Under the Covers (29 page)

"But he's friendly, and he needs us."

"He don't got much hair."

"Then he won't shed all over the furniture."

Lizzie patted his stout back. "He gots a smashed-in face."

"That just makes him more lovable."

"Can we takes him by to see Butterball?"

Hunter cranked the engine and veered from the parking lot. "I guess so. Let's see if Abby's home."

The dog dropped down on his belly, spread out all fours, and began to snore. Lizzie folded her arms cross her chest, gave him another skeptical look, and sighed. Hunter just hadn't been able to bring himself to buy a sissy dog. After all, a man's dog should reflect something about his personality.

Another sound rippled through the air, and Lizzie squealed. "Eww, Daddy, he farted."

Well, maybe not
everything
about a man's character. Hunter rolled down his window. "He's a guy dog," he said, as if that explained everything.

Lizzie pinched her nose and scooted the dog off her lap, her fingers extended as if she'd just touched a sack of garbage. The puppy crawled between Hunter and Lizzie and stuck his nose into Hunter's crotch. Hunter squirmed and pushed the dog from his sniffing venture. The puppy collapsed between them with a sigh and let another one rip.

Lizzie giggled. "Gross!"

The dog responded with a loud snore.

A car horn blared and Hunter jerked his mind back to the road. Bright sunshine nearly blinded him as he wove along the azalea-lined drive to Abby's house. Flowers decorated the suburban neighborhood like brightly colored balloons, dotting the lawns with a hominess missing from his apartment complex.

He needed to buy a house, even if it was a small one, so when Lizzie came to visit, she felt more at home. Where the dog could have a place to run and roam. But how he could finance it?

"Daddy, why's the police at Dr. Abby's?"

He spotted the squad car and grimaced.
Good question.

Had something happened to Abby, or were they here about her husband?

* * *

"Will you let us know if you hear from him?" Barringer asked as Abby escorted the officer to the door.

"Yes." Humiliation stung her face at the woman's suspicious glare. It was bad enough that she'd had to admit that her husband had left her and charged up her credit cards, but to admit she'd paid someone else to pretend to be him had stolen the last vestiges of her dignity.

The policewoman had grilled her like an FBI interrogator, certain Abby had been involved in the resort scam. Apparently Lenny's name had been tied to a joint account with Tony Milano, so they'd figured out the connection.

"Take care, Dr. Jensen," Suarez said in a sympathetic tone. "Oh—" he leaned forward—"and tell Victoria hi for me."

"I will, and thanks." As the police walked down the driveway she sighed in relief, but her stomach hit the floor when Harry's Explorer coasted by her house. Obviously having spotted the police, he rolled down the street as if he didn't know whether to stop or flee. He probably didn't want anything to do with her troubles.

The sun baked her as she watched the police pull away. Harry returned within seconds, climbed out, and strode toward her, his daughter holding Angelica and dragging some ugly mutt behind her, her big floppy T-shirt and pink sandals flapping.

"Come on, Snarts," Lizzie cajoled. "We gots to go see Butterballs."

Harry's dark gaze met hers. "I hope you don't mind that we stopped by."

The mangy mutt stopped to sniff and trample the flower bed Abby had diligently planted by the mailbox. Harry reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "Is everything all right, Abby?"

No,
she wanted to scream.
Nothing is right. First the tabloid, then the police.

But his concern touched her, and Lizzie and her dog bounded toward them, so she bit back a harsh retort. "Everything's fine."

His expression made his disbelief evident, but she ignored it. Instead, she dropped down to a squatting position to speak to Lizzie. "Hey, sweetie." She slowly reached out so the animal could sniff her hand. "Who's your new friend?"

"He's my dog," Lizzie said with a huff, as if Abby wouldn't recognize him as such. "They didn't got no Butterballs. And Daddy said we should give this guy a home 'cause he's homely."

"Homeless," Harry corrected gently.

"He says he's a real man's dog."

Abby lifted a brow and stared at Harry, watching him squirm.

"He says dogs 'sposed to detect what a man's like." As if on cue, the dog flopped down on his fat stomach and whined.

"I said a dog is supposed to
reflect
what a man's like," Harry said tightly.

"So are you going to flop down on your belly and whine?" Abby asked.

Lizzie giggled. "Yeah, Daddy, do it."

Harry's direct gaze promised retribution to Abby later. "I don't think so."

Abby stroked the dog's nearly hairless back. "What's his name?"

"Snarts."

"Why did you call him that?"

" 'Cause he snores and—"

"Lizzie, I don't think Ms. Abby wants to know."

Abby grinned.

Lizzie blew a gust of air, sending her bangs fluttering. "Can he play with Butterballs?"

Abby nodded and gestured for them to follow her, but the dog bounded off and ran through the house. Suddenly the sound of crashing glass rent the air. Lizzie raced after the dog, Hunter and Abby on her heels. When Abby found them in the kitchen, Lizzie was staring wide-eyed at one of Abby's teapots on the floor.

"He broked it," Lizzie cried, horror-struck.

"It's okay, Lizzie," Abby said, hating the fear in the little girl's eyes.

