The Sweetheart Rules

by Shirley Jump

  He was just getting maudlin, that was all. Too much vacation time, not enough work time. Get back on track, get back on schedule, and the world would right itself again. He didn’t need to derail with deluded thoughts about being some white-picket-fence family man who washed the minivan on Saturdays and coached Little League.

  They turned right, toward the shelter entrance, and stopped by a mountain of dog food bags strapped to a wooden skid. “These need to be moved to the other side of the building,” Diana said. “If we tackle it together, it should be done pretty fast.”

  “I can handle this, if you want. Don’t you have patients to see?”

  “Not for another twenty minutes. Besides, I could use the workout.” She flexed an arm.

  “You look amazing the way you are,” he said. “Absolutely amazing. In fact, I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

  She blushed and shook her head, but a small smile played on her lips. “If you keep flattering me like that, I’ll end up…” her voice trailed off.

  He took a step closer. Tipped her chin up to look at him. “End up what?”

  Her green eyes were wide, her lips parted slightly. A heartbeat passed, another. She swallowed, and the tease in her face gave way to sober frankness. “I’ll end up falling for you all over again.”

  Falling for him again. The thought made his pulse stutter. “Would that be so bad?” he asked, questioning himself as much as he was Diana.

  “Would it be so good?”

  His thumb traced her bottom lip. Her breath whispered over his fingers, warm and teasing. “You know it would be good. Knock-your-socks off good.”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “We have work to do.”

  “It can wait a second.”

  “If I let it wait, I’ll get distracted and off-course. I can’t let that happen.”

  She didn’t mean her schedule or her work, and he knew it. Distracted and off-course. That was exactly how Diana made him feel. That was a dangerous path to tread, and if he was a smart man, he would pull back now and stop dancing with fire. “You’re right. We have work to do.”

  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw disappointment puddle in her eyes before she turned away. They worked together for a few minutes with little conversation, transporting the fifty-pound bags from one end of the building to the other. The dogs barked, the cats meowed, and the rest of the staff bustled around them, doing the regular morning chores of feeding and checking on the animals in their care. When they got the last two bags moved, Mike paused by the door that led back to the front office, waiting before he headed back to Jenny and Ellie. “Diana, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” Diana brushed her hair off her forehead with the back of her hand, then pulled two water bottles out of a nearby fridge and handed him one. She looked sexy and beautiful even when she was tired and sweaty from working hard.

  “Thanks.” He uncapped the bottle and took a long swig. He palmed the hard plastic cap and turned it over and over in his fingers. Beyond the square of glass in the door, he could see the girls, Ellie on the floor drawing, Jenny sitting there, knees drawn up to her chest, watching. They were mirror images of him, with their dark hair and blue eyes, but emotionally, they might as well be strangers. Even after all this time together, the gulf between himself and his daughters seemed as wide now as it had when he’d first arrived in Atlanta and they’d shied away from him like they’d never met.

  He’d thought it would be so easy to slip into the temporary role of dad. He’d been wrong, and as the days went by and the gulf stayed wide and impassable, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have just left them with Jasmine instead of trying to force a relationship that might never exist.

  “How do you do it? How do you get close to your kids?” he asked finally.

  Diana leaned back against the wall and held the water bottle by her side with the tips of her fingers. “I don’t know if there is one magic answer. All you can do is find something in common between you and build on that. That’s what I did with Jackson. He loved animals as much as I do, and we would spend time together here at the shelter, or at the zoo. Anything where he could interact with them. He’s a science geek, too, though if you ask him right now while he’s busy playing the tough teenager, he’ll deny it. Because he loved chemistry and formulas from the day he could talk, I involved Jackson in the lab. Let him run some tests while I supervised, that kind of thing. We’d spend hours talking about the animals and the test results and how this enzyme or that medication can impact a dog’s health, stuff like that. It wasn’t playing catch in the yard, but it still brought us together.”

