by Shirley Jump
“His friend Mike is in town. Nice guy, divorced, has a couple of kids. He really likes Diana, who’s the vet here, and the sister of Luke’s fiancée, Olivia. Diana and Mike dated for a little while but had a nasty break-up six months—”
Harold put up a hand. “Whoa, whoa. Lot of names, lot of people. Are you writing a soap opera or something?”
She huffed. “Most certainly not. If you’re just going to interrupt and criticize, I’ll forget the whole thing and walk back to Golden Years.”
“You are one stubborn woman, Greta Winslow.” He grinned. “That’s what I like about you.”
“What you like about me is that I am the only person in that retirement prison who hasn’t fallen for your charms. The grass is always greener on the other side of the barbed wire fence.”
He laughed at that, a hearty laugh that came from somewhere deep inside him. “Oh, you do test me, Greta, but in a good way.”
The man was buttering her up again. She could read that from a mile away, and through dense fog. Harold clearly couldn’t catch a hint. She was not interested, not now, not ever; not if the world ended and she was stuck on Mars with Harold and a lot of little green men. “What I need you to do is to pretend to be interested in one of the dogs that are up for adoption so I can take a few minutes to bend Diana’s ear and—”
“Convince her that love with the man she says she despises isn’t such a bad idea?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Harold. Let’s just go inside.” She pushed open the door and climbed out of the car faster than Harold could get his eighty-five-year-old body around to do it for her. Then she marched into the building, half-hoping Harold would get kidnapped in the next five seconds.
But no, he was right beside her the whole time, so close he could be considered with her, which didn’t sit well with Greta. Not one bit. On top of that, he kept grinning like he’d won the Powerball, the damned fool. After they were done here, she was going to have to set him straight.
A slim young girl looked up when they entered and flashed an orthodontia-enhanced smile at Greta and Harold. The girl had the same hooked nose and mousy brown hair as Bonnie Miller, who had lived down the street from Greta back when she still lived in her own house and called her own shots. It took a second for Greta to pull the girl’s name out of the ether that was her memory. Laura. Yes, that was it. Laura Miller.
“Well, hello, Mrs. Winslow and Mr. Twohig,” Laura said. “Welcome to the Paws to Adopt event! Are you here to look at dogs or cats today? Or both?”
“Just the dogs,” Greta said, then turned to Harold. “Unless you’re a cat person. You kinda look like a man who’d own a bunch of cats.”
“I’m definitely in the dog camp. If I wanted something with claws, I’d move in with my surly neighbor at Golden Years.” He winked at her.
“Show him the mean, ugly dogs, Laura. They’re just like him.”
Laura laughed. “We don’t have any mean, ugly ones. Just warm, devoted sweethearts needing a forever home. Follow me and I’ll take you back to the kennels. If you see a dog you’re interested in, just let Dr. Tuttle know. She’ll set you up in one of the private rooms so you two can get to know each other.”
Harold elbowed Greta and arched a brow. “Private rooms.”
She elbowed him back harder, taking great pleasure in seeing him wince. She might be old, but she had sharp, bony appendages. “Behave yourself or I’ll put one of those leashes on you.”
“Why, Greta, I had no idea you were into that kind of thing.”
She let out a gust and marched ahead of him, coming up to flank Laura. The girl, all bubbly and sweet and intent on her job, had missed the innuendos coming from Harold. She talked the whole way down the hall about the pets they had up for adoption, the process for taking one home, and the benefits of owning a furry friend. Laura didn’t so much as take a breath until she reached the doors to the kennel area and ushered Greta and Harold inside. “Dr. Tuttle will take it from here. I hope that one of our wonderful dogs is a perfect fit for the two of you!”
“Oh, we’re not… He’s not…” Greta waved between them. “The dog is for him. I’m here for… moral support.”
Laura shrugged. “I think it’s cute that you’re dating at your age. Bye!”
Then she was gone. Harold was chuckling, clearly delighted someone thought they looked like a couple.
“That girl was never too bright,” Greta said. “It’s a wonder that high school ever let her graduate.”
