends. While living in a succession of rented houses and communes with her parents, in shared apartments with her friends, in the little remodeled Victorian in the Mission, she’d dreamed of exactly this kind of house. With a garden just like this, too; she wanted more than a window box and some tubs one day.

  For those few minutes on the porch she’d reveled in the bliss of feeling safe, secure, and cherished in the circle of Nick’s arms. As soon as she’d heard his footfall behind her she’d stopped registering the view. Not with him holding her so warm and so tight.

  Him. Her. Home.

  It felt so right.

  She sighed. Wake up, Serena. This wasn’t her home, and with the price of Sausalito real estate she’d never live in a place like this—even without the prospect of losing her business and her bank account because of the fraud.

  But there was no price on daydreams. For that brief time on the porch she’d let herself lean back against him and imagine what it would be like to live here—or somewhere like here—with Nick. Nick and three dogs. Nick and maybe three kids.

  Kids? How did the image of a towheaded little boy with pale blue eyes suddenly push its way into her fantasy? A little girl with Nick’s coloring would look adorable, too. Two girls and a boy? Or two boys and a girl?

  She’d never before let herself dream of kids; she hadn’t felt settled enough for that. Or gotten the guy right. Deep down, she wondered if she had what it took to make a good mom. Kids meant commitment; kids meant not giving up and walking away when things got tough. Did she have that sticking power?

  She cuddled Bessie so close the little Yorki-poo whimpered. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said, and kissed her on the head. Fur babies
were all she could cope with right now. But if things worked out with Nick . . .

  Still reeling at the right-from-nowhere thought of those three blond kids, she went back inside through that cute red door. As soon as she got inside she was struck all over again by what an utterly perfect home it was. She hadn’t had a chance to appreciate it when she’d been helping Nick with Mack.

  The house was every bit as appealing inside as it was from the outside. Painted in airy shades of white it had been modernized without losing any of its quaint charm. The rooms had been opened up so she could see right though to a wall of French doors at the back. Framed paintings and interesting pieces of pottery and sculpture had been artfully arranged to lift the simplicity of rooms. She wanted a good look at those when she got a chance.

  Bessie struggled to be put down. When Serena did so, the little Yorki-poo scampered toward the back door. Snowball strained to follow.

  “The yard is safe for him if you want to let him out,” said Nick, who stood leaning on the mantel of the fireplace near Mack.

  She couldn’t meet that penetrating blue gaze. He’d run screaming for the hills if he could read she’d been fantasizing about having his kids.

  “I’d like to keep an eye on the little ones,” she replied. “Snowball and Bessie are good friends. But this is Bessie’s territory and I’m not sure how she’ll react to him being here on her turf.”

  She followed Nick through the living room, a dining nook, and a kitchen that opened to the backyard. Bessie was already scratching at the door to be let out.

  The backyard was pretty, too. And great for dogs. Leafy trees for shade. Lots of grass. Fenced for security. There was a water bowl attached to the tap that automatically filled so dogs would never run out of water. Two doghouses sat side by side in a sheltered spot. The big one was shiny with newness. Serena smiled to see it was modeled along the lines of a cedar ranch house just like the one she’d imagined for Nick. On closer inspection she saw the smaller one was a scale model of his aunt’s actual house. The words “Bessie’s House” were hand painted across the eaves.

  Bessie took off, running around and around in circles and yapping in invitation for Snowball to join in. Territorial disputes? Forget it.

  “Dog heaven,” she said to Nick, who stood next to her. She would have liked to slip her hand into his, but she still felt ridiculously shy around him.

  “Yeah. Between here and your place Bessie has a great life.”

  “Mack will, too. This will be wonderful for him.”

  He shrugged. “Until Aunt Alice comes back and I have to move. I was planning on a condo but that’s out of the question now.”

  “Did you think of that when you decided to adopt Mack?”

  “Sure. A dog means a big change of plan. I’m ready for that now.”

  He looked intently at her as he spoke. Did she read some message for her there? Her heart started doing that tripping-over thing.

  “It would be great if you could get a place like this. It’s so beautiful.” She couldn’t keep the wistfulness from her voice.

  “I thought you’d prefer contemporary to cozy.”

  She indicated the garden and the house with a sweep of her arm. “I guess I’m an old-fashioned girl at heart because I think this place is just perfect. It doesn’t seem like an old lady’s house at all.”

  Nick laughed. “Wait until you meet Aunt Alice. She’s no stereo-typical old lady. She moved here years ago for what she calls its ‘bohemian vibe.’ She hates how touristy Sausalito has become, but tourists are the lifeblood of the gallery she runs here.”

  “I noticed there were a lot of paintings inside.”

  “Some are hers, some by artists she couldn’t bear to part with. She’s quite a character.”

  “You sound fond of her.”

  “She says we’re kindred spirits because we both wanted to get out of the valley where we were born. Difference is she’ll never go back there whereas I’m keeping my options open. All the rest of my family is still there, parents, brother, sisters, and a whole parcel of cousins.”

  Lucky, lucky Nick.

  “I envy you that, your family, your roots,” she said. “I’ve got some cousins in England on my mom’s side I met once and don’t even remember and no one on my father’s side.”

