The Obsession

Six

Sunrise Cove, Washington State, 2016

It hadn’t been impulse. Naomi assured herself of that as she roamed the rambling old house on the bluff. A little rash, maybe. A gamble, absolutely. She’d taken plenty of gambles, so what was one more?

But holy shit, she’d bought a house. A house older than she was-about four times older. A house on the opposite side of the country from her family. A house, she admitted, that needed work. And furniture.

And a serious cleaning.

An investment, she told herself, wincing at the grimy kitchen with its dated appliances-surely older than she was-and cracked linoleum floor.

So she’d clean it up, fix it up, paint it up. Then she could put it back on the market, or rent it out. She didn’t have to live there. That was a choice-something else she’d made plenty of before.

It would be a project. Something to keep her busy when she wasn’t working. A home base, she considered, and tried the faucet of the chipped porcelain sink.

It coughed, banged, and then spewed out fits of water.

A home base with bad plumbing.

So, she’d make a list. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to have made a list before buying the house, but she’d make one. Plumber went straight to number one.

Gingerly, she opened the cabinet under the sink. It smelled a little dank, looked dingy, and the ancient bottle of Drano didn’t inspire confidence.

Definitely find a plumber.

And a whole bunch of cleaning supplies.

She blew out a breath, pulled her phone out of a pocket of her cargo pants, opened an app.

Hire plumber went on first.

She added more as she wandered back out, through a dining room with a wonderful fireplace of carved black wood. A chimney sweep. Did people still become chimney sweeps? Somebody must inspect and clean chimneys, and since there were five fireplaces in the old house, chimney sweep definitely went on the list.

Why had she bought a house with five fireplaces? And ten bedrooms? And six and a half baths?

She wouldn’t think about that now. Now she’d work on what to do about it.

The floors were solid. They needed refinishing, but the real estate agent had really sold the wide-planked ponderosa pine. She could do some research, see if she could refinish them herself. Otherwise, flooring guy.

And then there was tile guy-would that be the same person?

What she needed, Naomi thought as she started up the creaky stairs, was a contractor. And bids. And a plan.

What she needed, she corrected, as she stood on the landing where the hallway shot left and right, was her head examined. How the hell could she manage a house this size, and one in this shape?

Why in God’s name had she tied herself to this remote dot of land in Washington State? She liked to travel-new places, new views, new ideas. Just her and her equipment. Free to go anywhere. And now she had this anchor of a dilapidated house weighing her down.

No, it hadn’t been impulse. It had been lunacy.

She walked past dingy walls and, okay, gorgeous old doors, by far too many rooms for one solitary woman, and felt that old, familiar pressure in her chest.

She would not have an anxiety attack because she’d been an idiot.

Breathing slowly, deliberately, she turned in to what the real estate agent had billed as the master.

It was big and bright, and yes the floors needed work, and the walls were an awful faded blue that looked like cloudy pool water, and the old glass slider needed to go.

But she pulled and tugged it open on its rusted runners and stepped out onto the wide, sturdy deck.

And this was why, she thought as all the pressure lifted into sheer bliss. This was why.

The inlet, deep gleaming blue, curved and widened, split around knots of land green with the earliest whispers of spring. Shorelines climbed up, upholstered with trees, as the water traveled out through a narrow channel into deeper blues. In the distance just west, mountains rolled up against the sky to back a thick forest of green shadows.

And straight out, beyond the inlet, the channel, the knots and knuckles of land, spread the deeper blue of the sound.

Her bluff wasn’t particularly high, but it afforded a pure, unobstructed view of water and sky and land, and for her, an indescribable sense of peace.

Her place. She leaned against the rail a moment, breathed it in. She’d known it was her place the moment she’d stepped out here on that breezy February afternoon.

Whatever needed to be done to make the house habitable would be done. But no one could take this view, this sense of hers away.

Since she’d left her equipment downstairs, she took her phone, switched to camera mode. She framed in a shot, checked it, took another. She sent it to Mason, Seth, Harry-what she listed in her contacts as My Guys-with a simple message.

This is why.

She tucked her phone away, thought the hell with lists. She was going into town and buying supplies. She’d figure out the rest as she went.

The little town made most of its living off the water with its marina, dive shop, the kayak and canoe rentals, the fish market. On Water Street-naturally-gift shops, coffee shops, restaurants, and the Sunrise Hotel faced the curve of the marina with its bobbing boats.

She spent a couple nights in the hotel when she’d followed her nose into Sunrise Cove. She’d wanted to add to her portfolio of stock photography, beef up her portfolio of fine photography, and had found plenty of studies for both.

She’d caught sight of the house-just a piece of it-outside her hotel window, and found herself amused and intrigued by the way it angled away from the town, its people, toward the water and the wood.

She’d wanted some photos of it, had asked for directions. Before she knew it, she was heading out to what the locals called Point Bluff with John James Mooney, Realtor.

Now it belonged to her, Naomi thought, and parked in front of the grocery store.

A few hundred dollars later she loaded up food, cleaning supplies, paper products, lightbulbs, laundry detergent-which was stupid, as she didn’t know if the old washer worked-plus a basic set of pots and pans, a coffeemaker, and a vacuum cleaner she’d purchased at the neighboring hardware store.

She’d also gotten the name of a contractor from both places-the same name, so obviously a popular guy. Deciding there was no time like the present, she called him then and there, made an appointment to meet him for a walk-through in an hour.

She headed back, pleased it took a solid ten minutes on winding roads to reach the house. Far enough away for privacy, close enough for convenience.

Then she opened the back of her 4Runner, looked at the haul, and swore the next trip in she’d make a list.

That list, she realized when she started unloading groceries, would have included cleaning the refrigerator before buying food to go in it.

By the time she’d cleaned it, filled it, and started out for the next load, she saw the black truck winding up the road toward her.

She slipped a hand in her pocket, closed it over her pocketknife. Just a precaution.

The truck pulled up. A man in a ball cap and sunglasses leaned out one window. A big black dog with a polka dot bandanna leaned out the other.

“Ms. Carson?”

“That’s right.”

“Kevin Banner.” He said something to the dog that had its head retreating before he got out of the truck.

She judged him early thirties, sandy hair curling out from under the cap. A good strong jaw, a compact build. He held out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Workingman’s hand, she thought, and relaxed. “Thanks for coming.”

“I heard somebody from back east bought the place. It’s something, isn’t it?”

“It’s something.”

He grinned, shifted his weight. “It’s been sitting empty about ten years now-I guess Mr. Mooney told you-since Mr. Parkerson died, and Mrs. Parkerson had to let it go. They ran it as a B-and-B for more than twenty years. She just couldn’t keep it up, and ended up moving to Seattle to live with her daughter. Rented it out for a while here and there, but…”

“A big place, a lot of maintenance.”

He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, rocked back on his heels as his gaze traveled over the long rectangle of building.

“You got that. I threatened to buy it a while back-it’s got history and that view-but my wife threatened to divorce me. Now maybe I’ll get my hands on it, and get to keep my wife.”

“Let’s take a look. Is your dog okay in the truck?”

“She’ll be fine.”

The dog rested her head on the dash, sent Naomi a soulful look.

“I like dogs. You can bring her if you want.”

“Thanks. She’s a good dog, used to job sites. Come on, Molly!”

The dog leaped straight out of the window, landed neat as a gymnast, then pranced over to sniff Naomi’s boots.

“Nice jump, pretty girl.” When Naomi stroked Molly’s head, the dog did a full-body wag.

“Maybe you can give me an idea what you’re looking to do.”

“Bring it into the twenty-first century. I don’t mean the look,” Naomi added. “But the plumbing, the lighting, the kitchen, bathrooms. I’m hoping a lot of it’s cosmetic,” she said as they started inside. “I can paint and handle simple DIY, but there’s a lot of clunking and hissing when you use the water. And I don’t know if it’s safe to use any of the fireplaces. I considered tackling the floors myself-refinishing-but realize that would probably take me two or three years.”

“Windows?”

“What about them?”

“Replacing them with double-paned, low-E glass, that’s going to be more energy efficient, and while it costs now, it saves you in utility bills. It gets drafty in here during the winter.”

“That can go on the list, and we’ll see.”

“I’m going to want to take a look at the wiring, make sure it’s safe and up to code. We can look at the chimneys, make sure you’re good there. You want to keep them wood burning?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

The dog wandered around, sniffing, exploring. It struck Naomi that Kevin did nearly the same.

“You’ve got some fireplaces upstairs, right? If you don’t want to haul wood upstairs, you could think about gas logs on the second floor.”

“That is a thought-cleaner.”

“You thinking of a B-and-B?”

“No, I’m not. Not right now.”

He nodded, made notes, muttered a little to himself as they toured the first floor. When they came to the kitchen, he took his cap off, scratched his head, fixed it back on again.

“I’m going to tell you straight, this kitchen’s a pure gut job.”

“If you’d said different, I’d wonder why everybody I asked recommended you.”

“All right then. Now I’m betting the hardwood runs right on through, under this ugly-ass linoleum.”

“Really? Do you think so?” The idea balanced out against the notion of needing to replace a zillion windows. “Can we check?”

“If you don’t mind me messing up a corner.”

“You can’t make ugly-ass more ugly.”

He chose a corner, pried it up with his own pocketknife. “Oh yeah, got your ponderosa pine.”

“Hot damn. Take this crap up, sand, refinish, seal, right?”

“That’s what I’d do.”

“That’s what I want.”

“All right then.” With his sunglasses hooked on the breast pocket of his T-shirt, Kevin ran steady hazel eyes over the space. “I can work up a couple designs for you in here.”

“I’ll take a stab at it. I haven’t designed a kitchen, but I’ve shot plenty of them. Photography,” she explained. “For catalogs, websites, stock photos.” Hands on hips, she walked the room, imagined it down to the bare walls and floor.

“It’s roomy, and that’s a plus. I’d want an island, good size, for prep and for eating. I don’t want sleek, but I don’t want country either. More contemporary rustic, so dark cabinets, glass-fronted, go light on the countertops, figure out an interesting backsplash, and have fun with the lighting. There’s room for double wall ovens there-I don’t know what I’ll do with double ovens, but my uncles swear by them. Gas cooktop and a snappy exhaust-like a focal point. Farm sink under that window, and that bathroom’s awkward anyway. Take that out, make it a walk-in pantry. And get rid of this poky little back door. Open it up to that deck, that view. Big-ass double doors-full glass, no panes.”

He’d been making notes, nodding, but looked up now.

“Ms. Carson?”

“Naomi.”

“Naomi. I love my wife.”

She sent him a careful smile as she turned. “That’s good.”

“I fell for her when I was sixteen, and didn’t get up the courage to ask her out for nearly a year. I might still be thinking about kissing her for the first time if she hadn’t taken that bull by the horns, so to speak. I was twenty-three when we got married-she took that over, too, or I’d be working up the nerve to ask her. We got two kids.”

“Congratulations.”

“I’m just saying I love my wife, and I tend to move slow in some areas. But if you and I had a longer acquaintance I’d kiss you right on the mouth.”

“Should I anticipate that for later?”

He grinned again. “It could happen if you keep realizing my hopes and dreams. It was taking out that skinny door there that did it. It needs the view. Why have that view, and keep it outside? If you let me take out that wall there, I’d give you open concept into the dining room. It would make it more of an entertaining space. Living room’s at the other end of the house, but you’d have this area here so people could gather when you’re cooking.”

“It could go on the list.”

They went through, bottom to top, and then Kevin went out for his tape measure and went through it again.

By the time he’d finished, she’d put her supplies away and poured them both Cokes. They drank them on the front porch, watching the sun burn its way down through the trees.

“I’ll work up an estimate. You might want to be sitting down when you read it over.”

“I already got that picture.”

“Once you do, we can talk about priorities, what you want done right off, what can maybe wait some. I can give you the name of a good landscaper while you’re reeling from estimates.”

“I’ll take it, but I’m going to tackle some of that myself.”

“All right. Thanks for the Coke.” He handed her the empty glass. “I appreciate the chance to look the place over. If you give me the job, I’ll do good work for you.”

“I believe you would.”

“I’ll be in touch. Let’s go, Molly.”

She watched him drive off, felt the silence fall just like the sun behind the trees.

She’d do good work here, too, she thought. And went inside to make herself a temporary nest and work space.

She spent mornings taking pictures: sunrises-all those holy colors blending-the water, trees, birds. In the afternoons she hunted up secondhand stores, flea markets. She bought a desk and chair, a couple of lamps, and the happy prize of an old metal glider and matching chair.

Evenings, she’d put together a sandwich or scramble some eggs, pour some wine, and work on the photos she’d taken that morning.

She could and did sell some fine photography through her website and through a gallery in New York, but her real bread and butter came from the royalties on stock photos.

She’d learned she could work anywhere-in her car, in a campground, in a motel room. But this, working in her own house, with the quiet everywhere and the light playing on the water, felt like a gift, one made possible by her grandparents and the trust funds they’d set up for her and Mason.

Grateful, she sent them regular emails with photos. Since college she’d called them every week, no matter where she’d been, what she’d been doing.

They’d lost their daughter-twice, to Naomi’s way of thinking. She’d made certain they never lost their granddaughter.

She took before photos of the glider and chair, playing up the texture of the rust, the peeling paint, the square lines-and the pop from the bucket of purple pansies she’d planted and set on the deck with them. She’d take after shots, too, send both home-but she’d play with the before shots on her computer, put them up on her website for sale.

It took nearly a week for Kevin to bring the estimate. This time he had his six-year-old son, Tyler, as well as Molly. The boy was a mini version of his father, and so cute Naomi wished she had cookies.

“We’re on our way to pick up pizza, and figured we’d drop this off. You might want to have a stiff drink and sit down before you read it over.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah. Well. Like I said, you can figure out priorities. I gave you my mind on that in there. And if you want to take on some DIY, we can save you some money. Take some time, think about it. Just let me know. I got another name in there, too. You might want another bid, and I know that company does good work. They’re out of Hoodsport.”

