He looked at the stove clock again, then walked outside so he’d stop looking at the clock.
He didn’t wear a watch for the very specific reason he didn’t want to be bound up in time.
He should’ve stayed home working until she called—or didn’t call. Instead he’d stopped, went into town to buy some supplies—and the christing flowers—and didn’t forget the couple bottles of the red wine she preferred, then came here to check the house.
To make sure, he was forced to admit, that James had picked up his socks and so on. Which, of course, proved unnecessary.
James was either as insanely tidy as Fiona, or well trained.
He hoped it was the latter, at least.
To get his mind off the time, he grabbed a load of tennis balls and thrilled the dogs by throwing them. And when his arm went to rubber decided she needed one of those ball shooters they used for tennis practice.
He changed it up, giving the dogs the stay command, then walking out of sight to hide the balls in various places. He went back around, sat on the porch steps.
“Find the balls!” he ordered.
He had to admit, the stampede and search had its entertainment value, and passed the time he wasn’t paying any attention to.
He ended up with a pile of dog-slobbered balls at his feet, then repeated the routine. But this time he ducked inside for a beer.
The pile of balls waited, but the dogs had gone into their sentries-on-alert stance, facing the bridge.
About damn time, he thought, then deliberately leaned against the post. Just out having a beer with the dogs, he decided. It wasn’t like he was waiting for her, watching for her.
But it wasn’t her car that bumped across the bridge.
He straightened from the post, but waited for the man and woman who got out of the car to come to him.
“Special Agents Tawney and Mantz. We’re here to speak with Ms. Bristow.”
Simon glanced at the IDs. “She’s not here.” The dogs, he noted, were looking to him for direction. “Relax,” he told them.
“We were told she was coming back today. Do you know when she’s expected?”
Simon looked back at Tawney. “No.”
“And you are?”
Simon shifted his gaze to the woman. “Simon Doyle.”
“The boyfriend.”
“Is that an official FBI term?” It stuck in his craw. “I’m helping look out for the dogs while she’s gone.”
“I thought she had three dogs.”
“The one sniffing your shoes is mine.”
“Then would you mind telling him to stop it?”
“Jaws. Back off. Fiona told me you were the agent in the Perry case,” he said to Tawney. “I’ll tell her you came by.”
“You don’t have any questions, Mr. Doyle?” Mantz wondered.
“You wouldn’t answer them, so I’m saving us all time. You want to talk to Fiona. I’ll tell her, and if she wants to talk to you, she’ll get in touch.”
“Is there any reason you’re so anxious for us to leave?”
“Anxious isn’t the word I’d use, but yeah. Unless you’re here to tell Fiona you caught the bastard who picked up where Perry left off, I don’t want you to be the first thing she sees when she gets home.”
“Why don’t we go inside?” Mantz suggested.
“Do you think I’ve got her tied up or held against her will in there? Jesus, do you see her car? Do you see her dogs?” He jerked a thumb to where Jaws was currently humping a disinterested and patient Newman while Bogart and Peck played tug with one of the ropes. “Don’t they teach basic observational skills in the FBI? And no, I’m not letting you in her house when she’s not here.”
“Are you looking out for her, Mr. Doyle?”
“What do you think?” he said to Tawney.
“I think you have no criminal record,” Tawney said easily, “you’ve never been married, have no children and make a good living, enough to own your own home—which you purchased about six months ago. The bureau also teaches basic data-gathering skills. I know Fiona trusts you, and so do her dogs. If I find out that trust is misplaced, you’ll find out what else the bureau teaches.”
“Fair enough.” He hesitated, then went with instinct. “She doesn’t know about the last murder. The friends with her kept her away from the paper and the TV the last few days. She needed a break. I don’t want her coming back and ramming face-first into it. So I want you to go.”
“That’s fair enough, too. Tell her to contact me.” With his partner, he walked back to the car. “We haven’t caught the bastard yet. But we will.”
“Hurry up,” Simon muttered as they drove away.
He waited nearly an hour more, relieved now as every passing minute decreased the chance of her passing the agents on the road home. He gave some thought to putting a meal together, then spooked himself at the image of welcoming her home with a dinner
It was just too much.
The bark of the dogs sent him back outside moments before she drove over the bridge. Thank God, he mused, now he could stop
He strolled casually down the porch steps, then the damnedest thing happened. The goddamnedest thing.
When she stepped out of the car, when he saw her standing in the fading sunlight, the fragile blooms of the dogwoods behind her, his heart actually leaped.
He’d always considered that sheer bull—just an overworked phrase in poetry or romance novels. But he felt it—that surge of pleasure and emotion and recognition inside his chest.
He had to restrain himself from rushing her, as the dogs did, bumping one another in their joyful hurry for strokes and kisses.
“Hi, guys, hi! I missed you, too. Every one of you. Were you good? I bet you were.” She accepted desperately loving licks while she rubbed wiggling, furry bodies. “Look what I’ve got.”
She reached inside the car for four huge rawhide bones. “One for everybody. Sit. Now sit. There we go. Everybody gets one.”
“Where’s mine?” Simon demanded.
She smiled, and the quieting sun flared off her sunglasses. As she walked to him, she opened her arms and just took him in.
“I was hoping you’d be here.” He felt her breath—the deep in, the deep out. “You made me another chair,” she murmured.
“That’s for me. You’re not the only one who likes to sit. Not everything’s all about you.”
She laughed, hugged tighter. “Maybe not, but you’re just what I need.”
He eased back until he found her mouth with his—and found it was just what he needed.
“My turn.” He shifted to knee and nudge the dogs back, and caught it. Just an instant as the change of angle let him see through the tinted lenses and into her eyes.
He slipped them off her face. “I should’ve known women couldn’t keep it shut down.”
“You’re wrong—and sexist. They didn’t tell me, and I returned the favor by not letting them know I heard.” Her eyes changed again. “Did you tell them not to say anything to me? To make sure I didn’t read about it in the paper, catch it on the news?”
“So what?”
She nodded, laid her hands on his cheeks, kissed him lightly. “So thanks.”
“That’s just like you, slipping around the normal reaction of being pissed and telling me I didn’t have the right to butt in and decide for you.” He opened the back of her car for her suitcase. “It’s how you get around people.”
“Is it?”