  “You are a great mother,” he said. The kind he wished he’d had. One who got involved, found a way to connect with her child, encourage his dreams, and let him know he was heard and noticed and loved.

  “I wish everyone agreed with you about that.” Her mouth drew tight, and she let out a sigh, one that said whatever subject she was avoiding was a hard one, and not one she wanted to share. “Anyway, just find out what you have in common with the girls.”

  He snorted. “They like Barbies and horsies. Not exactly my kind of thing.”

  “Dig a little deeper, Mike,” Diana said, her hand on his arm again, so warm and right, he swore it had left an imprint. “The connection is there if you try hard enough to find it.”

  “Is it still there?” he asked, his mind on the mesmerizing woman before him, who could make the worst of his worries and stresses disappear with one simple touch. He wanted more of that—no, craved it—and couldn’t let her go. Not yet. “The connection?”

  “I think so. But to keep it there, you have to work hard. It’s like a line from a ship to a dock. If you don’t tend the line, it will fray and break, and you’ll be set adrift.”

  He’d been adrift, it felt like, for a long, long time. And for the first time in years, Mike had no idea where he wanted to go, or how to get there. All those straight lines he lived his life by seemed to blur in his vision right now. If he could just get back to Alaska, to his job and his crew, maybe then he’d find those lines again.

  But at what cost? He looked through the glass again and saw two little girls out there who needed a strong parental figure in their lives.

  They needed a dad. They needed him. The problem was, he had no idea how to be what they needed, or if he was too late.

  “What do you do if the line is already broken?” he asked Diana.

  She cupped his cheek and gave him a small, soft smile. “You tie another one.”

  “Simple as that?”

  “Simple as that.” Diana let him go, then pushed through the swinging door.

  Mike stood on the other side for a few stunned seconds. She made it sound so easy, so basic. Then why did the whole thing confound him so?

  Diana was talking with the girls when Mike joined them in the lobby. “I was just talking to your daughters about helping me with my patients today. Ellie can draw pictures that we can hang up in the lobby to publicize the adoption event tomorrow and Jenny can help with the exams I have today.”

  “Like a doctor?” Jenny asked.

  “An honorary one, for today.” Diana skirted the counter, then draped her stethoscope over Jenny’s neck. “You’ll be my right-hand gal.”

  “And what about me?” Ellie asked. “I’m a good doctor. See?” She yanked up Teddy and showed off the three Dora bandages she had applied that morning to a damaged right foot that was still leaking stuffing. “Daddy hurt him and I’s had to fix him.”

  Diana’s amused gaze met Mike’s. “A medical emergency today?”

  He put out his hands. “An unfortunate bear and lawnmower accident.”

  Diana covered her mouth and bit back a laugh. “Seems someone wasn’t watching where they were mowing.”

  “And someone didn’t listen about picking up their toys.” He nodded toward Ellie.

  Now Diana did laugh. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get Jackson to pick up
after himself for fifteen years. If you find the secret to clean, neat children, share it with me.”

  He’d share that and a whole lot of other secrets with her if he could. Then he reminded himself he was moving on, going back to Alaska, and all this time in Florida was a departure from reality. From the world he lived and breathed. Right now, though, looking at Diana’s dancing green eyes and the slight smile playing on her lips while she joked with his daughters and made them smile, Mike couldn’t think of another place on earth he wanted to be. “Uh, I should get to work. I’ll demo until three, then come get the girls.”

  “Sounds good.” Diana straightened and Mike lost his great view of the valley of her chest.

  Damn.

  “Come on, girls, let’s go see Mr. Spock,” Diana said. “He’s my next patient.”

  “Mr. Spock?” Ellie giggled, and fell into step beside Diana. “That’s a silly name.”

  “It’s from Star Trek, Elephant,” Jenny said. “The movie.”

  “What’s Star Trek?”

