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In front of the grill, Matt was tending enough burgers to feed all of Maple River. Boomer duly acknowledged and reassured, Ty scooped Aislin, Kelly’s curly-headed three-year-old, into his arms and marched over, his stomach rumbling and his head fizzing a little, like it always did when he was around kids. Especially cuties like this one.
“Weren’t expecting you ’til later,” Matt said, flipping the sizzling meat and sending a plume of cow-scented smoke wafting into the humid, early-evening air. “Thought you had a date.”
“She canceled,” he said. Matt gave him a look; Ty shrugged. “It was pretty much done, anyway.” His older brother gave a low chuckle. “What?”
“Nothing. You wanna stay for dinner? Kelly made potato salad that’ll make you weep, no lie. And some ridiculous dessert.” Ty’s future sister-in-law was a caterer. Damn good one, too. “Seriously, if you don’t help us eat this stuff, I’m not gonna fit in my uniform anymore.”
“Can’t stay. Since, now that I’m free—”
“Again. Or is that still?”
Tyler ignored him. “I might as well start on the wall. And you’re a detective, when was the last time you wore a uniform?”
“Whatever—”
“Hey, Uncle Ty!” Tyler grinned over as Cooper, Kelly’s eight-year-old son sprinted across the grass, the late-day sun glinting off his glasses, his warm brown curls. Ty gave the kid a high five.
“How’s it goin’, dude?”
“Great! Dad said he’s gonna set up one of those big swimming pools, right over there!” He pointed to the far corner of the yard, where the Boomer and Alf were noisily wrestling. “Cool, huh?”
“Very cool,” Ty said, shooting his brother a glance. Then, to Coop again: “You can swim?”
“Not yet, but Dad signed Linnie and me up at the Y for lessons—”
“Hey, sport, these are almost done. Go see if your mom’s got the rest of the food ready.”
“On it!”
Linnie squealed to get down; Ty obliged, watching the kids bound off before turning back to his brother. “Dad?” he said, shoving aside the strangest twinge of...something.
Underneath a dark beard haze that passed five-o’clock shadow at least three days ago, Matt grinned. “It just popped out the other day. Not sure which of us was more surprised.”
“I can imagine. How’s it feel?”
His brother lowered the lid on the grill, then crossed his arms. “Amazing? Scary? Humbling, for sure.” Matt glanced toward the house. “I only hope I don’t screw it up.”
Like Tyler, Matt—and his twin sister, Sabrina, who lived in Manhattan—had been adopted when they were older, in their case after their parents died in a car crash. And, since Matt never mentioned his father, Ty suspected there were some unresolved issues there. True, they’d only been six when their folks died, but some things imprint early. He should know.
“Screw it up? Are you kidding? You’ve so got this, man.” Ty clapped his brother’s shoulder. “Seriously.”
Matt sighed, but through a crooked smile. Dude was the happiest Ty had ever seen him. After his skank ex had cheated on him like that? On somebody who, as far as Ty knew, had never done anything wrong in his entire freaking life? He totally deserved to be happy—
“So you ready for the wedding?” Matt asked.
“Hey. All I have to do is show up.” He snatched a piece of American cheese off the plate by the grill. “You’re the one getting married. Again.”
“Your time will come, buddy. Yes, it will, don’t give me that look. You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? Or you just gonna eat all my cheese?”
“Don’t hold your breath, no, and don’t get your boxers in a bunch, there’s still four pieces left. Okay, three,” he said, stuffing another slice in his mouth.
“Why aren’t you staying?” Kelly appeared like an apparition, setting a bowl of creamy potato salad flecked with bits of red and green something or other on the tempered glass table beside him.
“The wall,” he said, trying not to drool, and she nodded.
“Right. Forgot. Then at least let me send home a doggie bag—”
“You don’t have to do that...”
“No arguments. There’s plenty. And if you stare any harder at the potato salad you’re going to meld with it. Coop, honey? Go get... Oh, never mind, I’ll do it.” She patted Ty’s shoulder. “Do not move.”
After she tromped off, her red curls bouncing between her shoulder blades, Matt chuckled. “The woman lives to feed people. I am so blessed.”
It was true, Ty thought later, as, laden with enough rations to see him through next winter, he parked in his driveway, Boomer panting his head off behind him. His brother had been blessed, in ways Matt probably couldn’t have imagined a few months ago. But then, he’d always wanted a family. Kids. And Ty had no doubt his big brother, who used to keep an eye on all of them like a frickin’ sheep dog, would make a damn good father. Ty, however...
The very thought made him shudder. Not that he wasn’t crazy about his nieces and nephews—their oldest brother, Ethan, had four kids—but having his own? No way. As far as that went—he shoved the dog’s head out of the bag of food, grabbed it and got out of the car—he definitely knew who he was. Or, in this case, wasn’t—
“Boomer! What the hell? Get over here!”
