Montana Homecoming

“Ah, another piece of the puzzle that is Liam Knightly.”

“I’m no puzzle. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“That’s too bad.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing along with her. He rescued a few stray DVDs that still might work once the dried slobber was cleaned off. He gave them a swipe with his sleeve. “So, what do you do besides coming to the rescue of desperate dog owners?”

“I’ll let you know. I’m currently unemployed.”

“Ouch. Been there.” He matched up DVDs with their mangled cases, but where were his eyes? Watching her. “It was long, long ago but I remember it clearly. Unemployment is not fun.”

“No, but I’m not dwelling on it. Something will work out.” She straightened the last cushion. Her movements, graceful and self-conscious, stole him. It was as if she’d reached right over and tried grabbing his heart.

“Well, something worked out for you today. Oscar is your next job.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat, but nothing could dispel the odd sensation of almost being caught by her.

He didn’t want to be caught by anyone.

“I’m sure Oscar will be the best job I’ve ever had. He’s a sweetie.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He ambled around the coffee table, still on its side, and bent to right it. “Colbie might keep finding you work.”

“You never know. She’s certainly determined.” She dug in her purse and withdrew a packet of needles and different-colored thread bobbins. “I think she wants me to find something here so that I’ll stay in Montana.”

“Do you want to stay?” He heaved the oak coffee table onto all four legs, watching her through his lashes.

“I don’t know.” Her voice dipped. “I’ve gotten used to life in Seattle.”

“Oh, I get it. You have someone there. A boyfriend?” Why was he disappointed? He should not be bummed because Brooke had a significant other.

“No, no way. Just a life I’ve gotten comfortable with.” She held up a length of thread to one of the couch cushions, nodded and chose a needle.

No boyfriend? Why was he relieved? “Sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone. Take a risk.”

“I’ve done that. Got burned.” She shrugged, oddly vulnerable and trying to hide it. “Lived to regret it. Hugely.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“True.” He didn’t know what it was about her that drew him. It was a mystery he had to figure out. Was it her honesty, like the quietest note of a hymn, that hooked him? Or the promise of an amazing spirit that went along with her breath-stealing beauty? He wished he knew. One thing he liked was a puzzle. It was the reporter in him. He had to know more, so he tried again. “What do you do for a living?”

“A little of this, a little of that.” She threaded the needle. “I think the couch cushion is totally salvageable, but what about that throw pillow?”

“Not a chance of saving it, and I’m the one asking the questions.” He swept up the pillow missing half its stuffing. He had more pressing matters, mainly the intrigue of Brooke McKaslin. “Where did you go to college?”

“I didn’t.”

Curious. He would have pegged her for an intellectual type with a degree in fine arts or maybe social work. She stayed away for most holidays or he would have spotted her at Gram’s long before this. “Why did you move so far from your family?”

“Uh…” She looked up from knotting her thread. Her long hair whipped as she glanced around the room. “Liam, where is Oscar?”

“Nice one, but you aren’t going to distract me. I’m on a mission—”

“No, really, where’s Oscar?” Concern tugged at her rosebud lips. “Where did he go?”

A crash rang from the kitchen, accompanied by the thud of something four-footed landing on the floor. A plate clattered to a ringing stop.

“Mystery solved,” Liam quipped. “He’s in the kitchen helping himself to our dinner.”

Chapter Four

“Amazing. The wrapping isn’t even stopping him.” Liam surveyed what remained of the defrosting pound of hamburger with disbelief etched on his face. “Worse, it didn’t even slow him down.”

“Oscar has a gift, that’s for sure.” Brooke laughed. “Oscar, give.”

Recognition sparked in chocolate-brown eyes. The dog obviously knew the word. His jowls stopped working. Big, sharp teeth clamped mutinously. With his big feet braced and every muscle tensed, he did not want to relinquish his prize.

“Oscar.” She willed a little authority into her voice. “Give.”

His eyes went down. His head went down. With one big swallow he gulped the rest of the meat before there was any hope of recovering it. All she saw was a flash from the wrapping paper before it disappeared behind his sharp teeth.

“I’m disappointed in you.” She let that show in her words, too.

Oscar swallowed one final time and whined in defeat, and his nose drooped to the floor as if he were disappointed in himself, too. Doggy brows arched in dismay.

A perfect picture of remorse.

“Just like with the ham.” Liam raked his fingers through his thick locks of hair. “He totally lost his head and lived to regret it.”

“We’ll have to work on his impulse control. And you.” She whirled at him, doing her best not to notice the concern for the dog on his face, the fact that he wasn’t angry, that he wasn’t quick to lash out at the dog. “You know he has food issues. You shouldn’t have left that meat out to tempt him.”

“Me? I’m in trouble?” He chuckled at that, thought about it, shook his head. “I probably deserve it. You’re right. I clearly need training.”

“Glad you can admit it. That’s the first step.” She shouldn’t be chuckling along with him. Just like she shouldn’t be noticing how handsome he was with his silk tie askew and loosened, with his striped dress shirt a little wrinkled and the top button undone. She shouldn’t be noticing the way the sunlight backlit him, glossing him like a statue. The most incredible statue she’d ever seen—sculpted masculine features, carved muscled physique and compassion towering over her.

Don’t gasp. Don’t stare. Don’t notice. She swallowed hard, trying to will her eyes to move away from him. Did they?

No. Did she want them to?

No. And wasn’t that the problem? Surely if she tried hard enough she could talk herself into it, right?

“I’ve got to get used to having you around, buddy.” He knelt to rub the dejected dog’s head. Poor Oscar was so unhappy with himself, he whined even harder. Worry creased his canine face. “We’ll figure it out, yes we will. I’m guessing you were awful hungry at least one time in your life, huh, buddy?”

“He probably was.” Brooke knelt, caught by the man’s sensitivity, impressed that he’d figured out what was driving Oscar’s behavior on a deeper level. “Everyone has things that motivate them or hold them back. Even dogs.”

“Are you telling me he’s always going to be a food thief?” Humor in those words, sympathy for Oscar in those deep eyes.

“It’s likely. He’ll get better, but it’s easier to train you not to leave food out.”

“Ah, that’s what you meant about the training me thing?”