“I think she’s brilliant.” Harold gave Greta his best leer.
She ignored it. “Just pick a dog. And don’t ask a lot of questions. I want to talk to Diana without her having to explain to you how to properly potty train a poodle.”
“I know how to take care of a dog, Greta. I know more than you think about the animals here.”
She wanted to ask him about that, but Diana Tuttle was already striding up to them, so Greta put on her friendly, nonthreatening face and faked a casual stance. Two girls trailed behind Diana, the little one looking like the kind of kid Greta’s daddy would have called a pistol, while the older one seemed quiet, reserved, but with a hint of a smile lingering on her lips. They were cute girls, if a little… messy—like they needed a mom to come in and wipe their chins, braid their hair and match their clothes. The little one darted over to greet a terrier mix who was nosing at the cage. Her sister stood by her, a stoic guardian. Diana gave the girls a smile, then came over to where Greta and Harold stood.
“Why, hello, Diana,” Greta said. “It’s so nice to see you.”
Diana enveloped her in a warm, sweet hug, which made Greta like her ten times more. “Nice to see you, too. Olivia says you are the sassiest and sweetest woman on earth.”
“She’s got that half right,” Greta said. She waved toward Harold. “Harold, why don’t you go check out the dogs? I want to chat with Diana for a bit.”
But he didn’t move. Instead, he leaned over and gave Diana a hug, too. Greta was about to hose Harold down and tell him this wasn’t a Woodstock reunion, when Harold and Diana started talking. “How have you been? I’m so glad you reopened this place,” Harold said.
“Me too. The community response has been great.” She gave him a gentle jab in the arm. “So when are you going to start volunteering again? My mother said you were the best volunteer she ever had. She called you Dr. Doolittle for how well you engaged with the animals.”
“Your mother was a peach, a real peach. I’ve missed being here.” Harold looked around the shelter, then nodded in approval. “I like how you’ve fixed it up. Looks better than ever.”
“Thanks. My sister was a big help. There’s still lots of work to be done, and thankfully, one of my… well, one of Luke’s friends is helping me out.”
The younger girl came running over then, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and curious as a cat in a mouse factory. “She means my daddy,” the girl said. “My daddy’s big and strong and he gots a hammer and a screwrider. He fixes stuff. Lots of stuff. My name is Ellie, and this”—she flung a hand toward the dog—“this is Martin. You wanna meet him? He’s sweet. He don’t bite. I mean, he bites food, but not peoples. He likes cookies and he likes me.” She screwed up her face and studied Greta. “Are you daddy’s grandma? Mommy says Daddy’s grandma lives in For-id-a. I don’t know her. But I want a grandma ’cuz they give you presents and ice cream and stickers.”
Greta leaned down. “My goodness, you are a jabberjaw. Nice to meet you, Ellie. I’m Greta, and I’m not your daddy’s grandma. I’m Luke’s grandma.”
“And I’m Harold,” Harold said to Ellie. “How about you introduce me to Martin? He sure looks like a cute dog.”
“Oh, he is. I love him. Like, lots. But I can’t get a doggie because my daddy doesn’t have a house and my mommy doesn’t like doggies but I really, really want a doggie. Or a kittie. Or a horsie. I love animals, ’specially baby kitties.” Ellie grabbed Harold’s hand and dragged him over to the kennel, chatteri
ng every step of the way.
Greta watched them go, something odd spinning in her gut when she watched Harold with the girls and the dog, patient and nice. He let Ellie do most of the talking, and exclaimed over everything she pointed out about Martin, as if he’d never seen such an amazing dog before. Within a few seconds, even the standoffish older sister was drawing closer.
“Harold always did have a way with dogs, and now, apparently, with kids, too,” Diana said.
“They don’t know him like I do. The man’s a menace to society.” But the words lacked their usual bite. Was she getting soft in her old age? Or was she just off-kilter after finding out that Harold had volunteered here?
Diana smiled. “Well, I’m glad you brought that menace here. We’ve missed having him around.”