Halfway to Laurel’s, the dog stopped in his tracks, turned around. But only to plant his butt in the grass, then look over his shoulder. Then again at Tyler, all jowly pleading. In the distance, thunder rumbled from black-as-soot clouds, threatening another storm. So much for working outside tonight. Although, truth be told, by the time he finished eating it’d probably be too dark—and he’d be too wiped out—to get much done, anyway.
Then, faintly, even over Laurel’s rumbling air conditioner unit and another round of thunder, Tyler heard music. Not clearly enough to make out what it was, even when he went closer—to get his mule-headed dog—but definitely not punk rock.
He grabbed the dog’s collar and marched him back to the house and up the steps...where he looked over at Laurel’s prissy little house, which sat more forward on the lot than his did. Meaning he could see in her side window pretty good. She had a lamp on, her back to him as she worked at her computer. She’d bunched her hair into a pair of ridiculous-looking ponytails sticking out on either side of her head...and she was swaying to the music. Like, from the depths of her soul.
And...singing?
She stretched out her arms, her head falling back... Yep. Singing.
He laughed out loud.
And Boomer whined, straining to break free of Ty’s grasp. He looked at those pitiful yellow eyes, that even more pitiful underbite...and Kelly had hooked him up with so much food, he’d never be able to eat it all...
This, he could share. In fact, it would be wrong not to.
Phone in hand, he scrolled through his contacts and pressed Send, smiling when he saw Laurel jump. She fumbled for her phone beside the laptop, but he couldn’t see her expression when she checked the display.
“Ty? What—?”
“You eat yet?”
She paused, still staring at her computer screen. “Why?”
“Turn around.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just do it.”
She did, gasping a little when she saw him watching her. The phone still to her ear, she got up, came to the window. Opened it. Now he could hear the music, some kind of jazz. Sultry. Blood-stirring. Was she wearing...pajamas? Hard to tell behind the screen.
“What are you doing?”
Pocketing his phone, Tyler held up the bag. A rain-scented breeze skirted across the porch, messing with his hair. “Inviting you to share a feast. And you can put down the phone now.”
“Oh. Right.” She did. “What kind of feast?”
“Burgers. Potato salad. Regular salad with homemade ranch dressing. And some dessert that defies description.”
“Where did you—?”
“From my brother and sister-in-law. Well, soon to be. In a month. She’s a caterer. As in, her cooking kicks butt. You do not want to pass this up, believe me.”
Laurel lifted her hand to the back of her neck. Apparently felt the ponytails. “I’m already in my jammies,” she said, yanking out first one, then the other, band. She ruffled her hair. To make it lay down again, he supposed. Didn’t work.
“So I see,” he said. “You do realize it’s only seven-thirty?”
“Since I wasn’t expecting company, what’s it to you?”
He grinned. “Should I put mine on, too?”
“Let me guess. You don’t wear any.”
“You spoiled the surprise,” he said, and she laughed. “So. You want to help Boomer and me eat this stuff or not?”
“Do I have to get dressed?”
“Not on my account. Do I have to stay dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Party pooper,” he said, and she laughed again.
“Bring the dog. We’ll eat outside!”
* * *
Laurel’d eaten dinner already, of course. Hours ago. But the budding baby carnivore in her womb leaped at the prospect of hamburgers. And potato salad. As long as the salad was fresh and the hamburgers well-done. Because she wasn’t taking any chances.
As if she hadn’t done that already, she thought, ramming a comb through her sticky-outty hair. And was doing it again, since simply letting Tyler come over was a challenge to what little was left of her hormone-ravaged sanity.
She tossed a lightweight robe on over the pajamas, a set of her grandfather’s she found while packing up Gran’s house. Silk, no less. Comfy as hell. And roomy enough to hide an elephant in. Or, in this case, her little passenger.
The doorbell rang. The loose robe flapping around her thighs, she tramped barefoot through the house and opened the door, bending to get kisses from Boomer before grinning up at Tyler. All nonchalant and stuff.
“I thought the deal was, you were supposed to build the wall and I’d supply the food?”
“And you still can. Just not tonight.” He came in, handing her the bag. “You sure about outside? Sounds like a storm’s coming in.”
“Not here yet, is it?”
“True.”
She carried the food to her kitchen, Boomer keeping her company as she emptied the bag of its carefully packed goodies—still-warm burgers swaddled in heavy-duty foil, the salads in plastic containers inside a thermal lunch box. With an ice pack. Laurel smiled: Whoever this chick was, she already liked her.
“Nice place,” Tyler called from the living room.
“Isn’t it exactly like yours?”
“Not even remotely. I mean, your place actually looks like a grown-up lives here.” He came to the door, leaning on the jamb with his thumbs tucked in his pockets. Grinning. Sexy as hell. “Although the colors are a little girlie for my taste.”
