by Laurel Greer
“What, buddy?”
“Ah-roo,” he warbled.
“Oh, talkative today?”
“Ah-roo-roo.”
“Sorry, food’s not for you. It’s for Asher and me.”
She glanced at the mirror again and swore he narrowed his eyes. “What?”
He looked to the side and let out a huff.
“Asher is just a friend. I’m feeding an employee.” Though the fact she felt it necessary to explain herself to a four-legged fur giant spoke volumes. And if she was having to explain it to a dog, was the situation unclear enough that Asher might be getting the wrong message?
She really needed to talk to a human being. Garnet wouldn’t work—Asher was essentially her brother-in-law. And Lachlan would totally assume the wrong thing, as would her best friend, Emma. She needed someone who was less of a romantic.
Dictating Marisol’s number to her in-vehicle call system, she crossed her fingers that her brother’s fiancée was awake.
Marisol answered on the second ring with a big yawn. “Please say you’re calling to offer babysitting services.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t, but I’m happy to. How about Friday evening? Jackson has his test that afternoon, but I could watch Laura in the evening. You and Lach could go out for dinner or something.”
“A real meal out?” The wonder in Marisol’s voice wasn’t doing anything to sell parenthood. “Like, with cutlery and not consumed standing over the kitchen counter?”
“Life with an infant is that awesome, is it?”
“Life with an infant is the most incredible thing in the world,” Marisol replied. “For us, anyway.”
“I’m happy that you and Lach are made to be parents.” And for each other. She still couldn’t figure out how that had happened, given how danged rare it was for two people to find each other and actually be suited and actually want the same things in life, but her brother had always had that extra magic about him. Even when dealing with all their parents’ garbage, he’d kept his optimism. “And having some Auntie-and-kiddo time will be fantastic.”
She could either celebrate Jackson’s successful desensitization with her niece, or distract herself from his failure.
Her own failure.
The beginnings of a lump teased her throat. Staying upbeat when he still had so far to go was becoming impossible.
“How’s Jackson doing?” Marisol asked.
Marisol was a PhD student in canine psychology, so they’d had many a discussion about techniques and strategies. “He’s showing some improvement, but not enough. He needs to be a rock, and he just...isn’t.” She sent him an apologetic look in the rearview mirror. “Sorry, buddy.”
“I’d say he’ll catch on, but Maggie—it might be too late. Not all dogs are made for life in a service profession.”
“No need to tell me that. I know the stats.” But he’d be an F on her perfect record, and that chafed at every cell of her being. Especially since he was such a sweetheart. “So, I have a question for you.”
“About the dog?” Marisol said. “I think I shared everything I could think of.”
“No, about a guy.”
“Gotta say, that’s way more interesting. Tell me about things beyond diapers and nap schedules.”
Maggie snorted. “Give me a break. My brother was wooing you all summer. It hasn’t been that long.”
“But you haven’t been wooing or been wooed, Maggie, and ergo, I am all ears.”
Oh, crud. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Exactly the opposite of what I meant, in fact. I’m not in the market. And I need some advice.”
“Oh. That’s no fun.”
Jackson snorted as if to agree.
Good grief. She was getting ganged up on, here.
“I need to make sure I’m not giving off the wrong impression,” she said. “I offered to bring takeout for Asher tonight, and now that it’s in my car, I’m paranoid that it telegraphs interest.”
“I knew you were talking about Asher.”
She turned her truck onto her street. “How? You’ve been in a baby haze.”
“Lachlan and I do communicate with each other still,” Marisol teased. “He said he thought there was something going on with Captain Librarian.”
Maggie’s stomach fluttered. Asher had more of an undersea-superhero look going on rather than the patriotic, WWII-era variety, but Marisol wasn’t totally off base with the description. Those arms definitely looked capable of ripping a chunk of firewood in two à la her favorite Chris Evans GIF... And there she went giving herself the wrong impression. She wasn’t bringing Asher dinner because he was hot as sin. She was just trying to be kind. And to assuage her guilt for having turned down his friendly invitation the other night.
“There’s nothing going on, nor do I want there to be,” Maggie insisted. “Do you think I’m making a big mistake by bringing him dinner?”
“Did you use the word ‘date’ when you offered?”
“No. I didn’t call it anything.”
“Then I think you’re safe.” Amusement danced in Marisol’s voice. “But if you wanted to call it something, you could think of worse—”
“Do you want me to rescind my babysitting offer?”
“You would never,” Marisol said, still sounding overly entertained.
“I wouldn’t.” She pulled into her driveway and threw the vehicle in Park. “Nor would I date Asher.”
She knew he wasn’t like her ex-boyfriend Jeff. Asher wouldn’t walk out with no warning or steal from her. But there were just too many ways for a relationship to go wrong.
A few minutes later, she walked into the main area of the addition and almost tripped over thin air.
He had the frame up for the shelving unit that spanned the length of one side of the room, and she’d caught him stretching to drill a hole in the frame.
