My Sunshine

by Catherine Anderson

  “He’s a pest,” Isaiah corrected as he closed the coat closet. “If you get tired of him, just push him down.”

  “I never get tired of dogs.”

  With a final pat on the dog’s head, Laura trailed after her employer for her first look at the inside of the house. Behind the double-sided stone fireplace was a spacious dining room devoid of furniture. Beyond that was an equally large kitchen, divided from the living area by a long bar lined with wicker-back stools.

  “What a nice kitchen,” she exclaimed. “And there are bar stools. How nice. You can sit down while you eat.”

  He narrowed an eye at her. “Keep it up and I’ll have you shopping for furniture and decorating the place.”

  Laura almost wished he would carry through on the threat. She’d never decorated a brand-new house. It would be fun—and challenging.

  “I wanted a gourmet kitchen,” he explained as he showed her the Viking range top, the double ovens, a gigantic Sub-Zero side by side, and a custom work island with tons of under-the-counter storage. “State-of-the-art,” he said proudly, even as he cast her a sheepish grin. “Too bad I can’t cook.”

  Laura laughed again. Around Isaiah she seemed to do a lot of that. “Maybe you can take cooking classes.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, right. In my spare time, maybe?”

  “Perhaps your wife will enjoy cooking,” she offered.

  He smiled slightly. “Maybe so.”

  He led her into a nice-sized laundry room. “Washer, dryer.” He grinned and winked. “Here we have laundry soap.” He opened a door to show her the attached three-car garage. “While you’re getting settled in your room, I’ll park your Mazda out there,” he informed her. “Forecast calls for snow tonight and tomorrow.”

  “It does?” Laura’s expression brightened.

  “Yep,” he confirmed, sounding far less enthusiastic than she felt. “Tomorrow I’ll be shoveling the drive, sure as the world. No point in having to scrape snow off the windshields, too.”

  Laura followed him through the kitchen again, her gaze trailing over him while his back was turned. It wasn’t often that she saw him without a lab coat. She studied his Western belt, where his first name had been tooled into the leather. Then she admired the purely masculine shift of his lean hips as he walked. He had the gait of a man who’d spent much of his life in the saddle.

  “Do you have any horses?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Come spring I’m hoping to get a couple.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you ride?”

  Laura shook her head. “Not for years, and then only a little.”

  “Well, now, we can’t have that. I’ll have to give you riding lessons. There are some great trails out here. The property backs up to BLM land.”

  Prior to her accident, Laura had occasionally done eco studies for the Bureau of Land Management and other governmental agencies.

  “Thousands of acres, no houses. You’ll love it.”

  Laura suspected he was right; she would love it. That was the whole problem: She loved everything about Isaiah Coulter, loved being with him. Once the puppies were weaned, she needed to avoid him. No more accepting impromptu invitations to go out to dinner with him. No more delivering kittens to sad old ladies. No more hanging out in the surgery for coffee breaks where she would be sure to run into him.

  As they passed the stove, she saw a pot of something on one of the gas burners. The smell of tomato soup wafted from under the stainless-steel lid, reminding her that she’d yet to eat dinner. Isaiah led her back to the front of the house to a door positioned under the stairs. He pushed open the portal and flipped on the overhead light to reveal a large bedroom. As Laura moved to stand beside him in the doorway, she was acutely aware of him physically—of his height and breadth, of the heat that radiated from his body and the masculine scent of him. It took all her concentration to focus on the bedroom furnishings, a lovely sleigh bed, a matching dresser with mirror, and a tall chest of drawers where she could store her clothing.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I know you’re used to lots of stuff on the walls.”

  “It’s fine,” she assured him. And it was. The bed had been made up. There was no bedspread, but the colorful patchwork quilts had a charm all their own that went nicely with the rustic log walls. She stepped over to test the mattress. When she sat on the edge and gave a bounce, the springs squeaked. “Comfy. I’ll sleep like a baby.”

  Just then their gazes met. To Laura the air between them suddenly seemed charged with electricity. Man, woman, squeaking bed. She pushed to her feet so quickly she got light-headed.