  Jenny sighed and shook her head, but followed along with Diana, holding her sister’s hand and explaining about Captain Kirk and the Enterprise as they disappeared around the corner and down the hall toward the exam rooms.

  So his eldest was a Star Trek fan. That surprised him. Maybe there was a way to bridge the divide between Jenny and himself after all. And maybe, Mike thought, remembering Diana’s easy smile and laughter whenever his daughters were around, there was a way to bridge the divide with the sexy veterinarian, too.

  Because even though Alaska was calling to him with her siren promises of the dangerous, regimented life he loved, that sound seemed to grow very, very faint whenever Diana Tuttle was around.

  Eleven

  Greta had descended into the sixth level of hell: Harold Twohig’s front porch. That alone showed her desperation. Or her growing senility.

  “Greta!” A big goofy smile spread across Harold’s face. “What a pleasant surprise. Does this mean you reconsidered my dinner and a movie invitation? They’re screening Casablanca down at the Rialto, you know.”

  “Cut the crap, Harold, I’m not here for romance.” She thanked her lucky stars Harold was clothed. Not an outfit choice to write home about, and one ugly enough to earn him a ticket from the fashion police for malicious damage to people’s sensibilities, but it would do. The worst of his features were concealed by a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khaki trousers. With his black socks and pomaded hair, he could have been the poster child for old men.

  “Maybe not today, but”—he raised a brow and gave her a grin—“a man can always hope.”

  “You are delusional.” She shifted her weight. Lord almighty, there had to be another way. A better way. But no, she’d already worked her way down her friends and family list, and had now reached the bottom.

  The very, very bottom of the gene pool.

  “What brings you by?” Harold asked. “I’ve got fresh coffee cake. Patty Simons dropped it off this morning. She’s always bringing me baked goods.” He leaned in, lowered his voice, and gave Greta a wink. “I think she might be sweet on me.”

  Something like indigestion churned in Greta’s stomach. “That Patty Simons is half blind and half deaf. I wouldn’t trust anything that comes out of her kitchen.”

  “Why, Greta, you sound jealous.”

  “The day I am jealous of Patty Simons is the day hell becomes a tourist destination.” Greta propped her fists on her hips and reminded herself some things in this life took precedence over her distaste for Harold Twohig. Not many things. Okay, just one. Luke and Olivia, and their family. Suck it up, Greta, and get it over with. Quick. It’ll be like breaking an arm. Only more painful. She cleared her throat. “I think you need a dog.”

  He blinked. “A dog?”

  “Yes. Dogs are great companionship. And you strike me as a man who needs a companion.” Oh, damn. That had come out wrong. She’d meant to say something sharp and sarcastic. That sentence sounded almost like she cared about Harold’s level of loneliness.

  “Are you applying for the job?”

  Greta scowled. “Have you gone deaf, too, Harold? I said you needed a dog. Not a woman. And definitely not this woman.”

  Harold pressed a hand to his chest. Right on top of the buttons on his pale green plaid button-down, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look like a malnourished palm tree. Someone really needed to take this man shopping somewhere other than the Garanimals department. “Why, you’re worried about me, Greta. That’s touching.”

  This was getting her nowhere. She resisted the urge to give Harold a touch of her worrying—with a fist to his solar plexus. “Will you just get your car keys? We don’t have time to stand on your front porch discussing nonsense.”

  “You’re just worried someone might see us talking and spread a rumor that we’re in love.” He drew out the last word with a little trill.

  “Quit that. I just ate. I’d prefer to keep my lunch in my stomach. And speaking of things that make me ill, are you really going to wear that shirt?”

  “Why, yes I am, Greta dear. It brings out my baby blue eyes and makes the ladies swoon.” Harold chuckled, then grabbed his keys from a dish by the door and headed out of his house. He thumbed the remote to the Mercedes parked in his driveway. Before Greta could reach the door, Harold had hurried to her side and was waiting with the door open, like Sir Galahad beside a pony.

