Private Affairs

She quickly unlocked the door and went inside. “Thanks. That may be exactly what I need.”

Before he could offer to get one for her, she closed the door with a clap and then stood for long moments, listening for sounds that he was leaving. Realizing that he might be waiting to see that she was safe inside, she leaned over to switch on a lamp, and then peered through the curtains. He still stood where she’d left him.

She gave a little wave and then closed the door curtains again.

Finally, she heard the sound of his footfalls as he walked back to his car, and then the crank of his truck engine.

Penelope let out a long sigh, unaware that she’d been holding her breath.

She stepped toward the kitchen, flipping on lights as she went. It wasn’t fair, really. On paper, Barnaby Jones was the perfect man for her. Beyond being great looking and single, they’d attended the same schools, knew all the same people, and enjoyed doing the same things.

Maybe that was the problem: they were too well matched.

She put the elephant ear down on the counter, inwardly cursing her meddling grandmother and aunt.

Of course, Barnaby was worlds better than some of the other men they’d fixed her up with. There had been the divorced car mechanic who’d liked to flex his muscles for her expected enjoyment every five minutes. And the nerdy bank vice president who pushed his glasses up constantly and rarely met her gaze, and then grabbed onto her so tightly when she’d kissed him good-night that she’d been half afraid he wouldn’t let go. She’d nearly pushed him down the stairs just to get him to disconnect.

So on the date scale, Barnaby was the best match yet.

If only kissing him wasn’t like kissing her grandmother.

She made a face at the comparison and then realized that the house was too quiet. And it wasn’t just the absence of the two old biddies who had gotten her into her current mess either.

“Thor?” she called out.

No response. Which wasn’t all that unusual. If he was curled up sleepy somewhere, he’d likely stay exactly where he was.

She opened the pantry door and took out the bag of his favorite dog treats. Still no Thor.

That was odd. By now he would be panting at her feet.

She shook the bag. “Who’s been a good boy?” she called out in a lilting tone. “Who thinks they’re deserving of a goodie?” She shook the bag again.

Nothing.

Huh.

Then it dawned on her that she might have left him out back.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open. Nothing. She flicked on the back light.

“Thor?” she called into the night.

A single bark somewhere in the yard.

She grimaced and stepped onto the back porch. Please don’t let him have cornered another badger. Or, worse, another skunk. She’d bathed him three times, once in tomato juice, another in lemon juice, but nothing but time had seemed capable of ridding him of the god-awful stench. They’d kept him locked outside for two miserable days with him whining the whole night through.

“Thor, come here,” she ordered, giving an experimental sniff. Nothing but the fragrant scent of her rosebushes.

Another quiet bark.

Penelope navigated the stairs and walked up the pathway. She heard his panting before she saw him. Or, rather, saw his tail wagging where he sat inside the gazebo.

“What are you doing there?” she asked, coming up behind him.

He turned and licked her outstretched hand, then sniffed animatedly at the bag she still held.

“I have half a mind not to give you a treat because I don’t think you’ve been a very good boy.”

His tail was now little more than a blur as he picked up wagging speed and began doing his crouch and bark and run in circles treat-dance.

She laughed. “Oh, all right. Maybe just one.”

A shadow moved in the gazebo. “How about this bad boy?” a familiar voice asked. “Do you think he’s entitled to any treats?”

3

PALMER HADN’T EXPECTED her to return so soon. Had even feared she might not be alone when she did. But here she was, and there was no suspicious sheriff in tow. Which made him much luckier than he’d been earlier in the evening when he’d paid his surprise visit to his father.

“Palmer!” she whispered. “What are you doing in there?”

He grimaced. What was he doing in there, indeed? “Sitting.” He went for the obvious.

There was a long silence as the summer night sounds penetrated the thin walls of the gazebo. The structure smelled of wood and flowers, the cushions on the bench soft and accommodating.

How many times had the two of them met secretly in this very place, concealed by the shadows? A dozen times? A dozen dozen?

“Have you been here since I left?”

“No.”

Although he wished differently. His father’s reaction had hit him hard. Harder than he would have imagined it might. What man turned his own blood away from the door? Especially considering that man didn’t appear to have anyone else.

To his surprise, Penelope came inside the gazebo and sat opposite him. She was little more than a warm blur and quiet breathing, the subtle scent of jasmine tempting his thoughts … elsewhere.

“That was a short date,” he commented.

He heard her soft laugh. “Yes. It was.”

“I hope I didn’t ruin things.”

She shifted, leaning back against the cushions. “Why is it that I doubt that?”

“Maybe because you always did know me better than I gave you credit for.”

He heard her swallow. “Not as well as I’d hoped, it appears.”

The words were said so quietly he nearly didn’t hear them.