Shelter Me (14 page)

Hell, he didn’t know except he liked it. He liked Lacey. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it for now, if ever.

She opened the back of the Suburban, huffing a hank of hair off her forehead. “Thanks again. You can tuck him in the crate in back. I’ll put the cone on him once we get home. He seems out for the count again now.”

“Any complications, give me a call.” He eased the sleeping dog inside, the weight of the woozy mutt weighing heavy on his conscience as well as his arms. Trooper was a living, breathing reminder of the man who should be here helping her. A man she’d married and loved for over two decades. A dead hero.

Jonesing over a fallen soldier’s wife felt . . . low. Ray closed and locked the crate. Hell, his father the politician would have a coronary at the possibility of his son making a move on a war widow who’d lost her husband so recently. He never had figured out if his dad’s code of ethics was born of honor or ambition.

Regardless, Ray had spent his elementary school years with his dad serving on the county council, encouraged to keep a low profile and pose for the campaign posters. Ray had flinched like hell over those haircuts and ground his teeth sitting through debates and fund-raisers. He wanted to be outside, or at least in his own clothes. By Ray’s teen years, his dad was a U.S. senator and his mom pretended she still loved him, posing for those campaign photos in spite of the fact she had a weakness for pool boys.

For college then work, Ray had moved five states away and only had to make cursory appearances during the final days of an election cycle. But his father’s code still tugged at him, especially when it came to Lacey, the best woman he’d ever met.

Then when her husband died—hell, he felt even worse, as if he’d somehow wished bad karma on the man. In fact, he had—to a degree—but more along the lines of wondering when Lacey would realize she deserved to have someone in her life take her welfare into account. She was so busy giving and caring for others. Who the hell took care of her?

He was so screwed. Not for the first time, he thought about the offer from a clinic out west, a college buddy who’d been lobbying to bring him on board. Practically speaking, the offer was enticing.

Yet, here he was. Still.

Ray slammed closed the back hatch of her SUV, his eyes drawn to her as she walked to the front. How the hell did she make a concert tee, jeans and red heels seem more high class than most of the women who frequented his dad’s fund-raisers? Lacey’s sloppy updo looked like the sort of thing his mother’s friends paid big bucks for.

“Doc!” Ghita shouted as she half jogged out a side entrance with a bag of meds in her hand into the near empty parking lot. “I’ve got Mrs. McDaniel’s meds.”

Lacey stopped halfway in the vehicle. “I can’t believe I almost drove off without them.” She sprinted toward the vet tech with her hand outstretched for the bag. “Thank you, thank you.”

Ghita rambled through all the medicating instructions—antibiotics for the puppies, plus pain meds and antibiotics for Trooper—even though Lacey had been through the drill more times than he could remember. Ghita had been around this place since it opened over twenty years ago. There were days he could swear she knew more than he did.

Lacey gave her a quick hug before bolting back into her vehicle. She shot an arm out the window to wave on her way out of the near empty parking lot, only employee cars left. Her bumper was covered in stickers, ranging from animal rescue logos to a simple gold star. A reminder that they belonged to the Gold Star Family network of people who’d lost a soldier in battle. A kick in the gut to him right now.

All those stickers and magnets on her SUV faded into rush-hour traffic, mostly cars leaving the nearby Army post. Ray stuffed his hands in his lab coat to keep from doing something dumb-ass like waving back—waving her toward him.

He felt the weight of eyes on him, turned and found—“What, Ghita? Did we forget something?”

And what a sap he was for hoping they had so he would have an excuse to take it to her later.

The senior vet tech looked at him with eyes far too perceptive. “You gonna ask Lacey McDaniel out?”

Shit. He was that transparent? He scratched along the back of his neck just under his hair that, yes, was too long, but he was past the days of mandatory parental buzz cuts. “What makes you think I want to ask her out?”

“I’m psychic.”

“Really?”

“No. I just have eyes.”

He scrambled for something to say along the lines of a polite way to tell her to mind her own business . . . unless she had a suggestion. “What’s so obvious you feel the need to initiate this awkward little conversation?”