“Thanks.”

“Let’s go, team.” The boy raced back to the truck with the dog. Kevin paused. “Don’t forget that stiff drink.”

Naomi tapped the manila envelope on her palm, took it back inside to the kitchen. A glass of wine couldn’t be wrong, she thought, and poured one, and since other than her desk chair it was her only option, she went out on the deck and sat in the half-sanded glider.

She sat a moment, drinking wine, watching the water and the bright red kayak that slid along it toward the shore.

She set the wine down on the drop cloth, opened the envelope.

“Holy shit. Oh hello, six figures.” She wished she’d gone for stronger than wine. Like a few tequila shots. She hadn’t bought any tequila as yet, but that would be rectified.

She took another deeper drink of wine, blew out a breath, and read over the estimate.

So much work. The kitchen-she’d expected that price tag. And in fact, he’d bid a little under what she’d been braced for. The windows-there were so many windows, and replacing them added up. She’d done some research there, and his price was, again, slightly under what she’d calculated.

Contractor’s discount, she mused. He was passing some of that on, and that was more than fair.

She got up, walked up and down the deck, sat down. Read on.

The plumbing, the electrical, spray insulation in the attic. Nothing sexy there, but necessary. God, the floors. So much square footage. Why had she bought such a big house?

To answer her own question, she looked up at the view. The sun hung low, sparkling over the blue. A bird, white and wide-winged, just sailed over it.

She read through the estimate again. She could take on at least some of the painting. She wasn’t afraid of hard work. There was bound to be something else she could handle. And corners she could cut.

But she didn’t want to cut corners.

She leaned back, gliding slowly. She could get a lot of photos out of the demo, the rehab. Photos of workers, of broken tiles, of tools and lumber. If she played it right, she could pull in some income even while coughing up the outlay.

She had savings, she reminded herself. She’d lived carefully, didn’t need a lot to live. Her biggest expenses before the house had been her Hasselblad and her 4Runner. She could do this.

She looked out over the water again. She needed to do this. She’d been to every state, working her way. She’d been to Europe twice, working her way.

And nowhere had ever drawn her like this spot, this place.

She took out her phone, called Kevin.

“Do you need an ambulance?”

He made her laugh. She didn’t make friends easily, but he made her laugh. “I wished for tequila shots, but I toughed it out. When can you start?”

“What? Sorry, what?”

“Let’s go for it. When can you start?”

“I might need an ambulance. Wow. Wow. Listen, I’m kicking myself as I say this, but don’t you want to get that other bid?”

“I bought this place because it spoke to me, it said words I needed. You get that. I’m going to try to do some of this-like the painting. I might be able to help with demo or something, to cut it down a little. But I’m going for it. When can you start?”

“Monday. I’m going to draw up a contract, and I’ll put in that you’re taking on the painting. That doesn’t work out, we’ll sub it for you. I drew up the kitchen design you outlined, but-”

“Yeah, I saw it. We’ll go with it, and you can tell me where I look for the countertops, the cabinets, and all that so I can figure out what I want.”

“It’s a lot to figure.”

“Yeah, so let’s get started.”

“Naomi, I might have to kiss you on the mouth. My wife will understand.”

She hoped his wife was as, well, adorable as he was. “We’ll cross that bridge.”

“I’ll come by with the contract tomorrow.”

“And I’ll give you a check for materials, like it says here.”

“I’d appreciate it. You got a favorite color?”

“Sure. All of them.”

“Good enough. See you tomorrow. And thanks, Naomi.”

She went inside, topped off her wine. And toasted herself in her soon-to-be-gutted kitchen.

He brought the contract, along with his wife-the very pretty Jenny-Tyler, and four-year-old Maddy, a sweet, towheaded version of her father.

And he handed her a pot of rainbow tulips along with the contract.

“You said all of them. Favorite color.”

“They’re great.”

Then he took her by the shoulders, kissed her. Tyler covered his eyes; Maddy giggled. Jenny just beamed.

“He’s had ideas about what needed to be done to this place longer than I can remember. And he said yours ran right down the same lines. Kevin’s the best. He’s going to make it beautiful for you.”

“Jenny’s biased.” Kevin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “But honest. I’ve got a Dumpster coming first thing Monday morning. The crew will be here by seven thirty. We’re going to be loud.”

“I’ll deal.”

“See you Monday then.”

They piled into a minivan, and like the dog, Kevin stuck his head out the window. “We’re going to rock this place!”

Naomi put the coffeemaker in her bedroom on the desk, filled her cooler with soft drinks, lunch meats, some fruit. She could set her Coleman stove on the deck. She’d put meals together in much less cozy circumstances.

Monday, she gave herself the day off and joined in gutting the kitchen and adjoining bathroom. She swung a sledgehammer, wielded a pry bar, helped haul out old counters, old cabinets.

And exhausted, aching, fell dead asleep before the forest swallowed the sun.

Every morning the hammering started. She’d get coffee, a granola bar, her camera. The crew got used to her, stopped posing.

She took pictures of callused hands, hands bleeding at the knuckles. Of sweaty torsos, steel-toed work boots.

Evenings, in the blessed quiet, she ate sandwiches and worked. She cropped a study of the kitchen floor, the linoleum jagged against the exposed hardwood. She played with filtering, considered other compositions, spent time updating her site, punching up her marketing.

She chose which studies belonged on her site, which should be exclusive to the gallery, which should be put up as stock.

There were dozens of decisions to be made, and she would have sworn not as many hours in the day as there’d been a week before.

She took more time off to look at slabs of granite, and ended up spending more than an hour taking pictures-those raw edges, the graining, the dapples and colors. Tired of cold meals or soup over the Coleman, she stopped and picked up pizza in town on the way home.

She’d sit on her pretty slate blue glider, breathe in the quiet, and eat loaded pizza on her bedroom deck. Then she’d treat herself to a movie on her laptop. No more work that day. And thank God the king-size mattress she ordered would be delivered in the morning. She’d spend her last night on her air mattress.

Twilight shimmered in the west as she followed the snaking ribbon of road.

The deer leaped out of the trees. She had time to see that it was a massive buck before she cut the wheel to avoid the collision. She hit the brakes, fishtailed.

She felt more than heard her tire blow, and cursed as she tried to fight the wheel back.

She ended up thudding into the shallow ditch alongside the road with her heart pounding between her ears.

The buck merely turned his head, gave her a regal stare, and then leaped into the shadows.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it. Okay, okay. Nobody’s hurt, including fricking Bambi.” She shoved open the door to see the damage.

Tire shot, she noted, but she didn’t think she’d damaged the wheel. She could change a stupid tire, but it was going to be tricky with the way she’d angled into the ditch. And dusk was falling fast now-with her on the curve of the switchback.

She opened the back, pulled out the emergency kit, lit a flare, set it several feet behind the truck, set another several feet in front, eased into the car, turned on her flashers.

Resigned to the annoyance, she hauled the jack out of the trunk.

She caught the headlights, worried they came too fast. But the truck-she made out the shape of a truck-slowed, then swerved gently to the shoulder between her car and the back flare.

Naomi set down the jack and took a good grip on the tire iron.

“Got some trouble?”

“Just a flat. I’ve got it, thanks.”

But he sauntered forward, in silhouette with the headlights glaring at his back.

“Got a spare?”

Deep voice, deeply male. Tall-long legs and arms.

“Of course I have a spare.”

“Good. I’ll change it for you.”

“I appreciate that.” Her hand tightened on the tire iron. “But I’ve got it.”

He just hunkered down to take a closer look. She could see him better now-a lot of dark, windblown hair, a sharp-boned profile under some scruff. A battered leather jacket, big hands on the knees of long legs.

“You’re at a bad angle for the jack, but it’s doable. I’ve got emergency lights in the truck.”

He looked up at her now. A hard and handsome face, a tough-guy face with the scruff, with the thick, windblown hair, a firm, full, unsmiling mouth.

She couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but didn’t detect any mean in them. Still…

“I’ve changed a tire before.”

“Hey, me, too. In fact, you can make a living. Xander Keaton. Keaton’s Garage and Body Works-name’s on the side of my truck. I’m a mechanic.”

“I didn’t call a mechanic.”

“Aren’t you lucky one just came along? And I’d appreciate the hell out of it if you didn’t smack me with that tire iron.” He goose-stepped over, picked up the jack, got to work. “Killed this tire good. You’re going to need a new one. I can order one for you.”

He picked up the lug wrench. “How’d it blow? It doesn’t look worn.”

“A deer-it jumped out in front of me. I overcompensated.”

“That’ll happen. Heading home? Just making conversation,” he said when she remained silent. “I can smell the pizza. You’re coming from town, so you’re not staying in town. I haven’t seen you before, and given you’re a serious looker, I’d remember if I had.”

“Yes, I’m going home.”

“New around here-because I know everybody-heading home on this road. Killer blonde. Are you Naomi?”

She stepped back.

“Settle down.” He said it calmly as he got up to get the spare. “Kevin Banner. He’s rehabbing the old Parkerson place up on Point Bluff for you. Best pals, birth to earth. Well, earth’s a ways off, unless you kill me with that tire iron, but we’ve known each other since before we could walk. You can call him, get my bona fides if it’ll loosen the grip you’ve got on that thing.”

“He never mentioned you.” But her grip did loosen, a little.

“Now that hurts. He was my wingman, I was his best man. I’m Tyler’s godfather. His cousin Mark’s doing your plumbing, and Macie Addams-who I was madly in love with for about six weeks in junior year-is one of your carpenters. Does that clear me?”

“I’ll know when I ask Kevin tomorrow.”

“That’s a cynical and suspicious nature you’ve got. I have to like it.” He tightened the lug nuts on the spare, gave it a testing spin. “That’ll do.”

As he lowered the jack, he looked up at her again. “How tall are you?”

“Five-ten. And a half.”

“You know how to wear it.” He rose, fitted the jack and the tools back in their compartments.

“Do you want me to take the tire with me, order you another?”

“I… Yes, actually, that would be great. Thanks.”

“No problem. Hold on a minute.” He took the tire to his truck, got out a bucket of sand, picked up the flare. “Wanna get the other one?”

“You’re prepared.”

“Part of the job.” He doused the flares in the sand, shook his head as Naomi dug in her pockets. “You want to pay me? Give me a slice of that pizza.”

“What? Seriously?”

“That’s Rinaldo’s pizza. I’ve got a weakness.”

“You want a slice of pizza?”

“It doesn’t seem like much to ask after I risked a concussion and possible brain damage to change your tire.”

She opened the door, opened the box. “I don’t have anything to put it on.”

Xander held out a hand. “How about this?”

With a shrug, Naomi set the slice of pizza on his wide palm.

“Thanks for the assist.”

“Thanks for the pizza. You drive safe now.”

She got in, strapped in, watched him saunter away-that was what he did. Saunter. She eased out of the ditch, bumped back onto the road.

He gave his horn a friendly honk as she drove away.

He sat a moment, getting in a couple bites of pizza so he could drive one-handed. He found it, as always, delicious.

But it didn’t hold a candle to the leggy blonde with suspicious eyes.

Seven

She’d come for peace, quiet, solitude. And ended up with a houseful of people and noise. There were days when even the view didn’t balance it out.

When she asked herself why she hadn’t settled for just the basics-like reliable plumbing and a decent refrigerator-she couldn’t quite remember the answer.

The house was torn to pieces, full of dust-with the biggest Dumpster known to man sitting in her front yard. After three solid days of rain that made heading out with her camera unappealing, Naomi was ready to throw her things in the car and run.

She bought paint instead.

On the first day of rain, she cleaned and primed the master bedroom walls. On the first night of rain, she studied paint chips, created palettes and schemes with her computer. On the second day, she convinced herself it was just paint, and if she didn’t like it on the wall, she’d just paint it again.

She bought the amount of color Kevin recommended, and semigloss white for the trim-along with rollers, brushes, pans. She forgot a stepladder-next time-so again she borrowed one from the crew.

Dressed in the sweatshirt, jeans, and Yankees fielder’s cap already speckled with primer, she got to work cutting in. Since she couldn’t block out the Skilsaw buzzing, the nail guns thwacking, and the headbanger rock pounding from the first floor, she plugged in her earbuds and painted to her own playlist.

–

Xander drove up thinking the old house looked like it was made to loom on the bluff on rain-washed days. The day sloshed along gloomily, so the lights glinting against some of the windows added to the atmosphere. Maybe the giant Dumpster out front took some of that away, but he imagined Kevin and his crew were having a hell of a good time filling it.

He got out, hunched against the wet, strolled up to the house.

Inside the noise was amazing, but you’d have that on job sites. He smelled sawdust, coffee, wet dog-which meant Molly’d been out running around. Drop cloths and cardboard paths covered the floor.

The interior, as far as he could see, just looked sad. Dim, dingy, neglected. Maybe the high ceilings gave it some class, the natural stone fireplace some character, but he saw a lot of space to fix and fill.

He thought of the long, tall blonde with the sexy pixie hair and the don’t-make-me-kick-your-ass attitude. He couldn’t see the connection. She said city to him. Big city.

It made her and her choice of living arrangements all the more interesting.

He made his way back, following the noise. He saw stacks of lumber, tools, cords, wheels of wiring.

He wondered what people did with all these rooms. What the sexy blonde meant to do with them.

When he reached the kitchen, he had a partial answer. Here, at least, she meant to start from scratch.

They’d gutted the place, taken it right down to the studs, were now putting up new ones. A blue tarp shuddered from the windy rain over a big hole in the back wall. He knew enough about plumbing to read the rough-ins, get a sense of where things would go. Just as he could read that at one time there’d been a john in the far left corner.

“Hey, Kev, you planning on putting both kids through college on this place?”

