Full Disclosure (Homefront: The Sheridans Book 2) (4 page)

“She won’t want to leave the dogs.”

“Mom will take the dogs. She lives to
help. You know the deal. And if she can’t, I can, so long as Allie’s latest
fosters are kid-friendly.”

 Logan stares at the piece of paper
I just handed him and gives a slight nod. “So what about you, Ryan?”

“What about me?”

“I mean, jump in. The water’s warm.”

I hate it when people talk in metaphors. It’s
something they only do when they’re eating chocolate, watching a sunset, or
madly in love and it grates on my nerves. “Get off my case, Logan.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.
“Hey, I’m just saying I seem to remember you mentioning that you needed a wife
around to help out with Hannah.”

“And you told me that what I needed was a
nanny. I won’t say this often, but you were right.”

“You haven’t had a date since Hannah
moved in.”

His tone is accusatory. I think I liked
the metaphors more.

“No, I haven’t,” I reply sharply. “I
don’t have the time. You’ve picked up maybe twenty-five percent of my load here
at JLS, but I still am running this company. And getting her settled into
school has been a little harder than I thought it would be.”
To say the
least.

“I’m just saying that Allie’s not the
only single woman in Newton’s Creek.”

“Yeah, I think there are nine or ten more,”
I grunt. It’s not even an exaggeration.

My mind drifts to the woman in the
carpool line again. I know it’s dangerous to judge someone on a fifteen second
encounter, but I was impressed by her shameless bluff. Besides that, I’ve never
known anyone who had a Starfleet Academy decal in her rear window of her car.

The woman intrigued me, and it’s been a
long time since I’ve been intrigued.

Logan eyes me. “What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“That look on your face. Did you meet
someone or something?”

“No,” I deny. And it’s the truth. I
haven’t met her. She only saved my ass from that Natalie Brimswall woman and
then drove off.

Reaching for the ring, he leans back in
his chair. After staring at the sparkling rock for a moment, he asks, “Does
Hannah still want a dog?”

I’m not sure where the change of topic
came from, but I’ll happily take it if it will stop the conversation from
drifting towards my sorry dating life. “Hell, yes. Want to sell me yours?”
Kosmo is a chocolate lab mix that Logan got from Allie’s dog rescue. My
daughter is completely in love with him.

“Not on your life. If it weren’t for Kosmo,
I never would have met Allie. I love Hannah, but there are limits to what I’d
do, even for her.”

He’s actually lying. If Hannah got tears
in her eyes and begged him for Kosmo, I bet he’d hand the dog over to us. He’d
give her anything she wants, just like me. It’s probably because she asks for
so little.

“You call yourself a good uncle?” I joke.

“There are other great dogs that need
homes, Ryan.”

“Yeah, but are they good with kids?”

“I know one that is.”

My ears perk up.

“She’s a rescue Allie picked up about a
week ago,” he tells me. “Older dog. About six.”

“Breed?”

“Retriever or lab mix. Can’t quite tell.”

“Is Allie fostering her?”

“No, Allie’s friend has her. She lives in
the townhomes, two doors down from me.”

My brother renovated a strip of townhomes.
He lives in one, and his girlfriend Allie lives next door. I don’t really know
why they don’t just live together, but I also don’t understand why my brother,
whose bank account rivals my own, is living in a fifteen hundred square-foot
townhome in the first place.

There are so many things I don’t
understand about both of my brothers.

“Is it Cass?” I ask, going to great pains
to look ambivalent. Cass is the only friend of Allie’s I’ve met. She’s cute,
and conveniently, she doesn’t work for JLS. Definitely date-able, and I would
have gotten around to it if I hadn’t been juggling my newfound duties as a
full-time dad.

“No. Cass doesn’t have a foster dog now. She’s
moving back to New York in a week or two, last I heard.”

Dammit. One less single woman in Newton’s
Creek.

“Different friend,” he continues. “Kim. You
haven’t met her. She’s got a kid, so Allie only gives her the kid-proof dogs to
foster. Why don’t you drop by with Hannah tonight?”