“Relax. Nobody else would notice, except maybe Maisie, but she’ll just crush on someone else next week.” She sat on the back bumper of her truck, the kind with fat tires for farm work and four-wheeling. “I’m just older, wiser and less self-absorbed than most of the rest of the folks around here.”

“You’re also nosier.”

“But I don’t gossip.”

True. Still . . . “I think it’s time to end this conversation.”

He started toward the clinic. Maybe he would give his friend at that clinic out west a call after all, just to explore his options.

“Does that mean you’re
never
going to ask her out even though your eyes damn near catch her on fire when you look at her?”

Her words stopped him short. He turned on his boot heels and faced her again. “She just lost her husband, Ghita. Maybe you recall accompanying the rest of us when we lined the streets holding flags when they brought his body back for the funeral.”

The man was a hero. No question. His ghost loomed large.

“Allen McDaniel was a good soldier and he made the ultimate sacrifice for our country. That’s beyond tragic and unfair.” She paused, waiting until he moved a step closer. “But the Colonel was gone for a very long time again and again before he died.”

Which didn’t make him feel one damn bit better. Just so very sad for her. He dropped down to sit on the bumper beside Ghita. “Then Lacey has all the more reason to grieve, given there’s more crap to sort through.”

“Ah, so you
do
want to ask her out?”

He studied the steel tips of his boots. “You knew that before we started this conversation. But like I said. Now’s not a good time.”

Leaning back against the tailgate, she crossed her arms over her chest, exposing the fertile family tree tat on her upper arm. “When is the right time to hit on a widow?”

Now that was one helluva good question. “If I were to go out with Lacey McDaniel, I wouldn’t want to be her rebound guy. I’m not gonna be the fling to move past her grief before she gets on with really living.”

Ghita patted his arm slowly, with that mom sort of way he vaguely remembered from his own mother. “So you’ve got more than the hots for her. You’ve got
feelings
for her.”

“Ghita.” He avoided her green eyes that held a little too much pity for his comfort level. “Why is this so important for us to talk about?”

“Because it’s not often a guy comes along who sees past a woman’s age and whether or not she’s got a tiny little ass from starving herself into clothes that could fit an eight-year-old.” She nodded toward Maisie prancing across the far end of the parking lot to a Mustang given to her by Daddy on her twenty-first birthday. Ghita looked away, back at Ray with a grimacing smile. “I’m rootin’ for you.”

“That’s not exactly a hopeful look on your face.”

“Because I’m worried about you, too, boss man.”

“Why’s that?” He clapped a hand on his chest. “I’m not exactly Quasimodo.”

“Quasi-what?”

“
Hunchback of Notre Dame
,” he said offhandedly. “Why are you worried? You’ve all but said I’m a good guy that a woman would appreciate.”

“Because just like you said, she’s a widow with a whole lot of baggage. And even if she gets past that, women don’t usually give younger men the time of day, not in a serious way.” She held up both hands. “No offense, but younger men are too immature.”

Her words sounded too logical. “That’s a double standard, you know.”

“No, sir.” She patted his arm once more as she stood. “That’s life.”

And either way it turned out, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it yet. Which put him in a holding pattern with a not-so-optimistic outcome. Waiting for time to pass until it would be “long enough” for him to make a move on Lacey McDaniel and pray like hell she was into younger guys.

Because while he might be confused about the timeline, he knew his feelings for her were one hundred percent clear. He wouldn’t be making any phone calls to the clinic out west. Not today.

*   *   *

SIERRA LEANED AGAINST
the wall inside the barn, by the stairs leading up to the converted loft apartment—Mike’s apartment.

Wind blew through the open doors on either end of the barn, kennel runs open as well for the dogs to stretch their legs in the play yard before sunset. A couple of cats lounged in the rafters, and another sprawled on her mother’s desk in her empty office. Lacey had taken the puppies to the house to feed and medicate while Mike moved in.

So far Mike and his buddy Calvin had carried in four boxes marked clothes, gear, kitchen and sports. Wrangling the mattress and leather recliner had come with ear-blistering curses only topped by the one currently floating down the stairwell as they wedged the wide-screen plasma television up, one step at a time.