Oh. My.
His faded blue T-shirt was a little damp between his shoulder blades. It molded to every back muscle, of which he had more than his fair share. And the baseball cap, backward on his head, and faded jeans cupping his perfect rear...
Maybe dinner could wait.
“Hey,” she said, giving herself a shake. In no world would it be appropriate to consider something casual with Asher. He was a parent, and his brother was marrying one of Maggie’s best friends.
But as he turned, his slow, easy smile made her belly all warm and needy... Would it really be that awkward to hook up with him?
Yeah, genius, it would. You really want to spend the next few decades running into him at Garnet’s house, or the grocery store?
She smiled back and held up the bag of takeout. “Dinner has arrived.”
He put a hand to his flat stomach. “Just in time. I’m starving. Want to hold this cabinet door for me, though? I want to get one up, see how it looks.”
“Sure.” She plunked the bag on a stack of floorboards and scanned the ground for hazards before unclipping Jackson from his leash.
“Not on the job tonight?” Asher asked, pointing the drill in his hand at the dog.
“I should probably be running him through another one of Marisol’s exercises, but given the first eight didn’t work...”
Jackson leaned against Asher and looked up at him with adoring eyes. Asher scrubbed him between the ears with a splayed hand. “You’ve got this figured out, don’t you, big guy?”
“Well, we’ll assume he does until Friday, at least.” She strolled over, trying not to get too close before it was absolutely necessary. “What do you need me for?”
He lifted one of the pine-fronted doors into place. “Hold this just so, and I’ll deal with the screws.”
Do not think of double entendres. Do not.
Her hands shook a little and she pressed them against the wood to cover up the effect he had on he
r.
He smelled the best, really. Like a warm, clean man who knew how to use fabric softener and spent time around books. His right biceps flirted in the corner of her vision, flexing as he lifted the drill and slotted the bit into the screw.
The tool whirred and thunked three times. Jackson, who’d curled up in the corner, whimpered.
“You’re okay, buddy,” she called, trying to keep her gaze on the pale wood of the cabinet. But the sleeve of Asher’s T-shirt hugging his upper arm was way too fascinating.
He inserted six more screws in quick succession before lowering the drill. “You can let go.”
“Oh, right.” Dropping her hands, she tore her gaze from his biceps and made eye contact.
Humor danced in his brown irises. His lips twitched. “Problem?”
Yes. Everything to do with you. “You’re pretty fast at that.”
He stilled, expression turning close to what Jackson’s had looked like the one time she’d caught him snitching something off the counter.
Okay, what was that all about?
“You look guilty,” she accused.
He covered his flash of culpability with a smile. “We’re just hanging cupboard doors.”
But the fact I want you to carry me over to the sawhorse and see how much weight it can hold... “I know we are.”
“I know that, too,” he replied seriously.
“Good.”
And there was that crinkle of contrition again, screwing up one side of his face. “But I have a confession to make, Maggie.”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t need your help just now.”
Gah, why was her mouth so dry? “No?”
He shook his head slowly. “I just wanted an excuse to be close to you.”
“Oh...” She breathed out the exclamation.
“I know you’re not looking for that, so I’d apologize, but I can’t seem to...” Lifting his hand, the one not holding the drill, he brushed her cheek with rough fingertips. His skin smelled of wood shavings and a hint of metal. She inhaled a little deeper, resisting the urge to tilt her head into the caress.
“Don’t. Apologize, that is,” she added, before he could misunderstand and take his hand away. She couldn’t stop herself from spreading her fingers wide on his chest, finally confirming for herself that his pecs were perfection. Heat seeped through the cotton, warming her palm. She missed this, the raw sensation of touching another human. But why this particular person? Why someone with so many strings and complications?
“What about...” He tilted his head down, a suggestion that he’d be good with getting even closer, but the foot separating them in height meant she’d need to meet him halfway.
Did she want to? Maybe just once. Just enough to learn how he tasted.
Once couldn’t hurt.
Looping her arms around his neck, she rose on her toes and met his parted lips with hers.
He kissed softly, but with the promise of more. A clear signal he’d let her lead, but as soon as she relinquished control, he’d happily take over.
Oh. Oh, dear.
But she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. He splayed a hand on her lower back, helping her stay on her toes, and wrapped the other arm around her shoulders. The cold plastic of the drill rested against her shoulder.
Good grief, Asher Matsuda’s kissing eclipsed his ability to lay flooring or recite the Dewey decimal system. A woman could get lost in these arms, with his lips claiming and caressing...
A furry snout jammed itself in the seam of their bodies and let out a snuffle.
“Jackson!” she scolded, stumbling backward. The dog sidestepped into position, at the ready to stabilize.
Asher chuckled and rubbed a hand along his lips, looking a little dazed.
She drew a shaky breath and rested her hand on the dog. And she almost needed the support. Her knees had pretty much forgotten their main function was to hold her body up.
“Well,” she said lamely.