Kevin, hunkered down with the plumber, glanced back. “It’s going to help,” he called over the noise.

He pushed up, crossed the tarped floor. “What brings you out here?”

“New tire for that FourRunner.”

“Right. I’d’ve picked it up for her, saved you a trip.”

“No problem. I wanted to see the place anyway.”

Satisfaction covering his face, Kevin looked around. “It’s coming along.”

Shoulder to shoulder, Xander looked around the same space. “To what?”

“You need vision, man. You just need vision.” He crooked a finger, stepped over to the dining area and the plywood set on sawhorses. “It’s coming to this.”

Hands in pockets, Xander studied the blueprint of the projected kitchen. “That’s what the hole’s for. What was there before?”

“Standard door. Total waste. I knew Naomi had that vision when she said to open it up.”

“Vision and deep pockets.”

“Lucky for both of us. Lucky for this place. She’s got an eye-you know, photographer and all that. And she gets the feel of the place, the character. She’s not looking to go all sleek and polished. This space here and the master bath, those are the biggest projects. You add in new windows-got them coming in tomorrow-refinishing the floors, the plumbing, the wiring, trim-she wants crown molding here and there, and some of the original trim needs to be replicated-painting, installing, it’s all mostly cosmetic, but it’s a lot of that.”

“How many rooms in this place?”

“Eighteen, plus five and a half baths now that we took the one out in here. Not counting a granddaddy of all basements-unfinished.”

“She’s single, right? Lives alone?”

“Some people like space, some people like to live in three rooms over their garage.”

“Some people drive a minivan.”

Kevin gave him a light punch. “Wait till you have kids.”

“Yeah, let’s wait on that. Where is she anyway?”

“She’s up in the master, as far as I know, painting.”

“She’s painting-like walls or with an easel?”

“Walls. She did all right on the prep and priming up there, but I expect we’ll be calling Jimmy and Rene in to handle the rest.”

He could’ve handed Kevin the bill, put the tire in her car, and gone on his way. But since he was here anyway…

“I’m going to go on up.”

“You can take the back stairs.” Kevin wagged a thumb. “Corner room, facing the inlet.”

“Buy you a beer when you knock off?”

“I wouldn’t mind it. Yeah, I’ll swing by.”

He went up the back way-and having Kevin for a friend all his life, he recognized good craftsmanship in the new stairs, the sturdy rail. The light looked like it had come out of someone’s cabin in the fifties, but that was an easy fix.

Then he reached the second floor and just stood, staring down the hallway. It looked like something out of The Shining. He half expected to see some kid on a Big Wheel pedaling along. Or a decomposing corpse leaking its way under a doorway.

He wondered how she slept in this place at night.

He knocked on the door of the corner room, considering his options when no one answered. He went with the simplest and opened the door.

She stood on a stepladder in paint-splattered clothes and ancient Converse high-tops, carefully cutting in the wall at ceiling height. She’d nearly finished, he noted, and couldn’t fault her work.

He started to rap his knuckles on the open door, but as she dipped her brush she picked up the chorus of “Shake It Off.”

“’Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play.”

Decent voice, he thought, and noticed the earbuds.

By the time she got to “Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake,” he’d crossed over, tapped her shoulder.

She spun around so fast, leading with the brush, he barely dodged the paint swipe across his face. He said, “Wow,” and then, because she overbalanced, put a firm hand on her ass to keep her on the ladder.

With that he smiled-all smug male. “Nice.”

“Back off.”

“Just keeping you and that bucket of paint off the floor.” But he dropped his hand. “I knocked, but you and Taylor were too busy shaking it off to hear.”

Very carefully, she set down her brush. “When you knock and nobody answers, the logical and polite thing to do is go away.”

“That’s fifty-fifty, don’t you think?” She had green eyes. He hadn’t been able to tell in the dark on the side of the road, but she had incredibly deep green eyes. And they were pissed. “A lot of people open the door, take a look.”

“What do you want?”

“Nice to see you again, too. I dropped off your tire-the replacement.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He took a folded invoice out of his back pocket, held it out. “It cost more than a slice of pizza.”

“I bet. Will you take a check?”

“Sure. Cash, check, credit card.” He took an electronic swipe out of his jacket pocket. “Your choice.”

“We’ll use my card then. Isn’t that high-tech for a garage?”

“I like tech, plus it’s handy when people need roadside assistance. I can fix them up, swipe their card, send them on their way.”

She nodded, took a slim wallet out of her back pocket. Xander just cocked an eyebrow as she slid out a credit card. Every woman he knew carted around a purse the size of a Shetland pony, filled with the mysterious.

“I appreciate you bringing the tire all the way out here.”

“It’s not that all the way. I’ll put it in the spare compartment when I leave. Kev’s got it torn up down there.”

“Yes. Yes, he does.”

“You’ve got a big hole in the wall.”

“At the end of the day it’ll be a door. Please, God.”

He swiped her card. “Nice color-the paint.”

“Yeah. I think.” She worried over it as she signed her name. “Does it read warm to you?”

He handed her back her card and studied the soft, watery blue seriously. “Yeah. It’s warm, and calm, right? You’re picking up the tones of the water, early morning before it goes deep.”

“That’s it. I almost went a little more gray. More spa-like. Maybe I should’ve… It’s just paint.”

“It’s walls,” he corrected. “You’ve got to live with them.”

“Crap.”

“You hit warm and calm if that’s what you were after. And whatever it is, you’ll get used to it. I can email you a receipt.”

“That’s all right. I don’t need one.”

Didn’t want him to have her email, more likely. Xander pocketed the reader, the phone. “That’s a lot of wall to paint. You ought to open those doors, get some air in here.”

“It’s raining. And you’re right.” She stepped over, fought the slider open an inch. “This stubborn, ugly bastard’s going.”

Xander put a hand above hers, gave the slider one good shove. Then looked out as she did.

“Walls don’t mean dick when you look at that.”

“I keep telling myself.”

In the rain the world outside was dreamy, with gloom adding a fanciful edge, just touches of fog and mist floating like gossamer birds.

“Makes you forget the second floor looks like part of the Overlook Hotel.”

“Well, thanks for that. I’m going to imagine Redrum written in blood on that horrible wallpaper now.”

He grinned. “Points for getting the reference. I gotta get going. Good luck with this.”

“Thanks.”

She stood when he walked out, watching the cool spring rain.

He’d scared her, she could admit that. The quick, firm tap on her shoulder when her mind had been on painting and music. The equally quick and firm hand on her butt.

She’d have caught her balance, probably.

He’d backed off when she’d told him, easily, signaling he was harmless.

But he wasn’t harmless. Despite the easy talk about paint and wallpaper, he wasn’t harmless. He had strong blue eyes, very direct-and something behind them warned that he wasn’t a man to trifle with.

She had no intention of trifling with Xander Keaton.

He might have had a runner’s build, but there was a toughness in there. She knew how to judge who might be an easy companion for a night or two, if she had the need.

No question he was attractive, in a rough and sexy sort of way, and though she’d learned not to let it matter, it was a bonus that he had a good four inches over her in height. She wouldn’t deny she’d felt a tug in the belly, but if and when she had that need, she’d steer clear of Keaton.

Keep it simple, she thought as she went back to the stepladder. Because her life, her nature, would always be complicated.

Instinct told her Xander Keaton was anything but simple.

–

When the soaking rain finally moved off and the sun sparkled again, Naomi had the sheer delight of folding outswing doors off her kitchen. After they’d been installed and the crew left, she opened and closed them half a dozen times just for the fun of it.

With the turn of weather, she donned her boots and a light jacket and grabbed her camera. Stock photos of flowers always provided a decent revenue, and the burgeoning bulbs and wildflowers offered her a treasure trove. She could ramble the woods looking for the interest of rough bark, nurse logs, the charm of a narrow stream running fast with snowmelt. The surprise of a little waterfall running faster yet to a tumble of rocks below.

And she got an unexpected shot of a bear when they encountered each other in the silvery quiet of dawn.

After ten days of working for a living, the tedium of painting, the stress of selecting cabinet hardware and kitchen appliances, she sat on her new king-size mattress with her laptop.

Hello from Construction Central, loves of my life.

I did it. This room is painted, every square inch of wall, ceiling, and trim. I have wonderful atrium doors leading out to my deck, and intend to sit out there-on the chair I sanded and repainted-in the morning and wallow with coffee over my view. It’ll be a short wallow as the crew comes early, and the indescribable noise comes along with them. But I can see the kitchen coming together. I remember when you had the kitchen redone about-what-six years ago. I was home for a couple weeks and it was chaos. This is chaos times infinity.

But I think I like it-the process of it.

I saw a bear this morning. Don’t worry, I was more interested in him than he was in me. Picture attached. I couldn’t get one of the whale-I’m sure it was a whale-sounding way out. By the time I got my camera, zoomed out, it was gone.

I’m happy here. They’re getting to know me in town-enough to say hello when I’m at the market or hardware-my two favorite places right now. Oh, and the pizza place. It’s not New York pizza, but it’s not crap either.

I’m happy here, despite the daily noise, the deluge of decisions. Kevin says I really have to decide on the tile for the master, and the backsplash for the kitchen. Both terrify me more than a little. But that’s for later.

Write me back soon-and that goes for you, too, Mason, with more than an all’s good, how’s it going. I’m about to start picking color and designs out for the rooms I’ve earmarked as yours when you visit.

Before pictures also attached.

Miss you, love you,

Naomi

Once she sent the email off, she ordered herself to work. She had to update her Facebook page, do the Tumblr thing, the Pinterest deal, and write something for the blog. All chores she’d have put off for the rest of her life if they weren’t part of the job.

An hour later, she took her laptop back to the desk to plug in the charger. And saw the moon riding over the water.

She grabbed her camera, filters, a second lens, and went out on her deck in the deep night chill.

She caught the moon along with its reflection in the water. Mirror Moon, she thought, already composing as she took more pictures, changed filters, angles. She’d make a series-cards, which always sold well off her site. If they turned out as well as she thought, she’d set up her mat cutter and board and start sending some art to the gallery.

But she was doing one for herself. She rose, drew in the quiet, the light, the sense of lovely, lovely solitude.

She’d hang the best of the best on the wall she’d painted herself.

Her moon over her inlet.

It didn’t get better than that.

–

Three weeks after demo, Kevin stayed late to finish installing the hardware on the kitchen cabinets. Overwhelmed, Naomi grabbed tools and worked with him while Molly napped by the doors.

“I can’t believe how it looks.”

“It’s coming along.”

“Coming along? Kevin, it’s amazing. I didn’t make a mistake, right, changing up from the idea of the dark cherry cabinets for this sage green?”

“They’re classy, have character, and don’t look like a showroom-in a good way. With the gray granite, those veins of green in it? You’ve got an eye, Naomi. The beveled glass fronts set it all off.”

“I think so. I guess I’m going to need something better than paper plates and plastic cups to go in them. I’ve never bought a set of dishes in my life.”

“Didn’t you have like an apartment or something before?”

“Oh, here and there, but mostly I stayed on the move. Have camera, will travel. And it was paper, plastic, or secondhand. I never intended to settle.”

Overwhelmed definitely, she thought, glancing up at her empty cabinets. “It looks like I have, so I’d better think about dishes and glassware. I don’t know where I’m going to find the room in my head for that with faucets and light fixtures and tile.”

“You should talk to Jenny. That woman loves playing with new dishes.”

“Maybe I’ll just go with restaurant white, so I don’t have to think about it.”

“You should talk to her. You know what?” He nudged back the bill of his ball cap. “You should come on out tonight, have a drink with us at Loo’s.”

“That’s the bar, right, off Water Street?”

“Yeah, it’s a nice place, though. Good food, friendly. Music tonight, too. Jenny and I have a sitter, so we’re going for a while. Why don’t you meet us?”

“That sounds like date night to me, Kevin.”

“Yeah, sort of. The thing is, Jenny’s been after me to ask you over to dinner, and I figure you’ve had enough of all of us by the end of the day.”

Good instincts, she thought, because truer words.

“You come out tonight, have a drink, talk dishes with her some, it’s a compromise. Seems like you could use a night off and out, too.”

“Maybe.”

He didn’t push, so they fell back to companionable silence as they worked. When it was done, they bumped fists.

“I’ll see you at Loo’s if you make it,” he said, and she just waved him off.

She didn’t intend to leave her nearly finished, wonderful kitchen with its empty cabinets and pale gray (hinting toward green) walls. She had dozens of things to keep her busy, including reading the owner’s manuals on her new appliances.

Settling in, she reminded herself. If she really meant to settle in, no matter how innately unsociable, it required minimal doses of friendliness.

Otherwise she was that weird woman up on Point Bluff. That just asked for talk and attention. Normal people had a drink with friends now and then. She didn’t really know Jenny, but she definitely considered Kevin a friend.

Harry would have deemed them simpatico.

So why not? She’d throw on some halfway decent clothes, slap a little makeup on, and drive into town. Have a drink at the local bar, talk with her friend’s wife about tableware. She’d stay for one set since there was music, and consider any and all social obligations met for at least a month.

Good deal.

She opted for black jeans, and because it ran cool at night, a sweater. Not black, she ordered herself, as that was her first choice. She chose the one Seth and Harry had given her for Christmas-worn only once-and in nearly the same shade as her kitchen cabinets. She considered changing her habitual silver studs for something more fun and frivolous, then decided that worrying about earrings was too much for a simple drink with a friend and his wife.

She took some trouble with her makeup mainly because those needs could come calling-and maybe there was a local boy who could meet them at some point.

No reason to scare him off, whoever he might be.

Night had fallen when she set out, so she left the porch light on-new fixture yet to come-and locked up. Alarm system, she thought, installed very soon.

When she glanced back at the house, she nearly went back inside. It looked so appealing sitting there, so quiet. One drink, she ordered herself, and pushed herself to drive away from solitude.