She cradled an old tabby cat named Tom in her arms, a senior that had found its way into her softhearted mom’s car on a trip to the shelter two months ago. Trooper stared at her from a crate, his eyelids at drunken half-mast, big plastic cone of shame in place. His eyes tracked all the movement as if half registering through his drugged-up haze. She’d put him there for safekeeping while Mike unloaded his stuff, then they’d decided the dog would do better staying with him. The last thing they needed was Trooper deciding to roughhouse with the other dogs—or make another escape attempt—while he was recovering.

Then it hit her—again. This was really happening. Mike was moving in. He was home and back in her life because of the drunken sailor of a dog across the barn. Her dad’s dog.

What a mess.

Mike’s buddy Calvin jogged down the stairs. “We’re almost done. Easiest pony keg of beer I ever earned. Mike has virtually no crap, ya know.” Calvin unrolled the sleeves on his pin-striped button down. “Nice reno job up there.”

“Thanks.” She struggled not to wince. Mary Hannah had gone with her to pick the color samples, then took a whole weekend helping her paint the space. She’d chosen the soothing mellow greens and tans to create a
Secret Garden
effect.

Calvin looked around the barn from one open end to the other that offered a clearer view of the play yard. “Friend of mine’s live-in love says they wanna get a puppy. I told her about this place.”

“Thanks, my mom will appreciate it.”

“Well, I gotta get the last box of shit—uh, stuff out of the truck. Sorry about the language. Takes a while to ditch deployment habits. In more ways than one.” Calvin knelt by the crate and reached through the wire to scratch Trooper’s haunches. “This fella brought us a lot of happy hours playing fetch and Frisbee. He gave us a chance to forget about where we were and pretend things were normal for a while.”

She hadn’t thought about how much Trooper meant to the others. To Mike. “I can tell Trooper knows and trusts you. Mom said he snarled at the vet today.”

“That’s strange. He never did that over there, not after the first month of socializing him. He only growled when . . .” He swallowed hard. “He only growled to alert us if the enemy was close.”

“Sounds like Trooper picked his friends and stood by them.”

“Friends are important.” He gave Trooper a final scratch before standing. “Mike cares about you and your family enough to risk his career bringing this dog to you. I just thought you should know.”

He shrugged and left before she could answer, sidestepping a pair of dachshunds trotting in from the play yard. Tom the cat jumped from her arms and bounded away into her mom’s office.

Mike’s career at risk? She’d known he was bending rules, but had he understated the risk? He was doing so much for her family in honor of her dad’s memory.

She eyed the steps again. She’d thought a million times about climbing up them, moving in and settling her stuff. There was a moment she’d even considered moving in with Mike. She’d even thought for a while they might have something special—

Trooper barked once, a half-strangled effort of a drugged-up dog. Her heart squeezed. Concerned, she dropped to her knees on the soft earthen floor in front of the crate, opened the door and looked into his eyes. She ran her hands along his back. She didn’t have her mother’s instincts or skills with animals, but she’d picked up more than the average amount of animal knowledge just living with her. She reached inside to scratch his ears just as footsteps thundered down the stairs.

Ahhh . . . That was why Trooper had barked. His attachment to Mike. She didn’t even have to look to recognize the sound of his walk, and wasn’t that messed up?

He knelt on one knee beside her. “Is Trooper okay?”

“Probably just wanted some attention.” If she leaned even a hint to the left, she could rest her head on Mike’s broad shoulder.

“Fair enough. Tough day for the big guy.” He scrubbed a hand over the dog’s head, flopping both ears back and forth before his hand settled on top of Sierra’s. He squeezed once.

She was tempted to hold tight and pull him to her for another kiss that would lead to more. And God, she wanted more. But not the hurt afterward . . .

Sierra squeezed his hand back but had to slip free. Better for thinking clearly. “I believe we need to set some house rules now that you’ve moved in.”

“Rules?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not so good at those.”

“Well, it’s time to learn.” She sat back on the ground, hugging her knees to put space between them while she talked. “About that kiss.”

He leaned an elbow on top of the crate. “Please don’t be cliché and say it can’t happen again.”