“Well.”
“That was—” Hot. Addictive.
Stupid.
“Nice?” he offered.
Talk about an understatement. “Sure. And kinda ill-advised, but—” she lifted a shoulder “—now we know.”
“What, exactly, do we know?”
“That—”
That I want to do it again. The truth pushed to the surface, threatening to spill out.
No way could she admit that. It would be entirely unfair to give him the wrong impression. Heck, kissing had done that enough in the first place.
“You’ve been clear on not wanting to date, Maggie.” He squeezed the back of his neck. “Dating’s tricky for me, too. I don’t know if Ruth is ready to see me moving on.”
“Oh, of course.” Selfish of her, not to be considering it from that perspective.
He brushed her cheek again, a slow stroke of his thumb that would be oh so good in all sorts of other places on her body.
She let out a noise of complaint, of lost possibilities.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish it could be otherwise, though.”
She backed up a couple of steps. Even wishing seemed too much, too close to trying to figure out how it could be otherwise. Which was ridiculous—between her parents and Jeff, she’d learned long ago there was no point in figuring out love.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I should go.”
Jamming his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, he sent her a puzzled look. “Maggie, the food.”
“You—you eat it,” she stuttered, taking Jackson’s leash out of the purse still slung across her body. She clipped the fastener to his collar. “Enjoy. Best pad Thai in town. Uh, only pad Thai in town. Fortunately, it’s delicious.” She was rambling. Awesome. “Better if I don’t stay, though. I’ll—I’ll figure something out. Something else. For, uh, dinner.”
His confused gaze bore into her back as she rushed from the building. Figuring out what to eat for dinner was the least of her worries. More importantly, she had to find a way to stop craving more of Asher Matsuda’s kisses.
* * *
It only took five minutes of Lachlan running Jackson through his paces on Friday afternoon for Maggie’s stomach to wobble. The observation session was relaxed, but precise. Her brother knew his stuff when it came to training dogs, and in the absence of any official state licensing, she trusted Lachlan was the best there was to evaluate an animal’s progress. She wanted a second opinion to take back to the support animal organization.
“He’s doing fine, Maggie,” her brother assured her after Jackson successfully followed protocol in a staged collapse. “He’s got that down pat.”
“Yeah, because it’s quiet back here.”
“We’ll head out somewhere busier in a bit. For now, take him toward the opposite corner, pretend to lose your balance and not to revive,” Lachlan instructed, examining with a sharp gaze.
She did, making sure to fall pell-mell. Jackson sprang into action, nudging her to try to rouse her. When she didn’t, he barked. He was like a dog with a checklist: bark, run to Lachlan, bark again, accept praise from Lachlan.
“He’s seamless,” Lachlan pronounced as he knelt to give Maggie a hand up. “You’ve done great work with him.”
“I know, but—”
A car horn rent the air from somewhere in front of the house.
Jackson yelped and skittered to the side.
“Marisol?” she asked, gut full-on plummeting.
Lachlan jerked his head in a short nod. “I asked her to surprise us so we wouldn’t know when it was coming.”
“I’d really hoped...” She sighed, resigned to the truth. “We can’t risk him startling when he’s in the middle of a physical assist.”
Sympathy cro
ssed Lachlan’s face and he raked a hand through his tawny hair. “You did what you could, Maggie.”
“I know. But now I have to say goodbye to Jackson and deal with not having trained him properly.”
She wasn’t feeling any better about that a couple of hours later as she walked the dirt trail around Moosehorn Lake. After sending Lachlan and Marisol off to dinner with strict instructions to take at least two hours for themselves, she’d filled her truck with baby gear and brought her niece to the water. A vain attempt at sloughing off her bad mood.
Laura was a comforting weight in the baby sling on Maggie’s chest, counteracting how Jackson’s leash weighed her hand down as if it was made of lead, not nylon. Was he going to be unhappy without an official job? Would he be too bored?
She couldn’t put off contacting the Parkinson’s assistance organization she’d been working with any longer, though. Wanting to get it over with, she called her contact and explained the problems with Jackson’s assessment.
“He’s a career-change dog after all, is he?” Tom sounded calm but resigned.
“I’m so sorry, Tom. I tried everything I could, consulted with a canine psychologist, even, but when I had my brother run Jacks through his test today... He shakes, still. Jumps when he’s startled. I can’t break him of it. I mean, I have two weeks until I take on my next dog. I could keep trying, if you like. He’s such a sweetheart. I might be able to make a breakthrough.”
Her footsteps crunched on the path for a few seconds before Tom responded.
“No, I think we’ve exhausted all options,” he said. “We’ll have to arrange for pickup. He’ll be easy to rehome, at least.”
“I know.” Her stomach churned with guilt. Failing would sting for a long while.
And having to let Jackson go was even worse. She’d consider adopting him herself, but she had a new dog lined up to train in two weeks. It wouldn’t be fair to the big goofball to have to divide her attention.