  He cleared his throat, looked away. “That leads to the bathroom,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “There’s a jetted tub and shower. I think it’ll meet your needs.” He cleared his throat again. “We won’t be fighting for a turn in the shower, anyway.”

  Feeling like an idiot, Laura stepped over to look in the bathroom. “Oh!” she said with delighted surprise that helped to dispel the tension. “How pretty.” The tub was surrounded by what looked like an acre of forest-green tile. Above it the ceiling sported a glass dome, some of the panes stained ruby and green, others clear. “Oh, Isaiah.” She imagined hanging plants around the deep tub, how they would thrive in the tricolored light that would pour through the dome all day. With a few decorative touches, it could have been a bathroom fit for royalty. “Did you design this?”

  “More or less. I sketched what I wanted and hired a guy to draw up the blueprints.”

  “It’s lovely.” Laura wished she could say fabulous without getting tongue-tied.

  “Thank you. The main suite is even nicer. No tour of that until I pick up in there, though. I’m a complete slob.”

  “The house looks clean to me.”

  “Cleaning woman.”

  “Ah.”

  As Laura turned from the bathroom, she spied a turquoise wading pool on the floor between the bed and the wall. “Oh, the babies!” she said softly.

  He came to stand beside her. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to sleep like that,” he said with a low laugh.

  Laura crouched down to admire her snoozing charges, all thirteen of them. She loved their stout little bodies, blockish heads, and squashed noses. “They have hearts on their butts.”

  He laughed again and hunkered down beside her. “They do at that. Tomorrow we need to take them to the clinic and dock their tails.”

  Laura hadn’t thought of that. “Oh, ouch. Do we have to do it so soon? They’re so tiny yet.”

  “Better to do it now. If you wait until they’re older, it hurts a lot more.”

  Laura couldn’t bear to think about it. “It seems so mean. Why can’t we just leave them with tails?”

  “We could, I guess.” Hapless bounded into the room just then. Isaiah caught the rambunctious puppy back from jumping into the wading pool. “Off-limits, buddy. They’re too little to play with you yet.” He gave Hapless a knuckle rub on the head. “The problem with not docking their tails is that rotts are such big dogs, and their tails are stout. As adults, they’ll knock stuff off tables and slap people’s legs every time they wag.”

  Laura didn’t think that would be so terrible.

  “We also have to remember that they’re expensive purebreds. Rottweilers normally have docked tails. They’ll look weird if we don’t do it.”

  Laura supposed he had a point. Weird-looking dogs might be hard to place in loving homes. “Will it hurt?”

  He considered the question. “I’ve never had it straight from a puppy, mind you, but I don’t think it’s that bad. A quick sting, maybe. We apply an analgesic ointment almost immediately, and most times they go right back to sleep.”

  Laura sighed. “I don’t want to watch.” She leaned forward over her knees to pick up a puppy. The sight of its disgruntled frown made her laugh. “Isn’t he sweet?”

  “He is a she.” Isaiah considered the wrinkled little face that Laura turned toward him. “And, yes, she’s pretty darn
ed cute. It’s hard to look at a face like that without smiling.”

  Laura gently returned the puppy to her siblings. “Thank you for letting me keep them here, Isaiah. It’s very kind of you.”

  He shrugged. “I’m as happy about saving them as you are, and you’re the one who’s kind. It’s no easy project you’ve taken on. For the next four weeks you’ll be losing a lot of sleep.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “No, I know you don’t.” He ran his gaze over her face as if to commit each line and angle to memory. “And that’s what makes you so special.”

  After Laura had unpacked her things and arranged them in the bureau, she returned to the main part of the house. Isaiah was clattering around in the kitchen, doing something that filled the rooms with mouthwatering smells. When he saw her emerge from the bedroom, he called, “You hungry?”

  Laura rubbed her hands on her jeans. This entire situation made her nervous. It was one thing to see Isaiah at the clinic and quite another to be staying at his house.

