Rumor Has It (An Animal Magnetism Novel) (26 page)

But that one hadn’t been her fault. The snake she’d been transporting had gotten loose and startled her, and she’d accidentally aligned her front bumper with the mailbox.

But today, this one—definitely her fault.

“Let me guess,” he said dryly when she sat there nibbling on her lip. “You don’t have insurance.”

“No, I do.” To prove it, she reached for her wallet, which she kept between the two front seats. Except, of course, it wasn’t there. “Hang on, I know I have it . . .” Twisting, she searched the floor, beneath the box of puppies and piglet, in the backseat . . .

And then she remembered.

In her hurry to pick up Mrs. Swanson’s animals on time, she’d left it in her office at the kennels. “Okay, this looks bad but I left my wallet at home.”

His expression was dialed into Resignation.

“I swear,” she said. “I really do have insurance. I just got the new certificate and I put it in my wallet to stick in my glove box, but I hadn’t gotten to that yet. I’ll give you my number and you can call me for the information.”

He gazed at her steadily. “You have a name?”

“Lilah.” She scrounged around for a piece of paper. Nothing, of course. But she did find five bucks and the earring she’d thought that Abigail had eaten, and a pen.

Still crouched at her side, the man held out his cell phone. Impossibly aware of how big he was, how very good looking, not to mention how he surrounded her still crouched at her side balanced easily on the balls of his feet, she entered her number into his phone. When it came to keying in her name, she nearly titled herself Dumbass of the Day.

“You fake-numbering me, Lilah?” he asked softly, still close, so very close.

“No.” This came out as a squeak so she cleared her throat. And, when he just looked at her, she added truthfully, “I only fake-number the jerk tourists inside Crystal’s, the ones who won’t take no for an answer.”

“Crystal’s?”

“The bar down the street. Listen, you might want to wait awhile before you call me. It’s going to take me at least an hour to get home.”
Carrying the mewling, wriggling babies
and
walking a duck.

He paused, utterly motionless in a way that she admired, since she’d never managed to sit still for longer than two minutes. Okay, thirty seconds, but who was counting. “What?” she asked.

“I’m just trying to figure out if you’re for real or if you’re a master bullshit specialist.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. “Well, I
can
be a master bullshit specialist,” she admitted. “But I’m not bullshitting you right now.”

He studied her face for another long moment, then nodded. “Fine, I’ll wait to call you. You going to ask my name?”

Her gaze ran over his very masculine features, then dropped traitorously to linger over his very fine body for a single beat. “I was really sort of hoping that I wasn’t going to need it.”

He laughed, the sound washing over her and making something low in her belly quiver again.

“Okay, yes,” she said. “I want to know your name.”

“Brady Miller.”

A flicker of something went through her, like the name should mean something to her, but discombobulated as she was, she couldn’t concentrate. “Well, Brady Miller, thanks for being patient with me.” She reached for Abigail’s leash, attaching it to the collar around the duck’s neck.

“Quack.”

“Shh.” Then she grabbed the box of babies. It was damn heavy, but she had her dignity to consider so she soldiered on, turning to get out of the Jeep, bumping right into Brady’s broad chest. “Excuse me.”

He straightened to his full height and backed up enough to let her out, helping her support the box with an ease that had her envying his muscles now instead of drooling over them.

Actually, that was a lie. She managed both the envying and the drooling. She was an excellent multitasker.

“You’re really going to walk?” he asked, rubbing his chin as he considered the box.

“Well, when I skip or run, Abigail’s leash gets tangled in my legs.”

“Smart-ass.” Brady peered at the two puppies and pot-bellied piglet. To his credit, he didn’t so much as blink. “They potty trained?”

“No.”

He grimaced. “How about the duck?”

“She’d say yes, but she’d be lying.”

He exhaled. “That’s what I was afraid of.” He took the box from her, the underside of his arms brushing the outside of hers.

He was warm. And smelled delicious. Like sexy man and something even better—breakfast wraps and coffee.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a ride.” He narrowed his eyes at the duck on the leash. “You,” he said, “behave.”

“Quack.”

Without another word, Brady strode to his truck and put the box inside.

Lilah looked down at Abigail. “You heard him,” she whispered, having no choice but to follow. “Behave.”