I toy with the pen on my desk for a
moment, spinning it over my index finger. There’s nothing better than the unconditional
love of a dog. It would be good for Hannah’s self esteem. “Okay,” I say with
slight apprehension, only because Logan looks like there’s more to this dog
than he’s telling me.

“Great. You’ll love Lollipop.”

“Lollipop? You’d stick me with a dog
named Lollipop?”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he smiles. “With
pleasure, bro. Can’t wait for word to spread that the ruthless Ryan Sheridan
has a dog named Lollipop.”

~ KIM ~

Tilting my head toward the sky, I give a
quick sniff at the cool breeze, the same way the two dogs I’m walking just did.
I can’t help it. I smell the scent of burning hickory, and know that someone,
somewhere, is taking advantage of this first chill of fall by throwing a log
into the fireplace.

It makes my mouth water for roasted
marshmallows.

There’s a fine mist along the banks of
Newton’s Creek, the little brook that gave our town its name. The sun’s appearance
today was short-lived. Now the woods behind the townhomes where Allie, Logan,
and I live look like the eerie set of a horror film. Squirrels dart up and down
the trees in front of us, keeping the dogs in constant alert mode.

“Stay close to us, Connor,” I call out,
even though I know I’m being a total helicopter parent. I can’t help it. He
slows his pace with Lollipop as she guides him toward the next interesting
scent.

I glance over at Allie as she leads Lucy,
the rescue dog she just picked up today, and Logan’s dog, Kosmo, along the
mossy path. Her hair is whisked up haphazardly in a ponytail and barely a
stitch of makeup is on her face, but she looks radiant. Must come from being in
love, I suppose. She and Logan are almost nauseating to watch these days, but I
adore them both anyway. Allie enjoys reminding me that I didn’t even like Logan
when I first met him. And it’s true. But I had no idea he’d turn into the Nicest
Guy in the World.

Logan sold me one of the townhomes he
renovated for an absurdly low price. I can’t imagine he made a dime off of the
sale, and if I hadn’t been so damn broke, I would have been insulted by the
gesture. But I was pretty desperate. When I got pregnant in my sophomore year
of college, my parents let me move back home and live there after Connor was
born. But the welcome mat on their doorstep was wearing thin. So this little
townhouse is the first real “home” that I’ve been able to offer my son.

Allie might be the one dating a rich guy.
But I’m the one who feels like she won the lottery the day Logan walked into
her life.

“Do you mind if some prospective adopters
drop by your house to meet Lollipop tonight?”

I dart a look at Allie. That’s completely
not our normal routine. Most of the time, we meet potential owners at adoption
events we hold at Sally Sweet’s Pet Boutique.

I curl up my face. “Why don’t they just
meet her at our next event?”

“They can’t. Please. It’s a favor to
Logan. They’d be great owners. I already cleared their references and did the
house check. If they like Lollipop, they can take her tonight and we’ll be able
to pick up that cocker spaniel at the pound. She’s on her last days there.”

“Logan knows them?”

“Mmhm.”

Well, I guess that’s different. Still, my
eyes migrate to the furry mutt on the end of Connor’s leash and I feel a
sadness wash over me. Lollipop is my first foster dog, and I knew that giving
her up one day to the right owners would be part of the deal. But who will I
talk to at night after Connor’s gone to bed? “What are their names?”

Allie stiffens abruptly. “Oh, come on. You
know how I am with names. I’ve run at least twenty reference checks this week. I
get them all mixed up.”

“So I’m just supposed to welcome these
nameless people, who could be axe murders, into my house? A house I share with
my four-year-old son?” It’s a well-known fact that I have a limited reserve of
trust.

“Come on. It’s just a guy and his kid. Totally
harmless. Besides, Logan doesn’t know any axe murderers, and I’d never send
someone to your house if I wasn’t sure they were good people.” She sighs. “We’ll
be right next door. If we wait till our next adoption event, that cocker
spaniel will probably be…” She makes a slashing movement against her throat.

She sure knows how to lay it on thick.

I narrow my eyes on her. “Okay. But if I
scream or something, I expect your hot SEAL boyfriend to come to my rescue.”

“Count on it.”

