No One Like You (9 page)

Atlas took that moment to bark at him. A gruff sound. Smart when he wanted to be, the big dog awaited Rylan’s apology. He expected Ry to forgive Beth. Ry could do that. Life would go on. He wasn’t as upset with her as she was with herself. “Not my best look,” he slowly said, “but I can live with it. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I think you look edgy.”

That surprised him. He’d been called handsome, stable, and straightforward over the years. All-American, too. No one had ever called him
edgy
. His dogs came to him. Atlas rose on his back legs and sniffed Ry’s head. Then dropping back down, he returned to Beth’s side.

Ry watched as Beth slipped the comb into his shaving kit. Dropped the scissors into the drawer. She slapped her palms against her thighs, uncertain as to what to do next.

He had plans for the rest of the day. A visit with his grandfather at the retirement village was a must. He needed to get going. “I’d like you to meet my granddad,” he said to Beth. “I’m going to be busy with spring training shortly, and won’t be able to spend as much time with him as usual. Any chance you play cards?”

She nodded. “Gin, two-man solitaire, spades, war, crazy eights.”

“Gin is good. How about cribbage?”

Another nod. “Also backgammon.”

“Great.” That worked out well. “I was asked to speak to the seniors as part of their lecture series. I’m scheduled for Wednesday. You can come with me then.”

“I’d like that.” She looked down on the dogs. “They’ll be okay without me?”

He appreciated her concern. “Atlas will babysit.”

Beth grinned. “Does he get paid for his services?”

“In dog treats.”

Atlas loved his snacks. He could be insistent. When Connie forgot to bake, Atlas would drag the canine cookbook off the kitchen counter and drop it on her desk. Drool and all. Beth seemed more in-tune to the Dane than his Richmond assistant. The doggie cookie jar would always be full.

Ry stared at her, for no apparent reason. Her rain cast eyes were more blue than gray. Her smile held, only to slip the longer he held her gaze. Her breath caught, and her breasts rose. His left hand instinctively flexed. He had the unexpected urge to touch her. That would be a major mistake. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid.

He needed to get going. “I’m taking my dinner jacket and shoes with me now. I won’t return until late. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She licked her lips and hesitantly asked, “Will there be two of you at breakfast? Should I make myself scarce?”

“I don’t bring dates to the cottage,” he said to ease her mind. He never had. It was a personal rule. He wasn’t an overnight date, either. He needed to get home to his dogs. They were his priority.

Not every woman understood his leaving. A few had argued with him. And lost. He had yet to meet someone who could fit seamlessly into his life. Someone who would love him . . . for himself. Not because he was a professional ballplayer. And a Cates.

Someone who could live with his crazy-ass schedule.

Someone who was an animal lover, too. That was an absolute must.

“Have a good evening, Rylan.” Beth gave him a nudge.

“Thanks.” He lingered a moment longer over his dogs. Then addressed Atlas on his way out. “Don’t wait up, big guy.”

Atlas had a habit of lying just inside the front door until he returned. He guarded the cottage. Ry doubted that would be so tonight. He’d bet his dogs would follow Beth to bed once she called it a day. He hoped Atlas wouldn’t crowd her on the queen sofa sleeper. The big dog liked to stretch out and chase rabbits in his sleep. He kicked. Hard. There was a chance Beth would end up on the floor.

 

Beth woke up facedown on the floor. Sunlight streamed through the window, filtering across her blanket and the dark pine boards. Soft snores rose from the dachshunds camped beside her. She’d dragged their dog beds into her bedroom and they had curled up comfortably. Atlas and Rue had taken to her bed the moment she’d shut off the bedside table light. It had gotten crowded fast.

She’d curled into a ball, allowed them to stay, and slept fairly well. She couldn’t recall exactly when she’d been shoved off the mattress. Sometime after three a.m., she figured. Shortly after she’d gotten up for a drink of water. She had less room when she’d climbed back into bed than when she’d left it moments before.

The floor was hard and uncomfortable. She had a slight crick in her neck. Her left elbow was sore. She rotated her right ankle to relieve the stiffness. She yawned. Twice. Then glanced at the alarm clock on the seaman’s trunk. Six-thirty.