She’d never been into town this late-no reason to-and saw that Friday night hopped a bit. She imagined that those strolling along the boardwalk by the marina were tourists, but it was likely a mix with those on the street, poking into shops open late, sitting out with heaters at outdoor tables.

She knew Loo’s sat a block off Water Street, tucked between a seafood restaurant and a snack shop. She spotted Kevin’s truck, found a parking spot half a block down from it.

She needed to come back at night with her camera, get night shots of the marina, the old character homes, the bold red door and the blue neon curl of LOO’S over it.

Music pumped against the door before she opened it.

She’d pictured a little bar, but it proved bigger-even boasted a small dance floor, packed now as crowd-pleasing rock beat out. She smelled beer and fried food, perfume, sweat. The bar itself dominated one wall in dark, aged wood backed by more than a dozen taps. She heard the whirl of a blender and immediately decided on a foamy frozen margarita. As she scanned, Kevin waved from a table near the dance floor.

She wound her way through, found her hand caught in Jenny’s.

“I’m so glad you came! Kevin didn’t think you would.”

“Couldn’t resist.”

“Sit, sit. Kevin, get Naomi a drink.”

“What’ll you have?”

“I hear the song of a frozen margarita-with salt.”

“I’m going to get that going for you. It takes a while for them to get to the tables. Jenny?”

“I’m still nursing this one.”

As Kevin moved off, Jenny swiveled in her chair. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“I…”

“I’m on my second glass of wine. I get loose easy. It’s just I always wanted to be tall, and look what happened.”

“I always wanted to be petite. What are you going to do?”

“I looked up your website, your photos. They’re wonderful, really. There’s this one of a water lily, just one water lily with these ripples around it where it floats? I felt like I’d been on vacation just looking at it. And this one of an old gravestone in a cemetery, and you can see the shadow of the church. The dates? She was a hundred and two when she died, and it still made me tear up. I can’t remember the name on the stone.”

“Mary Margaret Allen.”

“That’s right.” Jenny’s eyes, nearly the same soft doe brown as her hair, smiled. “What I’m saying-I take a good snapshot. Slices of life, the kids and all, I mean. And it’s important to have the record, those memories. But what you do, it just grabs emotions right out.”

“Best compliment ever.”

“It’s a true one. Kevin said you needed dishes and glassware and such.”

“I do. I was thinking white and clear, and done.”

“Well, going that way you can jazz it up with napkins and so on. The thing is… He took some pictures of the kitchen with his phone, and showed me. I just love the soft green of the cabinets, and the pewter tones of the hardware, the gray of the walls. It’s like you’re pulling the tones and colors from outside in.”

“I can’t resist that either.”

Jenny sipped her wine, gave her long, loose hair a push back. “I think it’s just right, if that matters. And it struck me how if you went deep, deep blue with the dishes, like cobalt blue, you’d have that pop behind the glass, and keep with that scheme.”

“Cobalt blue. It would look great.”

“I think it would, then you go for color in the glassware, softer, like blues and greens-a mix, just tie it in. I can give you sites to look at, and I’ve got a stack of catalogs. And before Kevin comes back, because I’ll embarrass him, I’m going to ask you to ask me to come over and look at the place, at his work, and what you’re up to. I know he said you took this old glider and chair and redid them. I love doing that kind of thing, finding something someone’s gotten rid of and making it new.”

“Sure you can come by, have a look.”

“I swear I won’t be a pest or take advantage.” She beamed at Kevin when he came back with a jumbo margarita.

“I’ve talked her ear off. Stop me.”

He set the drink down, sat, kissed his wife’s cheek. “Shut up, Jenny.”

“I will. Plus I love when they do this number.”

“I could take a bath in this,” Naomi commented. She took a sip. “But I’ll drink it instead.”

She angled to look at the band as she recognized the Springsteen classic-and the voice lit the suggestive lyrics of “I’m on Fire” like a slow-burning match.

He wore black-jeans and a T-shirt, worn motorcycle boots. He stood, the guitar slung low, his fingers working the frets and strings while that voice wrung every drop of sex out of the words.

She should’ve known.

“Xander and the band play here every few weeks,” Kevin told her. “They’re the Wreckers.”

She said, “Oh.”

And deep inside as those bold blue eyes met hers, as that voice sent out lures and warnings, something inside her said, Oh damn.

She figured she’d need every drop of that margarita to cool off.

Eight

He came over on the break with a bottle of water and an easy swagger. Jenny pointed a finger at him.

“You know what that song does to me.”

“You can thank me later,” Xander said to Kevin, and sat-slouched, with his long legs stretched out. “So.” He gave Naomi a slow smile. “How ya doing?”

“Good. I’m good.” She felt like someone had started a brush fire under her skin. “You’re good, too. My uncles are huge Springsteen fans. They’d have approved your cover.”

“How many uncles?”

“Just the two. They took my brother and me to the E Street Band’s reunion tour at Madison Square. Have you ever seen him in concert?”

“In Tacoma, same tour. Blew the roof off.”

She relaxed enough to smile. “Yeah, they did.”

A blonde in a tight pink shirt came up, circled Xander’s neck from behind. “Are you doing ‘Something from Nothing’?”

“Last set.”

“How about coming over, having a beer? Patti and I are right over there.”

“Working, Marla.” He wagged his water bottle.

She wasted the sexy pout, in Naomi’s opinion, as Xander couldn’t see it with her chin resting on the top of his head. “You could come over anyway. Hi, Jenny. Hi, Kevin.”

Her gaze tracked over to Naomi. “Who’s your friend?”

“Naomi,” Kevin said, “Marla.”

“Visiting?” Marla asked.

“No, I live here.” And didn’t that sound odd, Naomi realized. She lived here.

“Haven’t seen you around before. You must… Hey, are you the one who bought the old place on the bluff? You’re working there, right, Kevin?”

“That’s right.”

“You must be rich or crazy.”

“I’m not rich,” Naomi said, adding a half smile because the pouty blonde’s statement struck her as more baffled than needling.

“You know it’s haunted, right? They should’ve told you it was haunted.”

“I don’t think anyone mentioned it.”

“I’d be scared out of my mind staying there alone. You take pictures, right? Patti figures you’re looking to open a photography studio.”

“No. I don’t do studio photography.”

“What other kind is there?”

“How much time do you have?”

“What?”

“I’ll come over next break.” Xander gave the hand currently stroking his clavicle a pat.

“Okay. Then maybe…” She leaned down, put her mouth on his ear, and whatever she whispered had Xander’s lips curving.

“That’s a hell of an offer, Marla, but I don’t want Chip coming after me with a hammer.”

She did the pout again. “We’re divorced.”

“And still.”

“Well, you think about it.”

“Hard not to,” he murmured as she hip-swiveled back to her table.

“What was the offer?” Kevin wanted to know.

“I’ll tell you later.”

“She just can’t help it.” Jenny glanced at Naomi, apology in her eyes. “She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just a little clueless.”

“Did she do any harm?” Xander wondered.

“Not to me.” Naomi lifted her margarita, sipped. “But then, she didn’t make me an offer.”

“Ha. She’s hoping Kevin will tell Chip she did-”

“Which I wouldn’t.”

“No, but she’s hoping you will, and that would rile Chip up enough he’d go by her place, and they’d fight about it, have pissed-off sex, and she’d kick him out again after.”

“That’s about it,” Kevin agreed. “They have a strange relationship. He wouldn’t come after you with a hammer because he knows you-and you’re a bud.”

“Add in, Chip’s sweet,” Jenny claimed. “I know he’s punched a couple people over her, but she pushed him into it. He’s a sweet man.”

“She doesn’t think she wants sweet. She’d be wrong about that,” Xander added. “But that’s their problem. You guys want another round? I can let Loo know.”

“Another glass of wine and I’ll be a wild woman. What the hell?” Jenny decided. “It’s Friday night, and we’ve got a sitter.”

“I’ll keep up with her,” Kevin said.

“Not for me. I’m driving, and I really should go.”

“Stick around.” Xander sent her a lazy look. “Make a request-something on your playlist. Come on, play stump the band.”

She considered. “‘Hard to Explain.’” A choice, maybe because it had played in her ear right after he’d walked out of her bedroom the other day.

He grinned, pointed a finger at her, then walked off.

“I don’t know that one,” Jenny commented. “But I bet Xander does.”

He sent over another round-water for Naomi.

And she didn’t stump the band, who played the Strokes’ old classic as if they’d rehearsed it that morning. She stayed for most of the second set, then realized if she didn’t slip out, she’d end up staying until they closed.

“I’ve really got to go. Thanks for the drink-and for talking me into coming out.”

“Anytime. See you Monday.”

“I’m going to come by soon,” Jenny told her. “If you’re busy, Kevin will show me around.”

She left with a slow, simmering cover of Clapton’s “Layla” following her into the night.

She decided the sex dream with Xander with throbbing bass and mad guitar riffs while the house burned around them was inevitable.

Maybe it left her a little edgy, but she had plenty to do to work off the beginnings of sexual frustration. She wasn’t ready to be sexually frustrated, and far from ready to take care of it.

A weekend of quiet, of work, of sun and soft evening rain polished the edges away. As promised, she took morning coffee out on the deck-she would buy a better coffeemaker-and soaked in the silence and solitude.

When she FaceTimed New York on Sunday, her mood was high and light.

“There she is!” Seth, sporting the trim goatee he’d decided he’d needed on his forty-fifth birthday, beamed through her iPad screen.

“Hi, handsome.”

“You talking to me?” Harry moved into view, draping an arm over Seth’s shoulders. The rings they’d exchanged in Boston in the summer of 2004 glinted on their hands.

“Two scoops of handsome.”

“Make it three. Guess who’s here for Sunday dinner?”

Mason slid on-screen just behind them and grinned at her.

“Why, it’s Doctor Agent Carson.”

Just look at him, she thought, so tall and-yes, three scoops of handsome now. And best, happy. He was on his way to doing and being just what he’d set out to do and be. “How’s the FBI?”

“That’s classified.”

“He just got back from upstate,” Seth told her. “He helped on a kidnapping, helped bring a twelve-year-old girl back home safe.”

“It’s a living. What’s going on with that crazy house you bought?”

“Crazy? Take a look.” She panned the tablet, slowly circling the kitchen. “Who’s crazy?”

“Naomi, it’s beautiful. Look at that range hood, Seth! You went with the Wolf.”

“I listen.”

“Forget the range hood,” Seth said. “The cabinets are fabulous. Why are they empty? Harry, we need to send her some dishes.”

“No, no, I’ve got a line on that. I’ll send you the link to what I’m looking at. I’m taking you upstairs. I want you to check out the master bedroom walls-which I painted myself.”

“You?” Mason snorted.

“Every inch of them. I may never pick up a paint roller again in my life, but I did every inch of this room.”

“And how many rooms in that place again?”

“Shut up, Mason. Now be honest-does the color work?”

Upstairs she did another slow pan.

“Pretty and restful,” Seth declared. “Now why don’t you have an actual bed?”

“It’s on the list.” The really long list. “Really, I just finished the paint, and I finally set up a temporary mat room. I have a ton of stuff I’ve been processing and printing.”

“You work too hard, too much,” Seth objected.

“You worry too hard, too much. I went out with friends Friday night, had a drink, listened to a local band.”

“Seeing anyone?” Harry prompted, and behind him Mason rolled his eyes-mouthed, Better you than me.

“I see lots of people. The crew’s here eight hours a day, five days a week.”

“Any good-looking, single men in that crew?”

“Are you looking for one?”

Harry laughed. “Got all I can handle.”

“Me, too, right now. I want to hear how you’re all doing. How’s the restaurant? What’s for Sunday dinner? Is Mrs. Koblowki next door still entertaining gentlemen callers?”

She didn’t distract them-she knew better-but they let it go, and for the next fifteen minutes they talked about easy things, funny things, homey things.

When she said good-bye and turned off the tablet, she missed them like a limb.

She worked in the mat room for an hour, tried to settle down at her laptop. But the contact with family left her restless and blue.

Time to get out, she told herself. She’d yet to take real pictures in town, real studies of the marina. What better way to spend the rest of a Sunday afternoon? Then she’d come home and cook something besides scrambled eggs or a grilled cheese sandwich in her gorgeous new kitchen.

Pleased with herself, she drove into town, dumped her car, and just walked. No errands to run, no chores to deal with. Just walk and study and compose shots.

The sailboat called Maggie Mae, its paint white as a bridal gown and its sails lowered, its shining brightwork. The cabin cruiser decked out with balloons for a party, the fishing boat of dull gray that made her think of a sturdy old workhorse.

All the masts naked and swaying into blue sky, and reflected blurrily in the water.

And farther out, a couple zipping along on Sea-Doos, their busy speed a perfect contrast to the dreamy waiting of the docked boats.

She treated herself to an orange Fanta-a staple of her teen years-and climbed back in the car with plans to spend the evening working on the prints.

She rounded a turn. Slammed the brakes.

It wasn’t a deer this time, but a dog. Not in the road, but limping on the shoulder. She started to drive on-not her dog, not her deal-but it took another couple of steps, then just lay down as if hurt or sick.

“Damn it.”

She couldn’t just drive away, so she pulled over, even as she asked herself what the hell she was supposed to do.

Maybe it was rabid, or vicious, or…

It lifted its head when she got out of the car and gave her an exhausted, hopeful stare.

“Oh well. Okay, hey boy. Nice dog-I hope to God.”

Because he was pretty big, she noted. But thin-she could nearly count his ribs. Big, thin, and filthy, a big, skinny, dirty brown dog with shocking blue eyes that looked so painfully sad.

And damn it again, the blue against the brown made her think of Harry.

She didn’t see a collar, so no tags. Maybe he had a chip. Maybe she could contact the vet or the animal shelter-she could find the numbers on a quick search with her phone.

Then he whimpered, bellied toward her. She didn’t have the heart to leave him, so she walked closer, crouched, and gingerly held out her hand.