Sounded like Harold was well-liked here, something that didn’t compute in Greta’s brain. Well, just because the man was nice to animals didn’t mean he was anything other than a pain in the ass for people.
“So you mentioned someone doing work for you on the place,” Greta said, walking down the kennel aisles with Diana and refocusing her brain on the reason she had come here. “Is he the girls’ father? And a friend of Luke’s? I don’t think he mentioned a friend in town. Or maybe I’ve just forgotten. Some days, my mind is like Swiss cheese.”
Liar, liar. But there was no lightning bolt from up high, so Greta figured the Big Guy didn’t mind a little white-lie-fueled fact-finding.
Diana nodded. “He’s the girls’ father, visiting for a few weeks. He served in the Coast Guard with Luke. You might have met him before, when he was in town back in the winter. Mike Stark.”
The lilt on the ends of the syllables of Mike’s name was a clear sign to Greta that Diana might say she wasn’t interested in the man, but her subconscious was feeling otherwise. Now all Greta needed was a reason to get the two of them alone. Then let Mother Nature—and her best friend, Sex Drive—work their magic.
As if on cue, something thudded in the back. A muffled curse, followed by the clatter of tools.
“Oh my. Something fell. Sounds like Mike might need some help,” Greta said. “If you want to head back there, I’m sure Harold and I can handle things here for a few minutes. I mean, Harold used to work here, so he knows the place like the back of his hand. And you know men when they’re working on a project. They’ll measure once and screw up twice without a woman there to oversee the details. And read the directions.”
Diana laughed. “That is very, very true. Thank you, Greta. I owe you one.”
“Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” Greta said, shooing Diana away with a gentle shove.
Nothing except a happily ever after.
Twelve
Diana rounded the corner to the unfinished part of the shelter and stopped short. Mike stood with his back to her, his damp T-shirt tossed on top of the pile of supplies. She noticed two things.
One, he had a hell of a physique. One that even now, months after their one night together, made her quiver with need. But those thoughts disappeared as soon as her brain processed the second detail.
Pale red stripes ran down Mike’s back in a crisscross pattern, shoelaced scars that spoke of some horrific event years ago. She hadn’t noticed the scars that night they’d been together. It had been dark, and they’d both been in a hot rush to rip off clothes, tumble into her bed and satiate the raging desire that had been brewing between them since the first day they’d met. Mike had been gone before morning, leaving behind cold sheets and an even colder short note.
Diana covered her mouth, containing her horrified gasp, but not before a soft oh escaped. Mike spun around, reaching for his shirt at the same time. “Diana. What are you doing here?”
“I… I heard something fall and I was just checking to see if you needed anything.” She took a step into the room and reached toward him. Sympathy flooded her heart but she withdrew just before connecting with his bare skin. “What… what happened to you?”
“Childhood.” He scowled, then tugged his shirt over his head. The tee rippled down his muscled chest and settled into place over his shorts. “I’ve got the old studs ripped out. Had to tear down this portion of wall because it had water damage. You’re lucky, because there wasn’t much structural damage. Most of it’s cosmetic, so repairs will be relatively inexpensive.”
He kept talking about things like framing and drywall, but she had stopped listening after his one-word answer. Childhood?
When they’d dated earlier in the year, the topic of childhoods had never come up. They’d stayed in the here and now, talking about their jobs, their kids, and each other. Well, they’d talked—when they’d come up for air. Most of the time Diana had spent with Mike Stark had been wrapped in a fog of desire and temptation. She didn’t remember thinking about anything more complex than when was he going to kiss her, touch her, make love to her.
“Childhood?” she asked. “I can’t even imagine. What… what happened?”
“I survived. I grew up. End of story.” Another scowl. He gestured toward the walls. “Can we focus on the repairs? I need to get your go-ahead for a few more—”
“Mike,” she said softly, closing the distance between them. The same instincts that had sent her into a field where she cared for innocent animals, that had helped her navigate those confusing early years of single motherhood, now drove her closer to him, as if she could undo his past with a few words.
