“You got me a dogwood.”
“It seemed appropriate when I bought it yesterday. But that was before this morning when I was reminded dogs are a pain in the ass.”
“First, it’s a beautiful tree. Thank you. Second, any and everything that depends on us can be pains in the ass. He booted on your bed because when he felt sick and scared he wanted you. And third”—she laid her hands on his shoulders, touched her mouth to his—“good morning.”
“Not yet.”
She smiled, kissed him again.
“Marginally better.”
“Well, let’s plant a tree and see what that does for you. Let’s put it over there. No...” She changed direction. “There.”
“I thought you wanted it back in the woods, where the stump was.”
“Yes, but it’s so pretty, and back there hardly anyone will see it but me. Oh, there, back there, just on this side of the bridge. Maybe I should get another one for the other side. You know, so they’d flank the bridge.”
“You’re on your own there.” But he shrugged, opened the truck door.
“I’ll go with you, give you a hand.” So saying, she hopped nimbly in the back of the truck and sat on the bag of peat moss.
He shook his head but maneuvered the truck around, eased to the bridge and parked again. When he got out to lower the tailgate, she slung the bag of peat moss over her shoulder.
“I’ll get that.”
“Got it,” she said, and jumped down.
He watched as she carted it over to the spot she wanted, set it down. When she came back, he took her arm. “Flex,” he ordered.
Amused, she obeyed, saw his eyes register surprise when he tested her biceps. “What do you do, bench- press your dogs?”
“Among other things. Plus, I just have excellent protoplasm.”
“I’ll say.” He climbed up to pull the tree to the tailgate. “Get the tools, Muscle Girl. There should be an extra pair of work gloves in the glove box.”
The dogs sniffed around but soon lost interest. He said nothing when she hauled over the bag of soil he’d bought to mix with the peat, still nothing when she walked back to the house trailing the dogs.
But he stopped digging to watch her walk back carrying two pails like some lean-muscled milkmaid.
“My hose won’t reach this far,” she told him—and he was gratified she was at least a little winded. “If it needs more water, I can get it from the stream.”
She set the buckets down. The dogs immediately began to lap at the water.
“I don’t know why I never thought to plant something pretty here before. I’ll see it whenever I come home, go out, from the porch, when I’m training. Them,” she corrected, “if I put one on the other side of the drive. Want me to dig awhile?”
It was probably stupid to take that as a challenge to his manhood, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve got it.”
“Well, let me know.” She walked off to play with the dogs.
He’d never considered tough especially sexy, but despite the willowy frame, the soft coloring, the apparently bottomless patience, the woman had an underlayment of steel. Most of the women he’d been involved with hadn’t lifted anything more challenging than an apple martini—and maybe a five-pound free weight at a fancy health club. But this one? She shouldered a sack of dirt like a seasoned laborer.
And damn if it wasn’t sexy. And it made him wonder just what that body would look like, feel like, when he got her naked. Maybe he needed to push a little harder on that goal, he thought, and put his back into the digging.
She came back when he cut open the bags of soil and peat to mix into the hole.
“Hold off on that a second, and I’ll do it. But I want to show you something first.” She stepped beside Simon, then signaled Jaws—hand command only. He trotted right over and, when she pointed, sat. “Good dog, good.” She slipped him one of the treats she never seemed to be without. “Stay. Go on and get down to his level,” she told Simon.
“Do you want this tree planted or not?”
“It’ll only take a second. Stay,” she repeated firmly when Jaws bunched for a leap as Simon hunkered down. “Stay. He’s getting it, and we’ll work on the sit and stay with distance. But I thought you’d like this. Hold out your hand, say, ‘Shake.’”
Simon slid a cynical glance up at her. “No way.”
“Just give it a try.”
“Right.” He held out a hand. “Shake.”
Jaws lifted a paw, plopped it into Simon’s palm. “Son of a bitch.” He laughed, and the dog forgot himself in pride and pleasure to rear up and lap at Simon’s face. “That’s pretty good. That’s pretty damn good, you dumbass.”
Fiona smiled down as man and dog congratulated each other.
“Do it again,” Simon demanded. “Sit. Okay, shake. Nice.” He stroked the pup’s ears, looked up at Fiona. “How’d you teach him that so fast?”
God, they looked adorable together, she realized. The tawny-eyed man with his morning stubble, the young dog who was growing into his feet.
“He wants to learn, to please. He has a strong drive.” She passed treats into Simon’s free hand. “Reward him. He’ll be happy with your approval and affection, but the food reward’s extra incentive.”
She picked up the shovel, began to toss dirt, then peat, then dirt into the hole.
“That’s enough. We need to set the root-ball.”
“I don’t know much about planting trees.” She swiped the back of the work glove over her brow. “In fact, this is my first. Do you?”
“I’ve plugged in a few.”
“I thought you lived in the city before Orcas.”
“I didn’t grow up in the city. My family’s in construction.”
“Okay, but doesn’t that mean planting buildings?”
His lips quirked. “You could say. But my dad’s policy was to buy a tree or a shrub for any new house he built. So I plugged in a few.”
“That’s nice. Your dad’s policy, that’s nice.”
“Yeah. Nice gesture, and good business.”
He hefted the dogwood, lowered the root-ball into the hole. “That’s about right.” Crouching, he opened the burlap around the root-ball to expose it.
Together they dumped in topsoil and peat, mixed it.
“Shouldn’t we cover it more?” she asked when Simon stopped.
“No, just to the height of the root-ball.” He lifted a bucket. “You want to deep-water, and do that about once a week unless we get a good rain.”
It had been fun, she thought, planting a tree with him in the cool morning air. “Once a week, check.”
“I didn’t get mulch. Figured it was going in the woods and I could just use pine needles. You’ll want to mulch it.”
“Okay.” She stepped back. “I’ve got a dogwood tree. Thank you, Simon.”
“We had a deal.”
“And you could’ve picked up a pine and stuck it in the hole from the stump. This is lovely.”
She turned to kiss him, a friendly gesture, but he moved in and made it more.
“We’ve got some time before school starts,” he told her.
“Hmm, that’s true.” She tipped up her wrist to check the time. “Not a lot. We’d have to be pretty quick and pretty motivated.”
“You’re the former track star. You be quick. I’ll be motivated.”
He smelled of the soap from his shower twined with a touch of healthy sweat from the effort of digging. He looked rough, and ready. And the long, hard kiss beside the sweet young tree had stirred her to aching.