He licked it, bellied closer.

“Are you hurt?” Filthy, he-or she-might have been. Naomi gently stroked his head. “Are you lost? God, you look half starved. I don’t have anything to eat on me. How about I call somebody to help?”

He laid his head, all floppy eared and dirty, on her leg, didn’t whimper so much as moan.

She took out her phone, then heard the sound of an engine-motorcycle-heading out from the direction of town.

She lifted the dog’s head, set it gently back on the shoulder of the road, and stood to wave down the rider.

The second she spotted him-long legs in jeans, lean torso in black leather-she thought, of course. It would be. Even with the smoked-glass visor of the helmet, she recognized Xander Keaton.

He cut the engine, swung a leg over the bike. “Did you hit him?”

“No. He was limping along the side of the road, then he just lay there. And I-”

She broke off as he was already hunkered down, running those big, guitar-playing hands over the dog as gently as a mother stroked her baby.

“Okay, boy, just take it easy. I don’t see any blood, any wounds. Don’t feel any breaks. I don’t think he’s been hit by a car.”

“He’s so thin, and-”

“There’s some water in the saddlebag. Get it, will you? Thirsty? I bet you’re thirsty. Plenty hungry. Been on the road awhile, right? Been traveling.”

As he talked to the dog, stroked it, Naomi poked through the saddlebag of the bike, came out with a bottle of water.

“Let’s see what we can do here.” Xander took the bottle, gestured Naomi down. “Cup your hands.”

“I-”

“Come on, come on. It won’t kill you.”

She did as he asked, cupping them in front of the dog’s muzzle. He lapped at the water Xander poured, panted, lapped, then laid his head down again.

“We need to get him off the road. I’ll put him in the back of your car.”

“Where should I take him?”

“You should take him home.”

“I can’t take him home.” She sprang up as Xander slid his arms under the dog, lifted him.

She saw that the dog was definitely male-unneutered male. “He belongs to somebody.”

With the bone-thin, tired, filthy dog in his arms, Xander stood, boots planted, and gave her a long look out of deep blue eyes. “Does this dog look like it belongs to anybody? Open the back.”

“He could’ve gotten lost. Somebody might be looking for him.”

“We’ll ask around, but I haven’t heard about anybody losing a dog. He’s full-grown. Mutt. Maybe some husky or Australian shepherd in there with those eyes. Alice will know-the vet. If somebody lost a dog, she’ll know. Meanwhile she’s closed on Sunday.”

“There must be an emergency number.”

“The only emergency I see is a dog who needs a decent meal, a good bath, and somewhere to rest.”

“You take him home.”

“On that?” He jerked his head toward his bike.

“I’ll wait.”

“You found him.”

“You’d have found him two minutes later.”

“There you go. Look, take him home, and I’ll go pick up some supplies for him. You get him to the vet tomorrow, I’ll split the bill with you. You’re not taking that dog to the shelter. If they don’t find the owners-and I’m betting they’re long gone-they’ll probably put him down.”

“Oh, don’t say that.” Turning a frustrated circle, she gripped fists in her hair. “Don’t say that so I feel guilty and obligated. Wait, wait-he’s filthy, and he smells amazing.”

Naomi grabbed the old blanket she carried in the back, spread it out.

“There you go. You’ll be all right. I’ll run back, get what you need. I’ll meet you back at your place.”

Trapped, as Xander strode back to his bike, swung on, kick-started it to a roar, and zoomed away, she looked back at the dog. “You just better not get carsick.”

She drove slowly, eyes flicking to the rearview, but didn’t hear any sounds of sick dog.

When she pulled up in front of her house, she wondered if the most excellent work she’d done that afternoon had been worth dealing with a stray, starving dog for a night.

She got out, walked around to open the back. “Yes, that’s an amazing smell that will potentially take weeks to dissipate. Not entirely your fault, of course, but you smell disgusting. I don’t guess you could just jump out on your own.”

He bellied over a little, tried to reach her hand with his tongue.

“Never mind. You’re skinny enough I could pick you up and probably carry you a half a mile without breaking a sweat. But you’re just too dirty and smelly. We’ll wait for Xander. Stay there. Just stay.”

She dashed into the house, filled a plastic cup with water, grabbed some flatbread crackers. Best she could do.

When she dashed out again, the dog was whining, sniffing at the edge of the back. “No, no, just wait. A little refreshment, that’s all. Here, here’s a cracker.”

He all but inhaled it, and six others, then slurped and lapped the water from the cup.

“That’s a little better, isn’t it? He’s not going to be long. He really better not be long because every minute you’re in there is another week it’s going to take to air out the smell.”

This time when she broke down to pet him, the dog turned his head, nuzzled her hand. “Yeah, I guess that’s a little better.”

She went back into the car for the orange Fanta, then followed impulse and pulled out her camera.

“We can make flyers for the vet, for the shelter, for whatever.”

She took several photos while he stared at her with those strange blue eyes, so strongly colored against the dirty brown-and felt ridiculous relief when she heard the sound of an engine.

Xander, now in his truck, pulled up behind her.

The dog’s tail thumped.

“Fancy crackers?”

“I didn’t have kibble handy.”

“We got some. Better feed him out here in case he sicks it up again.”

“Good thinking.”

Xander, obviously not delicate about the dirt or smell, lifted the dog out. The dog stood this time, looked a little wobbly, while Xander hauled an already-open fifty-pound bag of dog food out of the truck.

“Think you got enough food?”

Xander only grunted and poured some into a big plastic blue bowl.

“Hey.”

She caught the red bowl he tossed.

“For water.”

Naomi went around the side, where she had a hose to water the so-far-imaginary garden.

When she came back, the dog had wolfed down every morsel and appeared capable of doing it again.

His tail swung back and forth with more energy.

“Water first, big guy.” Xander took the bowl, set it down. The dog drank like a camel.

“I don’t care if you think I’m heartless, but that dog’s not coming in the house unless we can deal with that smell.”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t blame you. Somewhere along the line he rolled in something dead. They just love doing that. So we give him a bath. Probably a couple of them. Hose around there?”

“Yeah. I’ve got dish soap inside.”

“Don’t need it.” He went back to the truck and came back with a black dog collar and a bottle of dog shampoo.

“You did get supplies.”

“You’re going to have to hold him. I’ll soak him down, suds him up, rinse him off, but he’s not going to like it.”

“If he bites me, I’m going to hurt you.”

“He’s not a biter. There’s no mean in those eyes. You hold on to him, Slim.”

“I’ve got him.”

The dog was stronger than he looked-but then so was she. When Xander ran the water over him, he balked, strained, barked, pulled.

But he didn’t snap, snarl, or bite.

Xander pulled a massive dog biscuit out of his back pocket, and the dog settled down to eye it greedily.

“Yeah, you want this. Hold the hose,” he told Naomi, then broke the biscuit in half. “Half now, half when we’re done. Got it?”

He gave the dog the half biscuit, and poured green liquid from the bottle in his hands. Obviously the dog enjoyed the rubbing and soaping, and stood quietly while Xander scrubbed at him.

He didn’t care for the rinsing off, but the second round of soaping had his eyes half closing in bliss. By the end of it, he sat quietly-maybe, Naomi thought, as delighted as she was that he didn’t smell like dead skunk.

“Better stand back when I let him go.”

“Let him go? What if he runs?”

“He’s not going anywhere. Stand back, or you’ll get wetter than you already are.”

She released the collar, then danced back and out of range of the energetic shaking and storm of water.

“He isn’t as ugly as I thought.”

“Get some meat back on his bones, he’ll be a good-looking dog. Might have some Lab in him-shape of the head. Probably got a lot in him. Mutts make the best dogs.”

“Now that he’s clean, doesn’t look like he’s going to collapse, and you’ve got the truck, you can take him with you.”

“Can’t do it.”

“You know the vet by name. And-”

“I can’t. Look…” He turned, went back to his truck for a rag of a towel, and began to rub the wet dog. “I had to put my dog down last month. Had him nearly half my life. I just can’t take this one. I’m not ready.”

The open bag of kibble, the shampoo, the bowls, the collar. She should’ve put it together. “Okay. I know how it feels. We had a dog-my brother’s dog, really. The uncles gave it to him for Christmas when he was ten. He was so sweet, so considerate, we didn’t have to put him down. He just slipped away in his sleep when he was fourteen. The four of us cried like babies.”

The dog sniffed at Xander’s pocket.

“This one’s not stupid.” Xander took the second half of the biscuit, offered it. This offering was taken politely.

“He’s a good dog. It shows.”

“Maybe.”

“You get him to Alice tomorrow. I’ll split the vet bill with you. I’ll get the word out.”

“All right.”

“I’ve got a leash and a dog bed-it’s a little worn, but he won’t care. A couple of rawhide bones. I’ll bring it in.”

Naomi looked at the dog, at Xander, at the enormous bag of dog food. “Want a beer? I’d say you’ve earned it.”

“Hang on.” He pulled out his phone, punched in a number. “Hey. Yeah, yeah, I texted I would be. Now I’m going to be later.”

“Oh, if you’ve got a date, don’t-”

Xander shifted his gaze-a deeper, bolder blue than the no-name dog’s. “Kevin and Jenny. Sunday dinner. Naomi found this dog, I’m just helping her get it cleaned up. Don’t know. At least a couple years old, golden brown now that six inches of filth are washed off. Mixed breed.”

“I took pictures. I’ll send them a picture, in case they recognize him.”

“Your boss here’s going to send you a picture of the mutt. No, go ahead. Yeah, later.” He put the phone away, hefted the bag of dog food over his shoulder. “I could use that beer.”

They started toward the house, the dog between them. “He’s still limping.”

“He’s been on the road awhile, I’d say. The pads of his paws are scraped up and sore.”

After unlocking the door, holding it open, she watched the dog limp inside, begin to explore.

“You don’t think we’re going to find his owners.”

“I’d lay money against it. You want this back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah.” She’d keep him overnight, even for a few days while they tried to locate his owners or found someone who wanted a dog. She got out a beer, a bottle of wine, handed Xander the beer, poured wine into a plastic cup.

“Thanks.” As he drank, Xander wandered around the kitchen. “Looks good. Real good. I didn’t see how he’d turn this one around, but he always does.”

“I love it. Nowhere to sit yet-I have to find stools. And a table and chairs, and according to my uncles, a divan or love seat for that space over there, fronted by a burl-wood table for tension.”

“Who are these mysterious uncles who take you to see Springsteen, buy you dogs, and advise you to buy divans-and why do they call it a divan instead of a couch?”

“I think it’s size or shape, or maybe geography-on the divan/couch part. My mother’s younger brother and his husband. They more or less raised me and my brother.”

“You were raised by your gay uncles?”

“Yes, is that a problem?”

“No. It’s interesting. It’s New York, right?” He leaned back against the counter, as apparently at home as the dog who now stretched out on the floor and slept the sleep of the clean, content, and completely trusting.

“Yes, it’s New York.”

“Never been there. What do they do? The uncles.”

“They own a restaurant. Harry’s a chef. Seth is the man of numbers and business. So it works. My brother’s with the FBI.”

“No shit?”

“He’s got degrees in psychiatry, psychology, and criminology. He wants the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Profiling?”

“Yes. He’s brilliant.”

“You four sound tight. But you’re three thousand miles away.”

“I didn’t expect to be. But…” She shrugged. “Do you have family here?”

“My parents moved to Sedona a few years ago. I’ve got a sister in Seattle, and a brother in L.A. Not so tight, but we get along all right when we have to.”

“You grew up here-with Kevin.”

“Womb to tomb.”

“And own a garage, body shop place, own half interest in a bar-Jenny mentioned it-and run a band.”

“I don’t run the band. But half interest in the bar means we get to play there.” He set down the bottle. “I’ll get the dog bed. Down here or upstairs?”

She looked at the dog again, sighed. “I guess up in the bedroom. I hope to Christ he’s housebroken.”

“Most likely.”

He hauled the brown corduroy dog bed up the stairs, set it in front of the fireplace, tossed a yellow tennis ball in it.

“Color works,” he said.

“I really think so.”

“So… I wouldn’t feed him any more tonight. Maybe one of the Milk-Bones, and maybe give him the rawhide to chew on.”

“It better be all he chews on.” She glanced over as the dog had followed them out, then back in, then up the stairs, and now had the yellow tennis ball in his mouth.

“I’d better get going or Jenny won’t feed me. Uncle’s a chef?”

“A terrific chef.”

“You cook?”

“I was taught by a master.”

“It’s a good skill.”

He stepped up. She should’ve seen it coming. She was always, always aware of moods and moves. But he stepped up, pulled her in before she’d read the warning sign.

He didn’t go slow; he didn’t ease in. It was one bright, hot explosion followed by shuddering dark. His mouth covered, conquered, while his hands ran straight up her body as if they had every right, then down again.

She could have stopped it. He was bigger, certainly stronger, but she knew how to defend herself. She didn’t want to stop-not yet, not quite yet. She didn’t want to defend.

She gripped the sides of his waist, fingers digging in. And let herself burn.

It was he who eased back until she stared into those dangerous blue eyes. “Just like you look.”

“What?”

“Potent,” he said. “You pack a punch.”

She saw the move this time, laid a hand firmly on his chest. “So do you, but I’m not up for a bout right now.”

“That’s a damn shame.”

“You know, right at the moment, I couldn’t agree more. But.”

“But.” He nodded, stepped back. “I’ll be in touch. About the dog.”

“About the dog.”

When he went out, the dog looked after him, looked at Naomi. Whined.

“You’re with me for now.” She sat on the foot of the bed-such as it was-because her legs felt shaky. “He’s completely the wrong choice. I’m absolutely sure of it.”

The dog came over, laid his paw on her knee. “And don’t think you’re going to charm me. I’m not getting tangled up with Xander, and I’m not keeping you. It’s all temporary.”