He stopped talking. He watched her approach, his stance hard as steel, but his blue eyes softening at the corners, like a tin man who had forgotten how to move.
“Mike,” she said again, because she didn’t know what else to say, how to ease the pain that surely still resided inside him. No wonder he had such a hard time being a parent. No wonder he struggled to connect, to build that bridge with his daughters. Someone had hurt Mike Stark, and hurt him when he was most vulnerable. Her heart broke, and she reached up, touched his cheek, and let his ocean-colored gaze hold hers until the world shifted beneath her feet and she forgot where they were, what had happened in the past—forgot everything but this moment and this man. This wounded man, who covered his scars with more than just a shirt. “I’m so sorry.”
His Adam’s apple slid up, down. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know.” But somehow it felt like she should have known, should have said something. Which was crazy. She’d only dated Mike for a few weeks. Whatever had scarred his back had been done long before now. Before her. She dropped her hand and started to step back.
He captured her palm in his. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
She nodded, her voice lost somewhere in his heated, dark gaze. A gaze that held secrets; something Diana knew too well. How many secrets of her own did she keep tucked deep inside her? All those things she never talked about, just left to gather dust in the cabinet over the stove. That was what had driven her to Mike, driven her to touch him, to ask why, because she had scars, too, ones she covered with a smile and a packed calendar and a change of subject.
His gaze dropped to her lips, and then his face shifted, going from stony wall to hungry desire. She opened her mouth to protest, but the word died in her throat. She knew he was wrong for her. Knew he was the last man on earth she should fall for. But she didn’t listen to her common sense. Temptation coiled a tight leash around her, and before she could think twice, she was lifting her jaw, and he was leaning in, and then, oh then, he kissed her.
No, not kissed her. Devoured her. This kiss had the same hungry edge as the others, months ago, only deepened with the knowledge of that night they’d spent together. She knew how he would move inside her, knew how he could light a fire and drive her body harder than she’d ever been driven before. How he had left her fully, completely spent and happy. Satisfied. Many times over.
Damn. She had missed him. Missed this. Missed his kisses, his touch, his smell, everything about him.
His arms went around her, and he crushed her to him, deepening their kiss. H
is tongue swept inside her mouth, and she arched against him, reaching as far up his back as she could, wanting him closer, closer still. He plundered her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair, then dancing down her spine. His cock hardened between them, making her wet, hot, everything within her pounding with desire. She slid her hands under his shirt, wanting his skin, wanting him against her, wanting—
Mike jerked back and the air went cold. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” She took a step back. God, what had she been thinking? Kissing him again? She’d been softened by that moment of vulnerability in Mike’s armor, and let that override any kind of sensibility. “Uh, the changes sound good,” she said, though she still had no idea what the heck he had been talking about earlier. “Whatever you need to do works for me.”
Then she got out of the room before she made another foolish mistake. In Diana’s life, the list of foolish mistakes was long enough already.
• • •
The man milled about in the kennel area, looking at the dogs, pretending to be interested in adopting. He waved off the attempts of the staff to help him, saying he was just looking for now. But his interest didn’t stay on any of the furry bodies inside the kennels, barking for attention.
He glanced over at Diana, watching her talk and laugh with a short elderly woman and tall elderly man who had come in earlier. Diana seemed to know them well, and they in turn seemed to like her.
The first time he’d stopped in here, he’d panicked and left almost as quickly as he’d arrived. But this time, he lingered, using the cover of the busy event to watch Diana and finally let the truth sink in.
His daughter.
Three-plus decades ago, he had spent an incredible year with a woman named Bridget who had made him laugh, made him think, and made him step outside the boring world he inhabited. She’d intrigued him and tempted him, and before he knew it, he was proposing to her. The next morning, she’d been gone, and after a while, he’d pushed that time into the corner of his mind, one of those bittersweet memories that would hit him at the oddest times, like when he saw a photo of a beach or a sunset over the Gulf and he wondered how she was, and whether she ever thought about him and those sweet sunny days they’d spent together.