  “My family’s okay. But there are times I would happily swap with you. C’mon, let’s go inside and get a beer. Or coffee. Or Diet Coke. Whatever you like.”

  “Diet Coke sounds good,” she said. “We’d better check on Mack, too.”

  “He’s as out of it as a bear in hibernation,” Nick said.

  She laughed. “No wonder, with all the meds they’ve given him.”

  The big dog looked comfortable, though his leg with its bright purple cast now stuck out at an angle. She knelt down beside him and gently repositioned the injured leg. “My special boy,” she murmured. Then she started to stroke around his ears the way Mack loved.

  She felt Nick’s hands on her shoulders.

  “Serena,” he said in that gravel-rough voice that sent shivers down her spine. “You’ve stroked that dog’s ears so much there soon won’t be any fur left on them.”

  He pulled her to her feet and turned her to face him. “There’s a boy here who wants your attention, too.”

  He was joking but there was a watchfulness in his eyes that made her aware of how serious he was. She knew she was guilty of hiding behind the dogs rather than facing situations she found difficult. But she didn’t want to hide anymore.

  “You want your ears stroked?” she asked with a teasing edge to her voice that she hoped disguised the fact she was suddenly paralyzed with nervousness. “Like Mack?”

  She was twenty-eight years old, her image emblazoned on billboards across the country in nothing but bikini undies and a cloak of chocolate, but she was nervous before this big, tough guy who had made her dream way beyond the boundaries she’d set to keep her life comfortable and safe.

  “Well, if you’re offering . . .” He bent his head closer to hers.

  In his black T-shirt and jeans that molded to the strong muscles of his thighs and butt, Nick Whalen was the hottest guy in the universe and she felt dizzy at his nearness. But it wasn’t just his looks. For all her initial worries about him being the same type of man as those who had hurt and disappointed her, he had proved himself to be a rock.

  She could stroke his ears; she could stroke . . . Well, she could stroke him all over. Then lie back and let him stroke her. Her life had been peaceful with no sexual interest in it, but she was beginning to remember how passion was way better than peace.

  She cupped his face in her hands, enjoyed the graze of his beard under her fingers, met his gaze full-on as his eyes narrowed with interest. Slowly, she slid her hands up toward his ears. He had nice ears, well formed and flat to his head. She reached out and traced the edges with the tips of her fingers, caressed the lobes and gently tugged on them. She felt a shudder run through his body. “You like that, big boy?” she said.

  “Ruff-ruff,” he replied, his voice hoarse. Serena laughed a low, husky laugh—she was enjoying this. Pleasing him was a pleasure in itself. Her laughter seemed to echo through the house.

  Nick’s breathing was loud and ragged. There was an old-fashioned clock somewhere and she could hear it tick-tick-tick. Mack shifted in his basket. She was aware of the rapid thudding of her own heart.

  “Scratching, too? You like scratching?” she murmured as, with the edges of her nails, she scratched the short stubble of his hair behind his ears, making it a slow, tantalizing caress.

  He growled a deep sound in his throat that was pure aroused human male and nothing to do with pretend dog noises. The sound seemed to connect with every nerve ending in her body. Her nipples tightened to painful peaks and her thighs clenched in a spasm of desire. She found the look of pure bliss on his face very sexy. Heck, she found everything about him very sexy.

  Still with teasing lightness, she feathered her
fingers down and along the strong, hard line of his jaw. Then she reached his mouth, that wonderful mouth that felt so good on her own. Her breath quickened. She traced the fuller lower lip along the edges, then the top lip she found so incredibly sensual.

  He took the fleshy pad of her finger between his teeth and nipped it. She gasped. It was more pleasure than pain, a sensation that shimmered through her. He took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face, holding them by her sides. She leaned forward to press her mouth against his.

  “Boss lady in charge,” he murmured against her mouth.

  “Mmm,” was all she could manage in reply. This felt too good to interrupt with talk.

  She traced the seam of his lips with her tongue until the tip of his tongue met hers. Kissing Nick was heaven. She pressed her body close to his. His muscles felt like a rock wall. The man was built like a fortress.

  His strength attracted her. In the past she had feared being taken over, having her life taken out of her hands, but the only feelings she got from Nick were of security and safety. He was man enough to let her be a boss lady without feeling threatened. But was she woman enough to let go and trust him to look after her?

  This full-frontal kiss had a lot going for it. Breast to chest. Thigh to thigh. Every part of her body aware of the contact, his heart pounding against hers. She didn’t resist when Nick released her hands to slide his up the outsides of her thighs, warm and strong and confident. She trembled with pleasure and arched her back to get closer.

  The sound didn’t register at first, the loud shrill of a cell phone. Not hers. She broke away from Nick’s kiss, looked questioningly at him. He shook his head. “Ignore it,” he said and claimed her mouth again.

  The cell phone fell silent, only for the landline in the room to start. Nick cursed, pulled her close to him again, kissed her so she scarcely heard the phone.The second it stopped his cell started again.

  The mood was broken. She couldn’t help the anxiety invoked by an incessant ringing of a phone. “They . . . they’re not giving up,” she said, too breathless to speak coherently. “It might . . . might be urgent.”