  “Starving,” she confessed.

  “It’s nothing gourmet, just grilled cheese sandwiches and soup from a can.”

  Laura hiked up a hip to perch on a bar stool. “It sounds good. I haven’t eaten.”

  “Figured as much. On the way home I stopped at a store. We have the basics—eggs, bacon, bread, some fruit, and lunch meat. Tomorrow I’ll do some more shopping. You’ll want to cook while you’re staying here, right?”

  Laura couldn’t imagine eating out for a month. “Yes. If that’s all right.”

  “All right?” He laughed. “I’ll love it. You mind cooking for two?”

  “I always do, and sometimes for four. What I need is a cookbook for one person.” Laura propped an elbow on the bar and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “I can do the shopping if you like.”

  “I don’t want you paying for the food.”

  “Why not? I want to pay half, at least.”

  He shook his head. “No way. Supplying you with room and board will be my contribution to saving the puppies. I’d just give you cash to cover the groceries, but paying that way is complicated for you. If you’re worried that I’ll get the wrong stuff, you can come along when I go to the store. That way you can get what you’ll need for cooking, and I’ll be there to cover the tab.”

  “Okay.” Laura hoped he didn’t talk a lot as they moved through the aisles. She had trouble enough remembering all that she needed without added distractions. “Sure.”

  He ladled the soup into bowls and then turned the sandwiches on the built-in griddle. As he worked, Laura indulged herself in another surreptitious study of him. His Wranglers were loose from wear and baggy at the seat, but the denim hugged his long legs just enough to showcase the powerful contours of his thighs. He wore a wrinkled green plaid shirt neatly tucked in at his trim waist. The bright, geometric design drew the eye to his chest, shoulders, and arms, which were also well padded with muscle and rippled under the cloth whenever he moved.

  He glanced up and caught her staring. For an uncomfortably long moment he paused in his task to meet her regard. Then his firm mouth quirked at the corners and he returned his attention to the food.

  Moments later Laura was dunking pieces of her cheese sandwich into the soup. She made appreciative noises as she ate. “Sorry. I know dunking isn’t polite.”

  “Go for it. I like to dunk mine, too.” Cheek bulging, he cast her a teasing look. “Don’t tell my mother, all right? She’s a stickler on table manners.”

  Laura laughed. “Aha. Now I’ve got something on you.”

  They fell into a comfortable silence as they enjoyed the meal. He slurped when he spooned soup into his mouth, which helped Laura to relax and do a little slurping herself. When she accidentally dribbled on her chin, he grinned and winked at her.

  They tidied the kitchen together, an endeavor that had Laura’s heart leaping into her throat when she turned and ran face-first into his chest. “Whoa. Are you okay?” He caught her by the shoulders and bent slightly at the knees to check her face. “That had to smart.”

  Laura didn’t know which was worse, the sting of her nose or the unsettling tingle of her skin where his big hands rested. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you want some ice?”

  “No, no.” She shook her head and gave in to the urge to rub her nose. “We didn’t hit that hard.”

  When the dishes were in the machine and the counters were wiped clean, they washed the doll bottles and filled them with warm formula. The puppy-feeding operation took place in the living room in front of the fire, Isaiah on one beanbag, Laura on the other. They sat cross-legged, each with a puppy cradled in the bend of one arm.

  “I’ve never done this,” she informed him.

  He chuckled. “With thirteen hungry mouths to feed, you’re going to be an expert in no time.”

  When the first two puppies had been fed, they went back to the bedroom for replacements. The moment they had returned the first puppies to the wading pool, Laura realized they had a potential problem.

  “Uh-oh. How will we tell which ones we’ve fed and which ones we haven’t? They all look alike.”

  Isaiah looked momentarily perplexed, but then his frown eased away. “You’re talking to an identical twin. Tucker and I look alike, but anyone who knows us has no trouble telling us apart because we behave so differently.”

  “How does that help us with the puppies?”

  He grinned. “Behavior differences, Sherlock. The puppies we just fed are sleepy. See?” He pointed to the pair of contented babies. “If it wiggles, feed it.”