“Well, since a girl lives here, it’s all good. Let’s see...I’ve got tea, milk or water to go with. Name your poison.”
“No beer? Or even soda?”
“’Fraid not,” she said. “Hate the taste of beer, and I stopped drinking soda years ago. Although...hang on...”
She opened the fridge, rummaging about for a moment until she found the half-drunk bottle of white wine, way in the back. She pulled it out, triumphant. “Ta-da!”
Tyler looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Really?”
“What?”
“A, white wine with burgers? And B, how old is that?”
“Okay, you might have a point. Or two.”
He chuckled. “Tea’s fine.” He pushed away from the door and over to the counter, where he started opening containers, and she thought, In another life...
“Silverware’s in that drawer right in front of you,” Laurel said, pulling out another bottle of tea for Tyler, water for herself. “Paper plates in the cupboard above...”
A few minutes later, the storm having moved off to torment someone else, they were out on the deck, the setting sun beginning to tinge the quivering sycamore leaves an apricot gold. Laurel planted herself in one of the two wicker rockers she’d also taken off her grandmother’s hands, while Ty took the other one, setting their food and drinks on a small wrought-iron table between them. Out on the lawn a pair of robins scampered in opposite directions, occasionally stopping, heads cocked, before jabbing their beaks into the grass for a juicy earthworm.
As ravenous as those birdies, Laurel unwrapped her burger, checking to make sure it was cooked through before biting into it. Tyler, who’d chomped down willy-nilly, frowned over at her.
“S’it okay?”
“Delicious,” she said, chewing. “Thank you.”
“Matt tends to cook ’em to death, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Really.”
Tyler took a swig of his tea, then leaned back in his chair. “So...you said you were a writer?” Her mouth full, Laurel nodded. “What do you write?”
She swallowed, then grabbed a napkin to wipe ketchupy juice off her chin. “Young adult novels. For hire, though, not really my own stuff.” At his frown, she smiled. “And...you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Umm...I’m guessing somebody pays you to write books for them?”
“Pretty much, yeah. My publisher gives me the storylines and I flesh them out. For a series aimed at tweens—nine-to twelve-year-old girls. The Hamilton High Good Luck Club. I’m guessing you’ve never heard of it?”
“Um...no. But I’ve got a fifteen-year-old niece... Maybe she has.”
“Very possible. The series has been going for nearly twenty years now. But I’ve only been writing for it for five.”
“Impressive.”
“Not really,” she said with a light laugh. “I write fast, and it pays fairly well. And I don’t have to worry about—” She caught herself. “Traffic. Or clothes.” She plucked at her attire. “Or office gossip. In some ways, it’s the best job in the world. For me, anyway.”
“So you’re cool with telling somebody else’s stories?”
“Oh, I’ve had a couple of other things published. Made bupkiss with them. Love to write, not a big fan of starving. So for now, this is good. And does Boomer always stare like that?”
Because he was sitting in front of them, mouth open, drooling, his eyebrows twitching as he looked from one to the other.
“God, dog,” Tyler said, “you are beyond pathetic. Go lay down!”
On a groan, the dog chuffed over to the railing and collapsed on the boards...but without taking his golden eyes off the burger in Laurel’s hands.
“Oh, come on,” Laurel said. “How can you say no to that face?”
Ty stuffed the last of his burger into his mouth, reached for his plate of salads. “That face is what got me into trouble to begin with.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah. Okay, so a couple years back, I was dating this girl who decided she wanted a dog. So she asks me to go to the pound with her, help her choose. I say, sure, whatever. And while she’s looking at all these little rat dogs—you know, with those yippy little barks?—I turn around and see this thing sitting in his cage, just...watching me.”
At that, Boomer lifted his head, his attention fixed on Tyler. Whose attention was every bit as fixed on the dog. Laurel smiled.
“He knows you’re talking about him.” Grunting, Tyler dispatched another bite of potato salad. “So what happened?”
“I looked away. Because the dog was creeping me out, staring at me like that. And those teeth.” The dog cocked his head, and Laurel nearly choked on the bite in her mouth. “So anyway, the girl—Hannah—she picks out her dog, we do all the paperwork, and then we leave—”
“You left him there?” Ty looked at her, then tipped his tea bottle at the dog, and Laurel nodded. “Right. Sorry. Continue.”
“Anyway...so I take Hannah and the rat dog back to her house, and then I come home, and I can’t get the damn dog’s face out of my mind. That one, not hers. Hers, I forgot about the minute I dropped her off. But I’m thinking, I don’t want a dog. Don’t need a dog, don’t want the responsibility, the pressure of having to keep something alive...” He blew out a breath. “But that face. Yeah,” he said when Boomer heaved himself to his feet again and came over, his whole back end shimmying as he laid his chin in Tyler’s lap. “This face,” he said, cupping the saggy-jowled head in his hands. “Suckered me right in.”
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