A night or two for the dog, she promised herself. And absolutely not with Xander Keaton.

Nine

The dog didn’t like the leash. The minute Naomi snapped it on, he pulled, tugged, tried to turn around and bite it. She ended up dragging him out of the house, using a Milk-Bone as a bribe.

He also didn’t like the vet’s office. The minute she got him into the waiting room, he quivered, shook, strained to get back out the door. A grizzled old man sat in one of the plastic chairs with a grizzled old mutt sprawled at his feet. The old mutt’s lips curled as if in disdain. A cat in a carrier stared out with feral green eyes.

It was hard to blame the dog for dropping down on the floor, refusing to budge. He trembled the whole time Naomi filled out the paperwork, even when the old man took the dog, who walked obediently even if he cast a look back-disdain again-as they went into the back.

While they waited, and Naomi had to be grateful they’d squeezed her in, a woman came in with a red-gold ball of fur and fluff. The fluffball stopped dead when it spotted Naomi’s stray, then went into a wild series of high-pitched yips punctuated by throaty little growls.

The dog did his best to crawl into Naomi’s lap.

“Sorry! Consuela’s very high-strung.” The woman plucked up Consuela and tried to quiet and soothe her while Naomi struggled to keep the dog’s nose out of her crotch.

When they called her name, the relief was so huge she didn’t mind being forced to half drag, half carry her charge into the exam room.

He quivered in there, too, and looked at her with such abject terror that she crouched down to hug him.

“Come on now, pull yourself together.”

He whined, licked, then laid his head on her shoulder.

“Somebody’s in love. Alice Patton.”

The vet, maybe five-two with a sturdy, compact build, had her gray-streaked brown hair pulled back in a short ponytail and black, square-framed glasses over eyes of soft, quiet brown. She came in briskly, wearing a short white lab coat over T-shirt and jeans, and crouched down.

“Naomi Carson.”

“It’s nice to meet you. And this is the handsome guy you picked up on the side of the road.”

“I made up some flyers to help find his owner. Your receptionist took a few.”

“We’ll put them out, but I haven’t seen this boy before. Let’s get him on the scale first, then we’ll see what’s what.”

He didn’t much care for the idea, but they weighed him in at seventy-one pounds.

“He could use another ten. Definitely undernourished. Clean, though.”

“He wasn’t. We bathed him. Twice.”

“Xander helped you out with him, right?” And to Naomi’s astonishment, Alice hefted seventy-one pounds of trembling dog onto the exam table.

“Yes, he came along a couple minutes after I found the dog.”

“Put Milo’s collar on him, I see.”

“Milo? Was that his dog?”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Like her eyes, her voice was soft and calm as she ran her hands over the dog. “Great dog, Milo. Cancer came on fast and hard. We did everything we could, but… He had fifteen good, happy years, and that’s what counts. This one here, he’s about two, and he’s been on the road awhile from the looks of his paws.”

She got out her light, slipped him a small treat before examining his ears. “I’m going to give you some drops for his ears.”

“Drops?”

“He’s got an infection brewing in the left one. And I’ve got some meds you’ll need to give him for worms.”

“Worms?”

“Stool sample you brought in. He’s got worms, but the meds should clear that up quick enough. I’m going to give him a test for heartworm, and I’d like to do a titer to gauge if he needs shots. Seeing as he’s a stray, I’m going to discount all this for you.”

“I appreciate it. He’s got to belong to somebody, right?”

“Hasn’t been neutered.” Alice stepped away, got a syringe. “As he’s a mixed breed, it’s not likely he has all his works because someone intends to breed him. He’s seriously underweight. Go on and stroke his head, distract him a little. He’s got intestinal worms,” Alice continued, as she drew blood. “The pads of all four paws are raw. I’m going to be able to tell in about twenty minutes or so if he’s had shots for rabies and distemper, if he has heartworm. But he’s got a little mange, and ticks and fleas have been at him.”

“Fleas.”

“Dead now, from the flea bath you gave him. I’m the only vet in town, and he hasn’t been in here before. Wouldn’t be the first time somebody dumped a dog they decided they didn’t want.”

“Oh.” Naomi looked down to where, despite the needles, the tests, the dog stared into her eyes with absolute trust.

“I’ll call the vets I know in the area, and we’ll put up your flyer, contact the shelters. It’s possible he got lost, and someone’s been looking for him.”

Naomi clung to the possibility.

It took more than an hour altogether, an unfortunate round of shots, though the dog handled them without more than a look of puzzlement. She left with a bag of pills, drops, pamphlets, written instructions, and a dog-sized hole in her credit card.

Reeling, she hunted up Xander’s garage.

It was bigger than she’d imagined. Cars and trucks scattered around a lot, some of them-such as the hatchback with the crunched front fender-obviously waiting for repairs.

One building about the size of a Quonset hut looked like it held offices. Another spread in a long backward L with the front bay doors open wide. The dog still didn’t like the leash, but she was onto him now, and shortened up her grip on it.

She intended to try the offices, but the dog pulled and bulled his way toward the open doors and the noise.

She heard the whoosh-thump of an air compressor, a steady banging, and Walk the Moon advising everyone to shut up and dance.

She’d spent a lot of time on the road, so she’d been in her share of garages. The sounds, the smells (grease, oil), the sights (tools, machines, car guts) seemed fairly usual. But they apparently fascinated the dog, who strained on the leash until he got inside.

Then his tail wagged like a flag in the breeze.

He’d obviously scented Xander over the motor oil, gas, lubes, and grease guns, and let out a happy, greeting bark.

Xander stood under a sedan on a lift doing whatever mechanics do to underbellies, Naomi decided. He wore scarred motorcycle boots and faded jeans with a hole in the knee and a dirty red rag hanging out of the back pocket. She couldn’t figure out how he made the look sexy.

“Hey, big guy.” He stuck the tool he’d used in his other back pocket, then crouched to greet the delighted dog. “You look better than you did yesterday.” He glanced up at Naomi. “You always look good.”

“We just came from the vet.”

“How’d he do?”

“He tried to crawl inside me in the waiting room because he was terrified of a Pomeranian. But she did have attitude. He has an ear infection and worms, and I have a bag full of pills and drops and instructions. He had to have a half million tests, followed by shots as the whatever-the-hell-it-is was low and he probably hasn’t had the shots before. He doesn’t have heartworm, so yay. And he needs to gain weight. I have dog vitamins, for God’s sake.

“Plus.”

She dug in her purse, took out the vet bill, held it out.

Xander said, “Ouch.”

“And this is the discounted, Good Samaritan rate.”

“Well, it’s his first, and he needed it. I’m good for half.”

“It’s not the money, though okay yeah, ouch; it’s the very strong sense I get that in her opinion nobody’s looking for him. What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Looks like you’re doing it.”

A man in gray coveralls and a gray cap with the garage’s logo wandered out and plugged coins into the soda machine along the wall. “That Chevy’s looking good as new, boss. Better.”

“Will it be ready by four?”

“She’ll be ready.”

“I’ll tell Syl.”

The dog tugged on the leash, and as Naomi had loosened her grip, he slipped free to wag his way to the new guy.

“Hey, boy. Your dog’s got a sweet face, ma’am.”

“He’s not mine. He’s not mine,” she said almost desperately to Xander, who only shrugged.

“Want another dog, Pete?”

“You know I would, but Carol would skin me. Nice dog,” he added, then walked off while the dog wandered around sniffing at everything.

“How’d he sleep?”

“What? The dog? Fine. I woke up at five because he was standing by the bed staring at me-and scared the crap out of me.”

“So he’s housebroken.”

“I guess. So far anyway, but-”

“You live a ways from town,” Xander continued. “A dog’s good security.”

“I’m having an alarm system installed.”

“A dog’s good company,” he shot back.

“I like solitude.”

“You’re a hard sell, Naomi.”

The dog walked back, tail wagging, with a rag hanging out of his mouth and happy eyes as he brought it to Naomi.

“He loves you.”

“Because he brought me a filthy rag he found on the floor.”

“Yeah. You’ll get used to it. Meantime, I’ll get you half that bill, and I’ll keep asking around if anyone’s missing him or interested in taking him.”

She dug into her purse again and came out with the flyer she’d printed. “Put this up.”

Xander studied it. “Nice shot of him.”

“I have to go get some work done. I haven’t done anything but dog all morning.”

“You could ask me to dinner.”

“Why would I?”

“Then you’d have done something else, and I’ll give him his evening meds. You said you can cook.”

She gave him a long, cool look. “You’re not after a meal.”

“Man’s gotta eat.”

“I don’t have dishes, or chairs, or a table. I’m not going to sleep with you, and I am not keeping this dog.” Annoyed with him, with herself, she snatched the leash and began to pull the dog out of the bay.

“You like to gamble, Naomi?”

She looked over her shoulder, still dragging the dog. “No.”

“Too bad, because I’d bet you every bit you just said’s going to change.”

The hell it would, she told herself.

She didn’t realize until she got home that the dog still had the disgusting rag. When she tried to get it from him, he decided she wanted to play tug. In the end, she gave up and sat on the top step of her front porch, the dog with the disgusting rag beside her. And the noise of saws and hammers behind.

“What have I done? Why didn’t I just pitch a tent in the woods? Why do I have a big house full of all these people? Why do I have a dog I have to medicate?”

Adoringly, he dropped the wet, greasy rag in her lap.

“Perfect. Just perfect.”

–

He went with her when she climbed down the steep, jumbled path to the shoreline. She’d been certain the dog would stay, hang out with the crew, but he’d insisted on going out when she did. Next time, she’d sneak out.

Still, she found he didn’t get in the way as she found her shots. Even the one of the dark purple starfish shining in a tidal pool. In fact, after a brief exploration, the dog seemed content to doze in the sun as long as she stayed in sight.

Just as he seemed content to curl up nearby when she sat at her desk working, or worked in her mat room.

If she went downstairs, the dog followed. If she went up, he climbed right up after.

When the house was quiet again, she wondered if dogs could have abandonment issues.

He didn’t like the ear drops, and that was a battle-but she won. She knew from Kong the best way to get meds into a dog, and disguised the pills in rolled slices of cheese.

When she sat out on the deck eating her dinner of a grilled cheese sandwich, he ate his-and didn’t bolt it down as if starved this time.

And when she got into bed with her laptop to spend the last hour of her day looking for faucets and showerheads, the dog curled into his bed as if he’d done so all his life.

At five in the morning she woke with a start, the dog’s eyes gleaming at her, his doggy breath in her face.

Xander sent his half of the vet bill with Kevin, along with the message that he’d split the follow-up, too.

Two days later, he showed up himself with another bag of dog food, another rawhide bone, and the biggest box of Milk-Bones she’d ever seen.

She wondered if he’d timed it to arrive minutes after the crew left, or if it was just coincidence. But it made the dog happy, and he spent some time roughhousing with him.

“He’s getting some energy back.” Xander winged a tennis ball so the dog could chase it like it was gold.

“Nobody’s responded to the flyers. Nothing from any of the vets or shelters.”

“You’re going to have to face it, Slim. You’ve got yourself a dog. What’s his name?”

“I’m not naming him.” If she named him, she was finished.

“What do you call him?”

“The dog.”

Xander winged the ball again when the dog retrieved it, and shook his head. “Have a heart.”

“Having a heart’s what got me into this. If I keep him any longer, I have to have him neutered.”

Xander gave the dog a pitying look. “Yeah. Sorry about that, pal. You should try out some names.”

“I’m not going to-” She broke off. Why argue? “Alice said your dog was Milo. Where’d you get the name?”

“Milo Minderbinder.”

“Catch-22? Everybody gets a share?”

“Yeah. I’d just read it, and the pup, he just looked like he’d have all the angles. Name’s gotta fit. Are you going to ask me in?”

“I am not. Nothing’s changed.”

“It’s early days yet,” he said, then turned as she did at the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Expecting anybody?”

“No.”

The dog barked, raced up to stand beside Naomi.

“You’ve got a guard dog there.”

“I can guard myself just fine.” And her hand went into her pocket, closed over the folding knife.

The big truck lumbered up the hill-the big truck with New York plates.

The driver-young, sharp-eyed-leaned out the window. “Naomi Carson?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry we’re so late in the day. We got a little turned around.”

“I didn’t order anything from New York. Did you drive cross-country?”

“Yes, ma’am. Me and Chuck did it in fifty-five hours, twenty-six minutes.” He hopped out of the truck and gave the dog a pat while his companion hopped out the other side.

“Why?” Naomi asked.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Delivering your bed.”

“I didn’t order a bed.”

“Shoot. All this way and we forgot. No, ma’am, you didn’t order it. It’s a gift, sent by Seth Carson and Harry Dobbs. We’re to get it here, put it where you want it, and set it up. They paid for the full white-glove delivery.”

“When?”

“A little more than fifty-five hours and twenty-six minutes ago, I guess you could say.” He grinned again. “There’s a couple packages in the back, too. Wrapped. It’s a hell of a bed, ma’am.”

The one called Chuck handed her a clipboard with the order sheet. She recognized the name of the furniture store her uncles patronized.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Want some help with it?” Xander asked.

The driver gave his shoulders a roll, and Xander a look of pure gratitude. “It’s one big mama, so we could use it.”

As it was heavily wrapped for shipping, Naomi couldn’t say if it was a hell of a bed, except in size. She carted the packages, one at a time, as the men began the more laborious effort of getting the bed inside and up the stairs.

Since the dog stayed with the men, she got a box cutter and opened the first box. Four king-size pillows-down. In the second, more pillows, a gorgeously simple duvet several perfect shades deeper blue than her walls, with matching shams. In the third, two sets of lovely white-on-white Egyptian cotton sheets, and the handwritten note.

Our girl needs a bed, and one that gives her sweet dreams. We knew it was for you the minute we saw it. We love you, Seth and Harry.