One of the dogs tugs me in the direction
of the creek, while the second one tugs me toward the townhouse. I give a firm
yank to one and yield to the other. Our evening dog walks aren’t quite as
relaxing as they should be. We take Logan’s dog out, plus Allie’s three
rescues. So with the rescue of my own that Connor is holding tight to, that’s
five dogs among us, and every one of them seems to want to go in a different
direction today.

We call it quits about twenty minutes
later when Connor announces he wants a juice box. Back in the townhome, he sets
Lollipop free from her leash and she bounds toward her bowl of water.

I love having a dog around the house. It’s
something I never had growing up, and always wanted. I’ll definitely foster
another dog for Allie. I’ve grown accustomed to the clicking of paw-nails on my
hardwood floors.

I have a whole hour of peace before this
guy shows up with his kid, and if I was smart, I’d sink into the sofa and rest
while I can. Connor’s amusing himself with Lincoln Logs and the house is
surprisingly serene right now, with the windows open and birdsong drifting
through our townhome.

But there’s a pile of dishes in the sink
with my name on it. When they’re loaded in the dishwasher, I recall that the tub
needs scrubbing and that Connor’s bed sheets probably could use some
freshening. By the time Lollipop’s potential adopter arrives, half my hair has
escaped my stubby ponytail, the front of my shirt is soaking wet, and I reek of
scouring powder.

Who cares?
I’m thinking, as I sail toward the door
at the sound of a knock. The guy’s here to see Lollipop, not me. And since I’ve
gotten pretty attached to this dog,
he’s
going to have to impress
me
.
Not the other way around.

Friend of Logan’s or not.

I peek though the peephole and the fist
of death reaches into my chest and gives my heart a firm squeeze. Teetering
backward from the door, I let out a curse, just quiet enough that Connor can’t
hear me.

I’m going to kill Allie.

I take a deep breath, and look through
the hole again, confirming that I’m not hallucinating.

Nope. He’s still there. Ryan Sheridan. The
subject of the naughty fantasies I had all day today while answering the phone
in my little cream-colored cubicle in the Human Resources department. My eyes
track downward. He’s in a polo shirt now, and again, his shirt seems to hug him
a little too tightly around that massive chest of his. My eyes saunter down his
thick arm to the hand of the little girl which is in his protective grasp.

Men like Ryan Sheridan shouldn’t be
allowed to have kids. Because it only makes them more irresistible to
undersexed single moms like me.

I emit a low breath, commanding my
hormones to crawl back into whatever dark place they hide. I can’t allow myself
to be turned on by my boss this way, especially tonight with two children
nearby.

Determinedly, I turn the doorknob and
swing open the door. “Mr. Sheridan,” I greet him.

His brow is cocked slightly, and I almost
see a smile on his face when he sees me. “You went to Starfleet Academy,” he
tells me.

“P-p-pardon?” I stutter. Okay. So this is
the first time a man’s greeted me like that, and being a card-carrying member
of every Star Trek fan club there is, I’m wildly aroused by it. If he’s got
some sci-fi fetish, I’m totally willing to break out my Lieutenant Uhura
Halloween costume for him.

“The decal on your car,” he clarifies. “I
noticed it this morning in the carpool line. So when I saw it out front, I
thought it might be you.”

I open my mouth to talk, but there’s
about a two-second delay before I can quite formulate my words. I see why he
holds back that smile of his around the office. Even at 10% power, it’s freaking
gorgeous.

My brain starts to clear through the haze
of lust. “Yeah, there aren’t many Starfleet Academy alumni here in Newton’s
Creek,” I finally manage to say.

“You saved me from that woman this
morning. I’d be stuck in a six-o’clock committee meeting right now if it wasn’t
for you.”

“Oh, no problem. When I was new to
Orchard Acres, she stuck me on three committees. It was like having a second
full-time job. I kind of figured you wouldn’t be up for that.” I snap myself
out of my licentious delirium and extend my hand. “I’m Kim Marshall, by the
way.”

“Ryan Sheridan,” he says as he takes my
hand.

My stomach flutters at the sensation of
his skin touching mine.