  Laura laughed and grabbed a wiggler. When they returned to the fire, Isaiah said, “The novelty of this is going to wear off for me at about three o’clock in the morning.”

  “No worries. I brought my windup alarm. I can handle the night feedings without help.”

  “It’s the weekend. I don’t mind getting up.”

  Laura couldn’t quite envision herself sitting beside him on a beanbag when she was wearing only a nightgown. “No, no. I wanted to do this. It won’t be that hard.”

  As it turned out, the first middle-of-the-night feeding occurred at two o’clock, not three. Isaiah awakened with a start to the faint sound of a feminine voice. He’d already shot from the bed before he remembered the puppies and his pretty houseguest. He grabbed his jeans from the foot of the bed and dragged them on. Hapless lifted his head from the spare pillow and blinked sleepily.

  “Go back to sleep, buddy. No point in your getting up.”

  The pup snuggled back down and closed his eyes. Isaiah pulled on a shirt as he entered the living room. Not bothering with the buttons, he followed the sweet sound of Laura’s voice to the guest room. The door was ajar, and the light from within spread across the hardwood floor in a golden wedge. Craning his neck, Isaiah peeked around the door frame. Backside to the door, Laura was bent over the wading pool, cooing and talking to the puppies. She wore a flannel nightshirt that would have reached modestly to just above her knees had she been standing erect.

  Only she wasn’t.

  Isaiah jerked back so fast that he cracked the side of his head on the door. Unfortunately that quick glimpse of bare, shapely legs and the shadowy triangle at their apex had been branded upon his brain. A certain recalcitrant part of his anatomy went rock-hard.

  Laura whirled around, holding a puppy in one hand. With her eyes unfocused from sleep and her hair mussed from the pillow, she might have passed for a twelve-year-old if not for the womanly curves of her body, which, much to his dismay, were displayed in revealing detail by the soft, worn flannel. Without a fire the ambient temperature of the house had turned chilly, and her nipples had reacted to the cold, going hard and pointed.

  “Isaiah,” she said breathlessly. “You startled me. What was that thumping noise?”

  It had been his head, knocking on wood. That worked. “I rapped on the door to let you know I was here.”

  “Oh.”

/>   “I heard your voice. I thought I’d come help.”

  “I’m not dressed,” she pointed out.

  Isaiah had noticed that, yes. Since the first moment that he’d clapped eyes on Laura, he’d been struggling not to feel physically attracted to her. Now he was having trouble remembering why. She was beautiful, sweet, and easy to get along with. He enjoyed her company and liked her as a person. What more could a guy want?

  Nothing, he realized. She was everything he’d ever wanted and more. Sweet Christ. Two in the morning was a hell of a time to have this kind of epiphany. He needed a cup of coffee. Or maybe he needed his head examined. He was a confirmed bachelor. He had his life all planned out, and none of his plans for the near future included a wife, no matter how sweet and wonderful she was.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Hell, no, he wasn’t all right. He’d just been blind-sided by the realization that he was in love with her. He wanted to wring his mother’s neck. This was all her fault. If not for her he never would have met Laura Townsend.

  “Isaiah?”

  He blinked and refocused. The picture hadn’t changed. Flannel had never looked so good.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Maybe you should go back to bed.”

  Alone? He rubbed a hand over his face. Time-out. He needed to think this through. A cup of coffee might help clear his head. Yeah, that was it. He was sleep-befuddled. Once he came awake, he’d laugh at himself. Isaiah Coulter in love? Not for another five years, at least.

  “I’m fine,” he said again. Gesturing vaguely behind him, he added, “I’ll build the fire back up while you mix the formula. Sound okay?”

  He went to the kitchen first to put on a much-needed pot of coffee. Then he laid a fire. As he huffed and blew, trying to make the kindling catch, Laura padded barefoot to the kitchen. He was relieved to note that she’d slipped on a pair of sweat-pants, pink ones that went nicely with the itty-bitty roses on her nightshirt.