“My men,” she said with a sigh, and carted the first box upstairs.

Since her bedroom was currently chaos and full of other men, and dog, she went back down, got soft drinks out of the fridge, and took them back up.

“’Preciate it. We’ll haul all the wrapping and padding away with it. We’ve got specific instructions. It’s going to take a while to get it put together.”

“Okay.”

“You want it where you got the mattresses, right?”

“I… Yes. That’s fine. I need to make a call.”

She left them to it, called home, and spent the next twenty minutes with Seth as Harry was at the restaurant. His pleasure zipped over every mile.

She didn’t tell him she’d narrowed down her choices and styles of bed, had even planned a day trip to Seattle to look some over. Whatever they’d bought her would be treasured just for that.

When she went back into the bedroom she stopped short. They had her mattresses on the frame, had the headboard and footboard on-or heading that way.

“Oh my God.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

She looked at the driver-she didn’t know his name-then back at the bed. “It’s gorgeous. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect.”

“Wait till we get the posts up.”

Mahogany, she thought, with satinwood crossbanding. Chippendale-style-she hadn’t been raised by Seth and Harry for nothing. The wood tones, rich and lovely, set off the soft colors of the walls. Fretwork legs, and posts high and turned.

If a woman didn’t have sweet dreams in a bed like that, she needed therapy.

“You okay, ma’am?”

She managed to nod. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Josh. Josh and Chuck.”

“Josh. I’m fine. You were right. It’s a hell of a bed.”

When they were done, she tipped them generously-the least she could do-and gave them more soft drinks for the road.

When they left, she stood staring at the bed, at the way the early-evening light gleamed on the wood, on the details.

“Some uncles you’ve got,” Xander commented.

“Best ever.”

“Need to cry it out?”

She shook her head, pressed fingers to her eyes. “No. I hate to cry. So useless. I talked to them Sunday. They went right out and found this, then had it shipped all the way out here this way-along with sheets and pillows and bedding. And it’s just right, just exactly right. For me, for the room, for the house.”

She pushed the threat of tears away. “I’m not going to cry. I’m going to cook. I still don’t have dishes or a table. But you can eat what I fix on paper plates outside on the deck. That’s your tip for helping set up the bed.”

“I’ll take it. What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m having wine. I’m feeling sentimental and a little homesick.”

“Got beer?”

“Pretty sure.”

“If you do, I’ll go for that.”

“Okay.” She started out, glanced back at him. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

“Yet.” His smile was easy. And dangerous. “Beer and a dinner’s a start.”

A finish, she thought as the dog trooped down with them.

–

He watched her cook. He’d never seen anybody cook by grabbing things, throwing this thing in a pan, that thing in a skillet. Chopping this up, stirring that in.

The dog watched her, too, and wasn’t subtle about licking his muzzle when the scents started rising.

“What are you making there?”

“We’ll call it Pasta on the Fly.”

She laid olives-fat ones-on a cutting board, smacked them with a flat of the knife she’d been wielding, and popped out the pits. Something else he’d never seen anyone do.

“Don’t those just come in jars without pits?”

“These are Kalamata olives, friend, and they’re worth the extra step. Anything I put in here you don’t like, you eat around.”

“I’m not fussy.”

“Good thing.”

Now she took a hunk of cheese and worked it to a blur over a grater. He’d have asked why she didn’t buy it already grated but figured he knew the answer.

She tossed little tomatoes in the pan, added some sort of herbs, and stirred-even while muttering how she wished the local produce ran to fresh basil.

“I need to get good cookware before Harry sends me that, too.”

“What’s wrong with what you’ve got? Looks like it’s working fine to me.”

“Hardware store special. He’d be appalled. I’m a little appalled myself, actually. And I definitely need good knives. Something to add to the list.”

He liked watching her-quick, sure movement. Liked listening to her-a voice that held just the right amount of smoke.

“What else is on the list?”

“Painting the guest rooms I have earmarked for my brother and for my uncles. The one for my grandparents. After that, I think I’ll retire my roller and pan. I don’t like painting.”

“Have the painters paint.”

“I need to buy decent cookware and knives-I can paint two more rooms in this ridiculously big house. And now I have to find furniture worthy of that bed, and so on.”

She drained the pasta-the little tube sort-then added it to the skillet, along with the olives, the cheese. Tossed it all around.

“Plates are in that cupboard there, such as they are, as are paper napkins and a box of plastic forks.”

“Got it.”

She tossed the stuff in the skillet a couple more times, then served it up on the paper plates and added wedges of Italian bread that she’d slathered with butter, sprinkled with herbs, and toasted.

“That looks amazing.”

“It would look better on the plates I ordered, but it’s good enough.” She handed him a plate, took one for herself, and then led the way out. Then she handed him her plate. “Hold this while I feed the dog.”

The dog looked at the kibble she dumped in his bowl, then back at Xander with the two aromatic plates of pasta. His tail drooped, and Xander swore the dog sighed in disappointment.

She sat, eyeing the dog, who eyed her. “This is mine, that’s yours. That’s how it goes.”

“Hard-ass.”

“Maybe.”

Xander sat down and sampled what she’d thrown together magically and a little maniacally in about twenty minutes.

“This is really good. Seriously good.”

“It’s not bad. It’d be better with fresh herbs. I guess I’ll have to plant some.”

It didn’t feel as odd as she’d expected, to sit there, eating pasta with him while the dog-who’d polished off his own bowl-watched them mournfully. Maybe it was the view-that soft hand of dusk gliding pale and purple over water and the green-maybe it was the wine. Either way, she needed to set the line.

“Do you want to know why I’m not going to sleep with you?”

“Yet,” he added. “Is there a list?”

“We can call it that. You live here, and right now, so do I.”

“Right now? You’ve got pots and pans for the right now, but have better ones on your list. It seems to me you’re looking at the down-the-road.”

“Maybe. I’ve never lived in any one place for more than a few months since I left New York. I don’t know if this will stick. Maybe,” she said again, “because it feels right-right now. But in any case, you live here and you’re friends with Kevin and Jenny-long-term, serious friends. We start something-and I’m also not looking to start something-and it gets messed up, your friend and my contractor’s in the middle of it.”

“That’s weak,” Xander said, and went back to the pasta.

“Not from where I’m sitting, in the heart of a construction zone. Plus you’re the only local garage and mechanic, and I might need a mechanic.”

Thoughtfully, he crunched into the bread. “Probably get the work done faster if we’re having sex.”

She laughed, shook her head. “Not if we stop having it, and you’re pissed at me. There’s work, of which I have to do a lot to pay for this house, and everything that goes into it. I don’t have time for sex.”

“There’s always time for sex. Next time, I’ll bring pizza and we can have sex in the time you spent making dinner.”

And thoughtfully, Naomi ate pasta. “That doesn’t speak well of your… stamina.”

“Just trying to work on your schedule.”

“Considerate, but unnecessary as dinner tonight is a one-off. I don’t know you.”

“That’s the only thing you’ve said so far that makes sense. But we can go back up your list and I can remind you I’m friends-serious, long-term-with Kev and Jenny. They’d warn you if I was a psychopath.”

She kept her eye on the view. “People don’t always know people close to them the way they think they do.”

There was a story, Xander thought. He could hear it murmuring under her words. Instead of pressing on that, he tried something else.

He leaned over and took her face in his hand. Her mouth with his. Strong and hot and edging onto the fierce.

He knew when a woman wanted-and she did. He knew it by the way her mouth responded, heard it in her throaty hum, felt it in the quick, sexy quiver.

Another woman? All this heat, the mesh of needs would lead them straight up and into that excellent new bed.

But she drew back. Still, she kept her eyes, that deep, fascinating green, on his.

“You make an excellent point,” she said. “And I can’t argue it, but…” She looked directly into his eyes. “Like I told the dog, that’s how it goes.”

“Tonight.”

For the moment he contented himself with the food, the view, the mysteries of the woman beside him. Somebody handed him a puzzle, he thought, he just had to solve it. He’d figure her out, sooner or later.

Ten

She went back to work. Since work ranked high on her list of reasons not to sleep with Xander, she had to make her own point.

When she went out to shoot in the morning, the dog tagged along. For a few days, if she headed into woods or along shorelines, she rigged the leash to her belt. They both disliked the solution intensely.

After those few days, she realized the dog wasn’t going anywhere and usually left him off the leash. He explored nearby, chased squirrels, barked at birds, sniffed at deer tracks-and scat-while she composed studies of wildflowers, trees, long channels of water in sunlight and in shadow.

And she ended up with an entire series of dog shots.

He snoozed by the fireplace-gas logs installed and fabulous for cool, gloomy days-while she worked at her computer. Now and again, he’d go down, hang with the crew or with Molly if she’d come to visit, but he always came back in, gave her a long look as if checking if she’d finished. If she hadn’t, he curled up again, usually with something in his mouth.

Sometimes the something was a stray work glove, and once it was a hammer.

Steady, focused work paid off. She received a satisfying check from the gallery in New York, and watched her PayPal account blossom.

People, it seemed, really liked pictures of dogs.

Jenny stopped by, as promised, and took the tour. When they got to the master suite, Jenny sighed.

“I don’t know which is more impressive, the view or the bed.”

“I like having the view from the bed.”

“It must be wonderful, waking up to that every morning. Xander said your uncles shipped the bed all the way across the country.”

“They did. And if I don’t find some pieces to go in here, they’ll start finding them, and shipping them.”

“Come shopping with me!” Bouncing on her toes, Jenny slapped her hands together. “Let’s go.”

“What? Now?”

“It’s my day off, kids in school. I’ve got…” She pulled out her phone to check the time. “Five hours before I have to pick up Maddy, then Ty. I know it’s a workday for you, but you have to have more furniture, and I know a couple of places-especially if you’re not afraid of refinishing or having something refinished-that should have pieces that will really suit that bed.”

“I really…” She thought of the income she’d just banked, turned the automatic refusal on its ear. “Should do that.”

“Yes! Maybe we can find your dishes.”

“I ordered them. Wait. I’ll show you.”

They both studied her computer screen as she brought them up. “They’re recycled glass, which appealed, and I went with some white serving pieces for the bump. I think-”

“They’re wonderful. Perfect. Oh, they’re going to look fabulous in that kitchen. And on the table once you get a table.”

“The table can wait awhile. Not planning any dinner parties. But I do need stools. Stools, and a dresser. It’d be nice to put my clothes in drawers rather than cardboard boxes.”

“Let’s go bag one.”

The dog came. Naomi had no intention of taking him, but he followed them out, hopped right in her car, then crawled into the back to sit, tongue hanging out in anticipation.

“He’s so sweet. A dog’s a good thing to have living out here alone, and a sweet dog’s a good thing anywhere. Kevin says he and Molly get along fine. What’s his name?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Oh, Naomi, you have to name him.”

“His owners could still-”

“How long since you brought him home?”

“We’re into week three.” Naomi sighed, rubbed the back of her neck. “He’s going in for neutering tomorrow. If you’re looking for a dog…”

“We have one, thanks. We are thinking of a puppy, a friend for Molly. And we want the kids to have the experience. Besides, Naomi. That’s your dog.”

Naomi looked in the rearview mirror, and the dog unquestionably smiled at her.

“He’s just living here for now.”

“Sure he is.”

Naomi narrowed her eyes, put on her sunglasses. “Which way?”

“Just head toward town, and I’ll guide you from there.”

She couldn’t think of the last time she’d shopped with a friend-or allowed herself a friend. For the most part she didn’t go shopping so much as go, hunt up what she needed, buy it, and take it home. Which baffled and disappointed her uncles.

Plus, she could hunt up and buy almost everything she needed online.

But since she was out and about, she’d stop by the hardware and buy the paint for Mason’s room-a warm mossy green-on the way back.

And she liked Jenny. She decided it was impossible not to like Jenny, who was cheerful and funny and didn’t ask probing questions.

She decided she really liked Jenny when her new friend directed her to a huge barn a few miles inland.

“I should’ve brought my camera.”

But she opened the compartment between the seats and took out a case.

“What’s that?”

“Lenses and filters for my camera phone.”

“Really? I didn’t know there were such things.”

“Works well in a pinch. And that barn-the texture of the wood, the true barn red with the white trim, that old apple tree, the light. It’s good.”

“Don’t you want to see what’s in the barn?”

“Absolutely. This won’t take long.”

She intended to leave the dog in the car. He had other ideas, so against her better judgment, Naomi pulled out the spare leash she’d stowed in the glove compartment.

“If you go, you wear this.”

He tried to stare her down. Failed.

“I’ll hold on to him while you take pictures.”

“Thanks. He hates the leash.”

“Wouldn’t you? It’s all right, sweetheart. We’ll think of it as you leading me.”

Perversely, the dog behaved perfectly for Jenny, walked happily beside her, sniffed his way to an appealing spot to lift his leg while Naomi composed shots, added lenses, adjusted filters.

She’d come back with her equipment, she promised herself. She’d love a gloomy day, that barn under gloomy skies.

She found more shots inside. The place went on forever, packed with everything under sun or gloom.

Glassware, tinware, collectibles, mirrors, chairs, desks.

In fact, she paused in front of one of the desks. She’d decided to go with new for a permanent desk-something that looked right with the bed, but had all the modern touches. Keyboard drawer, plugs, file drawers.

But.

It was nearly black from years-probably decades-of varnish, and the drawers stuck. It needed new hardware. It wasn’t at all what she’d decided on.

And it was perfect.

“The shape’s terrific,” Jenny said beside her. “Just enough curve at the corners. Plenty of drawers. It needs work.” Lips pursed, Jenny checked the tag. “And some bargaining.”

“It’s solid, sturdy. Mahogany. It needs to be stripped down to the original finish. It’s not what I was going for. And I really love it.”

“Don’t say you love it to Cecil-his place. Look doubtful when you ask him about it. You need a good chair-a new one-ergonomic, lumbar support. Kevin says you spend a lot of time at your desk.”