I have to remind myself to let go about a
second later than I should have. “Yeah, I kind of knew that. I work in your HR
department. Are you Hannah?” I ask the little girl who is already getting
plenty of licks from Lollipop.

“You know my name?” she asks me, her eyes
beaming.

“Sure. My friend Allie talks about you
all the time. Tells me how smart you are. I hear you like to go fairy hunting.”

She nods.

“I used to do that all the time when I
was your age.”

“Did you find any?”

“No, but I still like to look. Connor,
come meet Mr. Sheridan and Hannah.”

My son comes over and I feel a surge of
pride when he extends his hand in a very adult-like manner to my boss and then
to Hannah. “Hi,” he says quietly.

“So, this is Lollipop.” Mr. Sheridan
bends over to pet her and it’s all I can do to avert my eyes from his
remarkable backside.

“Um, yes. This is Lollipop, but I just
call her Lolli. I wanted to call her Crusher, you know, after Dr. Crusher on
TNG because her fur kind of reminded me of her red hair. But Allie said Crusher
sounded too violent for a dog.” I grimace.
Nice, Kim. Could you sound any more
like a freak than you do right now?

 “TNG?” he asks,

“The Next Generation. Umm. Star Trek: The
Next Generation.” I want to crawl into a hole right now. Clearly the CEO of a
multi-billion dollar corporation doesn’t have time to watch decades-old Star
Trek reruns on cable. Even though he obviously has time to work out in the gym.
I mean,
really
…

“Logan told me she’s good with kids.” He
glances back at me as Hannah and Connor start rubbing her belly. “I can see
he’s right.”

“Yeah. Connor dive-bombs her at least
five times a day and she doesn’t even flinch.”

“Are you really going to take her?”
Connor gazes up at Mr. Sheridan with sad eyes.

“Only if you and your mom think we’d be
good for her. Do you think she’d be good for our family?” he asks him pointedly,
and I’m surprised by the tact he’s showing my child.

At JLS Heartland, the word around the office
is that Ryan Sheridan is mercilessly heartless.

And this guy who’s been compared to a man-eating
shark is sitting on the floor talking to my son as though my little boy’s
opinion really matters.

“Maybe,” Connor answers tentatively.

I clear my throat. “I think they’d be
great for Lollipop. Then we can save that cocker spaniel that Allie was telling
you about, champ. Wouldn’t it be great to save another dog?”

Connor eyes Mr. Sheridan. “Can I visit her?”

Yikes. Inappropriate question to ask my
boss, and I open my mouth to tell Connor it’s not possible. But Mr. Sheridan’s
words stop me cold.

“Any time you want.”

I tamp down the swell of appreciation I
am feeling right now for the big hunk of masculine flesh that is giving
Lollipop a serious belly rub.

“Okay, then,” Connor answers.

The space seems small to me somehow right
now, and not because there are four humans and one dog sharing it. It’s because
one of those humans is raising my body temperature to the point where my blood
is sizzling. I desperately need air. “Do you want to take her out back? Toss
the ball around, Mr. Sheridan?” I tack on the Mr. Sheridan on purpose. I don’t
want him thinking that just because Allie’s my best friend and Logan is
my—well, earthly savior—that I’ll in any way overstep the
boundaries of our working relationship.

Ryan Sheridan: Lord of the manor. Kim
Marshall: lowly serf. I’m cool with that. I need this job.

And knowing my place won’t stop me from
having a few delicious fantasies.

“Great. But when we’re not at work,
please call me Ryan.”

“Okay. Ryan,” I say quietly, wondering if
I will ever be able to say his name without feeling my stomach flutter. We walk
through the house and I notice his eyes wandering to my second-hand furniture.

“The place looks a lot better now that
there’s life in it,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“Last time I was here, all these
townhomes were empty except for Logan’s and Allie’s. Kind of depressing. When
did you buy it?”

“Last month.”

“Good. I saw the last two had ‘for sale’
signs in front of them now, too. It will be good to get some families in them.”
His eyes watch Connor and Hannah as they dart out the door ahead of us. We
follow at a more adult pace, sitting down on the back step since I don’t have
any deck furniture yet. “How long has your son been going to Orchard Acres?” he
asks me.