  “I could get the door myself. I’m not an invalid, you know.”

  “And I’m not a jerk,” Harold said, then leaned in close as Greta slid into the seat and added, “contrary to those rumors you’ve been spreading for years.”

  “I don’t spread rumors. I speak the truth.” She crossed her hands in her lap and sat there, prim and proper, almost daring him to try that little move again. Why did the man keep flirting with her? She should tell him to go call on Patty Simons. That woman would open her front door to just about anyone—and make them cookies. The tart.

  Harold finally shut the door. Greta let out a breath. Why had she thought this would be a good idea? She despised Harold Twohig. His too-neat white hair made her ill. His smile made her stomach churn. Only a masochist chose, on purpose, to spend the day with a man like him. With any luck, he’d adopt the first dog he saw and this torture would be over before her shingles vaccine wore off.

  “Where to?” Harold asked when he hopped into the driver’s seat.

  “The Rescue Bay Animal Shelter. There’s an adoption event today.”

  “And you thought of me.” He started the car, then patted her hand. She snatched it away and kept both hands in her lap. “That’s sweet, Greta.”

  She couldn’t tell him the truth—that she was using him as a cover to have an excuse to talk to Diana, Olivia’s sister. If she did, Harold wouldn’t go along with her plan, and then she’d be back at square one: without Diana’s happy ending, leaving Greta with an unhappy soon-to-be-granddaughter-in-law and without a conclusion to the column. Not that she gave two figs about the Common Sense Carla column, but she did give a couple figs and more about seeing Olivia happy. And Luke would be happier, too, if his friend stayed in town; heck, maybe even bought Luke’s house and settled next door.

  “You’re the only one I know who has nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon than to go look at some smelly dogs,” she said.

  “Why don’t you adopt a dog yourself?” he asked.

  “The last thing I need is another annoying, stinky, furry beast following me around and panting like a marathon runner.” She arched a brow in his direction.

  Harold chuckled, then put the car in gear. The Mercedes glided down the street, pumping a steady stream of air conditioning into the caramel leather interior. “Are you cool enough?” Harold asked.

  “If I wasn’t, I’d adjust the temperature myself and let you freeze.”

  “Ah, I love it when you talk sweet to me, Greta.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and shot hi
m a glare. “If you don’t stop that, I’ll—”

  “Stop what? Being nice to you?”

  “Yes. It’s annoying.”

  He just smiled as he turned at the intersection, then pulled into the small new parking lot. Only a couple other cars sat in the lot, which was bad for the dogs hoping to be adopted, but good for Greta’s chances of getting Diana’s undivided attention.

  “Now remember, you are here to adopt a dog. I don’t care if you actually get a dog, just give me enough time to talk to Diana, and for God’s sake, don’t interrupt me.” She reached for the door handle, before Mr. Helpful could come around and pull that gentleman-caller act again.

  He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. The light touch made Greta freeze. Her hand stayed on the door handle, but her stomach did a weird little flippity-flop.

  “What are you up to, Greta Winslow?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all.”

  He laughed. “I’ve known you for twenty years—”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “And there has never been a single day in those two decades that you haven’t been up to something or other. So spill the beans, or I’ll turn this car around and drive right on back to Golden Years and tell everyone we had a glorious makeout session in the backseat.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I would.” He leaned closer, close enough that she could catch the scent of his cologne. Something warm and spicy, which surprised her. She’d expected Eau de Swamp Rat. “And I’d enjoy telling everyone, too.”

  Harold Twohig had her caught between a rock and a heartless-man place. She didn’t like it. Not one bit. But what choice did she have? She needed his help. Dear Lord, why had she thought this was a good idea? She needed to start thinking things through more. Maybe making a few of these big decisions before her morning sip of bourbon, too. “I am here on a mission for my grandson.”

  Not quite the truth, but Harold didn’t need to know that.

  “What kind of mission?”