She wondered what time Rylan had gotten home. She was surprised the dogs hadn’t wakened with his arrival, then joined him upstairs. She had yet to see the second floor. She imagined his bedroom was larger than her own.

She sat up slowly. Rolled her shoulders. Stretched out her arms. Straightened her short cotton nightgown. What to do first? She debated. She’d yet to set a routine. She could grab a quick shower while the dogs still slept. Then take them out for their walk. Followed by their breakfast. She’d work on the picnic afterward. She hoped to catch Rylan before he left for the day, to see if he had a list for her.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in navy walking shorts and a powder blue tank top, Beth harnessed the dogs. She had her hand on the doorknob, about to leave the cottage, when Rylan made an appearance. He came down the stairs, bare chested and barefoot, wearing gray athletic shorts. He had a nice chest, lean and defined. His hair hadn’t grown overnight, as she had hoped. But his chin stubble had. He looked sexy, in a bed-head, sleepy-eyed way.

The dogs charged him.

He greeted each one. “Have a good walk,” he told them.

They returned to Beth, and she fitted their leashes. Atlas tugged her out the front door, then took the lead. His leash was longer than the rest. It was a beautiful morning.

She had never minded getting up early. She usually beat her alarm.

Used to an active lifestyle, the exercise felt good. She had a grip on Atlas’s antics. For the moment, anyway. She breathed easier when they passed the crosswalk where he’d played dead the previous day.

On the way back, she turned Rue’s leash over to him when they were two blocks from the house. Oscar and Nathan were dragging by the time they reached the driveway. The dachsies picked up their pace when they spotted Rylan sitting in a redwood Adirondack chair on the front porch, sipping a glass of orange juice.

“Keeping an eye out for us?” she asked.

“I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a problem,” he said easily. “I’d have given you five more minutes, then come looking.”

She appreciated his concern. “We managed just fine.”

He glanced down on her feet, and smiled when he read the hot pink message on her purple socks.
Baby Steps
.

She scuffed the toe on her Keds. “Another mantra I chant,” she confessed. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

“Giant steps come later?” he asked.

“Soon enough,” she answered.

Rylan helped her unhook the harnesses. Atlas shot to the kitchen once he was freed. He dropped down near the stove and waited for his breakfast. The other dogs trailed more slowly.

Beth grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter and wiped perspiration from her brow. She glanced through the back window, then wondered aloud, “Why haven’t you fenced the yard?”

“I use the yard for social gatherings,” he told her. “I like to keep it clean, if you know what I mean.”

She understood, but still suggested, “A doggie door and sturdy fence on the shady side of the cottage might work. The dogs would have an opportunity to be outside at times other than their walks. Atlas has pent-up energy. He needs to run.”

“You could jog with him.”

She shook her head. “He’d pull me off my feet. Fly me like a kite.”

Ry laughed at that. “E-mail my brother Aidan. He’s a contractor. Actually, his company built the Rogue’s stadium. He might have extra fencing on a job site. He knows the size of my lot. See if he has time for the project.”

Beth couldn’t believe he’d gone along with her idea. “I’ll get to it after breakfast.”

Breakfast
drew a gurgle from Atlas, and he started to drool.

She went to the cookbook and decided on organic beef and vegetable patties. It was a quick fix. Cooking time was twelve minutes.

Rylan had made coffee in the electric percolator by the time the patties went in the oven. He poured her a cup. She drank it black. So did he.

“Can I fix you something to eat?” she asked him.

“What were you planning to have?”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Whole wheat waffles.” She’d noticed a waffle iron in the cupboard. She had her grandmother’s recipe memorized. Ry had the ingredients.

“Waffles sound good. I prefer warm honey instead of syrup.”

So did she.

Rylan read the newspaper while she made the waffles. The timers on the oven and waffle maker
dinged
simultaneously. Rylan set his paper aside, pushed off his stool, and grabbed a pot holder. He removed the tray of patties, setting them on an iron trivet to cool. Atlas sniffed the air, trying to inhale his breakfast.