“Kevin’s right. The computer’s the darkroom today. Though I want to put an actual darkroom in. I still get the urge to shoot film sometimes. Is that a mermaid floor lamp?”

“It appears to be.”

“A bronze mermaid floor lamp.” Struck, she pulled out her phone again. “I need that for my portfolio.”

“No-name and I are going to wander.”

“I’ll catch up.”

She fell for the mermaid floor lamp, which she told herself was stupid. She wasn’t looking for a floor lamp, much less a bronze mermaid with sly eyes and sleek breasts. But she wanted it.

“Don’t tell Cecil,” she reminded herself, and tried to find Jenny and the dog in the maze of fascinating things.

Jenny found her. “Don’t hate me.”

“Does anybody?”

“Kevin’s old high school girlfriend.”

“Because she’s a slut.”

Jenny beamed. “I didn’t realize you knew Candy.”

“Candy? Definitely a slut. A pink-wearing slut.”

“Actually, I have a cousin named Candy, and she’s not. She’s wonderful. But to circle back, don’t hate me, but I think I found the dresser.”

“Why would I hate you for that?”

“It’s expensive, but I really think it’s perfect, and maybe we can team up and drive the price down, especially if you get the desk, too.”

“And the mermaid lamp.”

“Really?” Jenny threw back her head and laughed. “I love it. I figured you’d see it as a novelty, just for photos, but I think it’d be fabulous in your house.”

“So do I. Let’s see this dresser. If I hate you, you have to walk home.”

There were advantages, Naomi discovered, to shopping with a friend-a friend with a sharp, creative, and discerning eye. It was more gentleman’s chest than dresser-which really hit a note for her. Not female and fussy, but gorgeous and dignified without the stuffiness. In good condition, which surprised her, the finish glowing with that lovely reddish gold undertone. She’d change the hardware-get rid of the ornate brass handles-and one of the drawer bottoms had a long diagonal crack, but that was it.

The price made her hiss and shudder.

“We’re going to talk him down. You wait and see.” Jenny gave Naomi a bolstering pat.

Cecil might have been a scrawny man in bib overalls, a straw hat, with a grizzled beard-and he wouldn’t see eighty again-but he had a gimlet eye and a hard line.

But so, Naomi discovered, did the sweet and cheerful Jenny.

She poked her oar in a time or two, just to say she did, but it was primarily Jenny who did the bargaining and, with tenacity and guile, shaved a full twenty percent off the dresser where Naomi had hoped for ten.

The three of them managed to load the dresser in the 4Runner-Cecil was old, but he proved ox-strong.

“Kevin’s going to pick up the other pieces,” Jenny told Cecil.

“He is?” Naomi wondered.

“Sure. He’ll get them after work or in the morning. And remember, Cecil, Naomi has that big house to furnish so we’ll be back. And expect good prices.”

The dog sprawled out content enough beside the dresser, and Jenny settled in the passenger seat.

“That was fun.”

“I’m dazzled by your Arabian marketplace skills. Thank you, really. I can come back and get the other pieces. Kevin doesn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“It’s fine. Plus, if you hire me to refinish that desk, he’ll just bring that home to my little workshop.”

“You have a workshop?”

“I refinish and reimagine furniture and decorative pieces on the side. I didn’t want to say anything, make you feel obligated or awkward. But boy, I want to do that desk. I’m good, I promise. I’ll make it gorgeous.”

“I bet you will.” And she could cross off the hours it would take her to do it. “You’re hired.”

“Really? Yay! If you came over for dinner Sunday-Kevin said not to bother you, but I’ve been dying to have you to dinner-you could see the workshop. I’ve got a bench I’m working on that’s perfect for the deck outside your bedroom. An old wire garden bench with a big, curved back. And you can bring the dog. The kids would love him.”

Naomi started to make an excuse-knee-jerk. But curiosity won. “I’d love to see your workshop. You don’t have to feed me.”

“Come to dinner. We eat a little early most Sundays. Come by anytime after four. Time to see my shop, for the kids to play with the dogs.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll bring dessert.”

–

Bright and early she took a long-sleeved T-shirt and leggings out of boxes. She refused to use the dresser until she had Kevin fix the drawer and she’d replaced the hardware.

When she walked casually out to the car, the dog followed, jumped right in, gave her that smug-dog grin.

He didn’t know what he was in for.

But he got at least part of the picture when she pulled into the parking lot at the vet’s.

He quivered, shook, tried to glue his nicely healed paws to the floorboards.

“This time you’ve got a reason, but you don’t know that. Come on, grow a spine.” She pulled, hauled, bribed-with a tennis ball, as food was off the table until after the surgery.

“You won’t miss them,” she told him, then shook her head. “How do I know? I’d miss pretty much anything somebody snipped off me. But it has to be, okay? It’s just how it goes.”

She got him through the waiting room-empty, as she’d arranged to be the first surgery or appointment of any kind of the day.

“Hey, boy.” Alice greeted him with a good rub, relaxed him so he leaned on her. “We’ll take him from here. The procedure’s routine-sometimes a little tougher on a grown dog, but still routine. We’ll keep him a few hours after, to make sure everything’s good.”

“Okay. I’ll come get him when you call.” She gave the dog a pat on the head. “Good luck.”

When she turned to go he howled-long and mournful, as he’d done a few times when he heard a siren. She glanced back, saw his blue eyes full of sorrow and fear.

“Shit. Just shit.”

“Just let him know you’re coming back,” Alice advised. “You’re his alpha.”

“Shit,” she said again, and walked back to crouch in front of the dog. “I’m coming back to get you, okay?” She took his head in her hands, felt herself battered with the love his gaze sent out. “Okay, all right. I’m coming back to get you, take you home. You just have to do this first. I’ll go-hell-I’ll go buy you some good dog-sans-balls presents.”

The dog licked her cheek, laid his head on her shoulder.

“He’d hug you if he could,” Alice commented.

Sunk, Naomi hugged him instead. “I’ll be back.”

He whined when she rose, cried when she started out.

“He’ll be fine,” Alice called after her.

And the heart Naomi hadn’t wanted to give away broke a little when she heard the dog howl.

She bought him a little stuffed cat, a ball that squeaked-telling herself she’d regret both purchases. She added a sturdy tug rope, a dog brush.

She made herself go home, made herself work. And when she couldn’t concentrate for more than ten minutes, she put on her paint clothes. She didn’t have to be creative to paint a room.

While she primed the walls, she imagined furnishing it. Maybe a sleigh bed, maybe dark gray. Mason would like it when he came to visit her. Or maybe old and iron-gray again. Gray would work with the green tones she’d paint in here.

Why didn’t Alice call?

Annoyed with herself, she broke one of her unwritten rules about poking into whatever the crew was doing unless it was for pictures, and went downstairs.

They’d primed the living room-mostly because she couldn’t quite decide what color she wanted there. The fireplace mantel needed refinishing, and made her think of Jenny. If Jenny did a decent job on the desk, she could do the mantel.

She wandered the space, looked out windows at the views. She wasn’t ready to throw in the towel and hire a landscaper, but most of the outside rehab just had to wait until the bulk of the work was done inside, and men-and women-weren’t tromping all over the place.

She moved on, stopped at the odd jut of a room she’d decided could be a little library. Maybe she didn’t often find or take the time to curl up with an actual book, but she’d imagined doing so there on a rainy day-or in the dead of winter with the fire sparking.

Now Kevin and the buxom Macie set the first of the flanking built-ins in place to the right of the hearth.

“Oh, Kevin.”

He glanced back, grinned as he shoved up the bill of his cap. “Go ahead and say it. You were right; I was wrong.”

“I didn’t know you’d finished them.”

“We figured we’d surprise you. You were right. I didn’t see it, little room like this. Take out that wall, I told you, and you’d have some space. But you stuck, and you had the eye. What you’ve got is cozy, and good light, and-what do you say, Macie?”

“Charm. It’s gonna have charm, especially when we put up the crown molding.”

“It’s beautiful wood-the cherry-and beautiful work.”

“That’s what we do, right, Mace?”

“Damn right.”

“You were right about straight open, floor to ceiling, too. Gives it dimension, makes the room seem bigger.”

“I’m going to have to send for my books. I usually read on my tablet, but I’ve got a couple boxes of books back home.”

“If you need more you can tap Xander.”

“Why?”

“He’s got books everywhere,” Macie told her.

“Oh yeah.” Kevin took a small level out of his tool belt, laid it on a shelf. “Every now and then he’ll box some up, donate them, but mostly he hoards them. If you need to fill some of these shelves, you should tap him about it.”

“I’ll see what-” She jumped when her phone signaled, snatched it out of her pocket. “It’s the vet. Yes, this is Naomi. Okay. Okay. Really?” As relief washed over her like a warm wave, she rubbed her hand over her face. “That’s great. I’ll come now. No, I’ll be there in a few minutes. Thanks.”

Blowing out a breath, she shoved the phone away again. “The dog-he’s out of recovery or whatever. Ready to come home. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, in case I don’t see you-you made the papers.”

“The what?” She stopped dead.

“The papers,” Kevin repeated. “I got a copy in the kitchen.”

She kept her voice even. “What happened?”

“The Cove Chronicle. It comes out once a month. Just a few pages, local news and such. It’s a nice story about the house, fixing it up.”

“Oh.”

Local little paper. Nothing to worry about. Nobody but the locals would see it.

“I’ll leave you the copy. Jenny’s got more at home, as I got some ink, too.”

“I’ll read it when I get back. Thanks. I better go get the dog.”

She’d put off the reporter, editor, publisher-she thought the woman who’d wanted to talk to her wore all three hats. But it didn’t matter. Naomi took every precaution to keep her name out of print, to keep her whereabouts out of print.

Nobody beyond Sunrise Cove, or certainly no one outside the county, would read the article. And nobody would connect her with Thomas David Bowes.

And she had more important things to worry about right at the moment.

She dashed into the vet’s, muttered a thanks when the receptionist gestured her to go back. She found Alice fitting the dog with a cone.

He looked a little dazed and confused, but he let out a short, happy bark, and his tail wagged madly when he saw Naomi.

“He’s okay?”

“Came through like a champ. He has meds, and you have instructions. The cone’s to keep him from worrying the site, the stitches. He’ll probably sleep more than anything else. He may be a little sore and not want to walk much for a day or two.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” She got down, stroked his ears inside the cone. “You’re okay.”

She took the meds, the instructions, paid the bill, gave him a boost into the car.

He didn’t sleep. He had to sniff at everything in the front yard-though he walked a little stiffly. He had to sniff and wag at the crew. He and Molly had to sniff and wag at each other.

And he bumped into everything. Walls, tools, her.

She helped him upstairs, gave him the stuffed cat-a mistake, she noted as the cone got in the way.

One of the crew called up with a question. She went down, and in the fifteen minutes she was gone, he’d managed to get out of the cone and was licking away where his balls had once been.

“How the hell did you get out of that?”

Pleased, he thumped his tail.

“You can’t do that anymore. Those days are over.” She fitted the cone back on him-an ordeal, as he seemed to hate it more than the leash.

She got it back in place, gave him a rawhide, and considered the matter settled.

It wasn’t.

–

Xander figured he’d given it some time-and he had the excuse of paying her for half the ball snipping. Maybe, if he played it right, he could get another dinner out of it. And with that, maybe he could get her a few more steps closer to that big, beautiful bed.

It was worth the drive out.

He pulled up on his motorcycle, with the dog barking and wagging in greeting. The dog would’ve rushed over to finish the hello, but Naomi sat on the porch steps, and had the dog in a death grip.

Holding him in place while she… Jesus Christ.

Appalled, sincerely, Xander pulled off his helmet. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re putting pants on that dog.”

“Then that’s what the hell I’m doing.”

She dragged them the rest of the way on-red shorts with a white side stripe-then let the dog go.

She leaned back on the steps while the dog-looking like an idiot-hurried over for a rub.

“What kind of person puts pants on a dog?”

“The kind who isn’t going to keep fighting to keep the damn cone on him. He gets out of it. Kevin duct-taped the thing, and he still got out of it if I took my eyes off him for five damn minutes. And when he was in it, he ran into everything. Including me. I swear on purpose. He hated it.”

“Cone of Shame?”

“Yeah, the damn Cone of Shame. So now he’s wearing the Pants of Humiliation. But the stupid dog seems to like them.”

“Pants of Humiliation.” Xander had to grin. “You cut a hole for his tail.”

“Kevin had them in his truck. His old running shorts. I got creative.”

“Maybe, but how do you expect him to do what he needs to do out here?”

“Why the hell do you think I was dragging them back on him?” She waved her arms, winced, rubbed her right biceps. “I brought him out, took them off so he did what he needed to do. Now they’re on, and he can’t get to the incision site. In fact, he seems to forget about it when he’s wearing them.”

“Maybe you should buy him an outfit.” Impressed with her inventiveness, Xander sat down beside her, rubbed the dog. “I got my half of the deal. Alice said he did fine.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s fine. I’m exhausted.”

“I can order a pizza.”

“No, thanks, but- Crap, just crap. Yes. Please order. The backs of my calves are covered in cone bruises. My arms ache from painting and from struggling with this dog-who’s putting on those pounds just fine, thanks.”

The dog brought Xander a ball he’d obviously stowed somewhere outside for easy access.

“Don’t throw it. He really shouldn’t run yet.”

Xander pushed up again. “Anything you don’t like on pizza?”

“No anchovies, no pineapple. Anything else is fine.”

The dog dropped the ball between Naomi’s feet, and when she didn’t respond laid his head on her knee.

“What’s the dog’s name?”

She heaved a sigh. “Tag.”

“As in ‘you’re it’?”

“No. As in he tags along.”

“Tag.” The dog couldn’t have recognized his name yet, but apparently he recognized humor as he looked over at Xander, gave a doggy grin. “It works.”