“Right now.”
Brain thrown totally off balance. “Um …”
“You doing anything this second?”
“Yeah, talking to you.” Ah. There was a sliver of the snark she’d been missing. Good to know she hadn’t lost itcompletely.
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like“smartass,” making her lips quirk in an almost-grin. “I’ll swing by and getyou,” he insisted. The guy was persistent. Shouldn’t her intuition have roaredfrom standby into high alert? But not even a flicker.
She cast frantic glances around her kitchen and living room.How long would it take to tidy up? And to tidy herself?Couldn’t be covered in dog slobber, hair, or other unsavorieswhen meeting with a potential client after all. “How long will it take you toget here?”
Warmth in another dark, husky laugh tickled her insides.“That all depends on where you live.”
Trapping the phone between her shoulder and ear, she begancorralling a few dirty dishes. “I guess that would help, huh?” She gave him heraddress in South Park Hill, and twenty minutes later, in a fresh hoodie andjeans, her hair brushed back in a neat ponytail, she hovered by the frontwindow. A big-ass black SWAT-looking vehicle rolled slowly along the street. Ohshit! Drug raid? She narrowed her eyes and concluded her block was notunder attack. It was just one of those badass, gas-guzzling Hummers. Asvehicles went, it was overkill—the Arnold Schwarzenegger of SUVs. Who drovesomething so impractical anyway? And why?
The shiny black behemoth nosed along the curb across thestreet and stopped, so large it blocked the view ofher neighbor Yvonne’s house. The driver’s door opened, and a man whose face wasshadowed by the bill of a ball cap hopped out and trotted to the Hummer’s backdoors. Natalie couldn’t see his face, but she did take note of the broadshoulders filling out his form-fitting navy waffle-weave, his trim waist, andhis very fine ass displayed in faded denim. Yowser!Yvonne’s upping her game. Yvonne liked men, andshe liked them young. While Natalie had no idea how old the woman was, she was pretty sure the flaming redhead could be a postergirl for “cougar.”
“More power to her,” Natalie muttered aloud. “When I’m herage, I hope I get the kind of atten—”
The man’s face came into view.
Oh shit! Not only had Natalie derided her potentialclient’s ride, but she’d been ogling him shamelessly.
As she pulled on her jacket and gathered her purse, shescolded herself not to do that again—no matter how much it improved hermood.
CHAPTER 11
Dog Daze
T.J. opened and closed the back doorthat had rattled all the way over, then took in thequiet street bordered by grassy medians. Trees with trunks as big around astractor wheels stretched skyward. The vibe was working class, comfortable—likewhere he’d grown up, minus the comfortable part. Glancing across the street, hechecked house numbers and surveyed his target, a tidy light gray bungalow withdark gray shutters and a purple door. He ran through a color palette in hishead. Plum or eggplant or … What else is dark purple?Bruises. Nah, they’d never name a paint that color. Whateverit was, the color combination worked. He told himself this to forget his heartwas jackhammering his ribs, which it had been doing since he’d heard Natalie’svoice on the phone. Trotting across the street, he braced himself for theinevitability she’d recognize him.
Apparently, the inevitability wasn’t happening today becauseshe greeted him with a gorgeous smile when she opened the door.
“Hey.” He took her in, all bundled up, her cheeks pink. “Youlook ready.”
“I am. Let’s go rescue a dog.”
Right. Rescue. T.J. hadn’t thought about it in thoseterms until now. Look at you, going all humane society on yourself. Heled the way to the passenger door, opened it for her, and offered his hand to helpher maneuver the high step. She didn’t take it, grasping the doorframe to hoist herself up instead. Her jacket hit her at the waist, andas she climbed into the cab, it rode up at the same time her jeans rode down,giving him a tantalizing glimpse of two perfectly placed dimples above a sliverof something lacy—and red. His heart shifted into top speed while a few thingssouth of his belt began rearranging themselves. Suppressing a groan, he shuther door.
Rescue. Right.
Turns out the Dumb Friends League shelter at 20th and Quebecwas only a short drive. On their way, Natalie continually scanned the interiorof his H1 as though she were looking for an escape route.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
That seemed to startle her. “Not at all. Just checking out your,uh, big wheels.”
He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, so he chuckled.
“Do you take it off-roading in Afghanistan?” she quipped.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that either, so he letit go. Was she giving him shit about his Hummer? In San Jose, it had fit rightin, but Denver had a lower flash factor, and he considered that the H1 wasmaybe, just maybe, a hair over the top.
“The exterior looks rugged,” she continued, “but thisinterior might be a little plush for transporting a dog.”
Panic set in. This was really happening. “You mean I’ll betaking him home with me today? Isn’t there a waiting period orsomething?”
“Nope. Assuming you and the dog get along during the visit,it’s cash and carry.”
Oh shit. Should’ve thought this through a little better.Should’ve thought it through period.
A reddish building with dark green trim came into view, andhe turned into the parking lot, slid into a space, and killed the engine.
Before he could reach her door, Natalie hopped out, her eyesbright. “Let’s do this!”
.~* * * ~.
The process was a blur of sterilemeeting room, dog, shelter staff, and paralyzing paperwork that T.J. dodgeduntil he could steer Natalie to the pet store, giving her carte blanche to pickout whatever she deemed the dog needed. As soon as she was out of sight, hefilled out forms, scrawling his real name and flashing his California ID, alongwith a copy of his electric bill to prove he was a Colorado resident. Finally,he caught up to Natalie surveying dog food.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “All done?”
Dragging a hand through his hair,