Beth warmed a cup of honey and served Ry the first waffle topped with fresh blackberries. She next set out the dogs’ dishes. Another minute, and she counted patties into their bowls. Four for Atlas. Three for Rue. And the dachsies each got one. She placed their food at the designated spots. Atlas ate surprisingly slow as if he was savoring each bite.

She turned her back on the dogs to fix her own waffle.

“Dish towel,” Ry called, warning her of Atlas’s approach.

She snagged the towel just in time and wiped the Dane’s mouth before he could smear her walking shorts. Damage control.

She placed her waffle on a plate when it was ready, added a few berries, then took a stool across from Rylan at the island. Meals had always been a social time when she was growing up. She’d cherished those moments she spent with her parents.

Sadly, her mother had passed away when she was thirteen. Her father had remarried. His second marriage had been stressful, and put him in an early grave. He’d suffered a heart attack when she was nineteen. Two days before her twentieth birthday. There’d been no celebration. Only tears.

Her life had never been the same. She was an unwanted member of the family, scrambling to please a stepmother who faulted her for breathing.

Beth closed the top on her memory box and moved on. She attempted upbeat. “How was your date?” she casually asked Rylan.

“I was home by eleven,” he said between bites.

That didn’t sound good. She’d gone to bed at ten and hadn’t heard him come in. She’d figured he’d had a late night. Apparently not. He had no reason to share with her; she was his PA, not his confidante. They barely knew each other. However he seemed willing to talk. She was there to listen.

He began with, “The anticipation was better than the actual date. That’s a first for me. She hated my haircut. She called me minor league.”

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. He scratched the sheared side of his head. “Seems she was more into my looks than my personality.”

Beth stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup. He had a strong face. The asymmetrical style sharpened his features. He looked fierce.

She made a suggestion. “I could trim your right side to match the left,” she slowly said. “Even it out, if you like.”

“I don’t like.” He was firm. “I’ll live with it.” He leaned his elbows on the island, steepled his fingers, and commented further on his date. “The night went downhill fast. Nothing pleased Ava. She doesn’t like crowds. I’ve never seen as many people on the boardwalk as I did last night. It’s tourist season, and all the beach bistros were packed. Most had a ninety-minute wait. We ended up at Molly Malone’s Diner. The tables always turn over quickly there.”

“Family dining at a fair price.” Beth remembered the sign that hung on the door. “That’s where I ate my first meal when I arrived in town. A hot meatloaf sandwich. It was delicious. Casual atmosphere.”

“Casual was the killer,” he confessed. “Ava had dressed up. She looked hot. She didn’t fit with the locals and beachgoers. She wanted fine dining; I gave her home-cooking. She called the diner a dive.”

Ava sounded difficult. Superficial, too, Beth thought. The woman had expected candlelight, wine, and intimacy. Instead, she’d sat in a vinyl booth and sipped her beverage from a plastic glass. Noisy conversations had swirled around her. The polka music from the carousel would have entered with each customer.

Ry’s frown appeared permanent as he finished off his waffle. “Ava pushed her Cobb salad around her plate for twenty minutes before she called it a night. She told me to call her when I could deliver what I’d promised. She left the diner before I paid the bill and hailed a cab. I stood on the curb. Saw taillights.”

Beth’s stomach cramped. She’d forgotten to make the dinner reservation and shouldered the blame. It was heavy. “I can fix this,” she rushed to say. “I’ll call Ava and explain the situation. Then schedule another date.” Ava had
wanted
him. She’d told Beth so on the phone. Yet because of his haircut and the diner, she’d desired him less. “I’ll reserve the best table at The Pier House. You have Wednesday night free, according to your calendar.”

Ry stretched his arms. Shook his head. “Pause that thought. I’m not certain I want a second date.”

“Of course you do.” Beth tried to convince him.

He gave her a long look. “Don’t assume, Beth.” His tone was tight. “Ava wasn’t my best date, but neither was she my worst.”

“Not your worst?” She found that hard to believe.

“It’s true,” he admitted. “I once dated a woman in Richmond who did a strip tease from my living room to my bedroom. Sasha left a trail of clothing, which Atlas took for new toys. He chewed the toes on her suede stilettos and gnawed the clasps off her garter belt. He tore the underwire from her bra. She never did find one of the removable cups.”