Hunter consoled Lizzie, searching Abby's face. They knelt at the same time to clean up the glass before Lizzie cut herself. "We'll replace it," he said. Snarts disappeared under the table, his head ducked, his paw over his head.

"No, it's all right. The teapot wasn't expensive."

"I'm sorry," Lizzie cried again. "Don't hates me and Snarts, Ms. Abby."

"Her mother is pretty particular about her fancy things," Hunter explained in a low voice.

Abby's breath caught in her chest. She dropped the glass in the trash, then brushed Lizzie's bangs back and hugged her. "Honey, don't worry. I don't hate you or your doggie. It's just broken glass. I can buy another teapot."

Hunter gestured toward the collection on the shelf. "They must be special to you."

"Yes, but they're not expensive." Abby grabbed a tissue to dry Lizzie's eyes. "I collect them because my grandmother and I played tea party when I was small."

Lizzie's eyes widened. "Can we play tea party sometimes?"

"Sure."

"Right now, put Snarts out and let him walk, though," Hunter advised.

Lizzie plucked out a pair of sunglasses and settled them on the bridge of her nose. Abby frowned. Bright orange sunglasses with rhinestones. Wasn't that cross-dresser wearing a pair just like those at the bookstore? "Where did you get those, Lizzie?"

"I don't 'member," Lizzie said. "But aren't they cool?"

"They're a dime a dozen at the QT," Hunter said. "Now take Snarts outside, Lizzie."

Lizzie bounded out, and Abby grabbed the tabloid and used it as a dustpan.

His gaze fell to the headline. "You saw the paper?"

Abby hesitated, then scooped the glass on top. "Yes."

"I'm sorry, Abby." He placed a hand over hers. "I don't like the ugly things that tabloid guy implied."

Abby shrugged. "Neither do I. And I'm sorry they involved you and Lizzie."

His expression looked pained for a second.

"I'd really like to forget about it," Abby said.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Most people don't pay any attention to the junk the tabloids print anyway." They finished cleaning up the glass, then stood in awkward silence.

"So what are you and Lizzie up to today?"

"We planned to grab a picnic and take it to the park." His eyes searched her face. "Would you like to go?"

Abby hesitated, then smiled. "Sure, that sounds great." Finally, something normal to do for a day. Maybe a picnic would distract him from wondering why the police had been at her door.

* * *

"Daddy, did you gets the condoms?" Lizzie asked.

Hunter nearly tripped over a tree root on the way to the picnic site. He'd barely had time to recover from panic over the sunglasses, and now this.

Abby halted, clutching the blanket to her chest. "The what, Harry?"

"The ketchup and mustard," Lizzie said.

"Those are called condiments," Hunter clarified. "And yes, I got them."

Lizzie plopped down on the ground, Indian-style. "Mom gots other condoms. Not like mustard and ketchup. They looks like balloons."

Hunter and Abby exchanged raised brows. "Did she show these to you?" Hunter tried not to react as he helped Abby spread the blanket, yet his heart danced in his chest.

"No, I founded 'em and filled 'em with water." Lizzie tossed a stone into the creek and watched it splash. "But Mommy gots mad and said little girls aren't s'posed to play with them."

One thing he and Shelly agreed on. "Mom's right about that," Hunter said, catching the gleam in Abby's eyes. "Did she tell you what they were for?"

Lizzie tossed the stone and watched it ping off the tree. "No. She said we'd talks about it when I gets bigger."

A good plan,
Hunter decided. He was grateful when the dogs dove toward the food and so did he and Abby, ending the discussion.

Two hours later Hunter stretched out on the blanket, exhausted from romping with Lizzie on the playground and coaching Snarts to get some exercise. It had been an incredible afternoon. Abby had been adorable, totally at ease goofing around with the dogs and Lizzie.

He'd had to reel his mind in from wandering down the wrong path. From thinking about what life with Abby and Lizzie and another child might be like. Snarts collapsed on the ground beside them, living up to his name as he sawed logs. Abby's puppy lay curled into a ball at her feet like a dainty lady waiting on a pedicure.

Abby plucked a strawberry from the container and popped it into her mouth. Lizzie lay on her stomach watching a caterpillar forage through the grass near the sandbox a few feet away.

"Abby, thanks for not yelling at Lizzie and the dog about the teapot." He snatched a strawberry for himself. "I'd like to buy you one to replace it."

"Harry, Lizzie's feelings are more important to me than some glass object. What kind of a person do you think I am?"

Harry studied her, his first impression totally dispelled. "I think you're pretty special."

"Thanks, Harry," Abby said softly. "This has been the nicest day I've had in a long time."

Hunter folded his hands behind his head and leaned back against the trunk of an oak tree, enjoying the shade. And the scenery. And the silky, satiny voice that belonged to Abby. "So the famous sex therapist doesn't mind a touch of normal life?"

"Normal life would be a welcome change." Her mouth closed around the strawberry, the red juice spilling down her lips. He swore silently, wishing he could lick off the juice and taste the sweetness of her mouth.

"Why were the cops at your house earlier?"

Abby hesitated, then picked at the fruit bowl. "They're looking for Lenny."

"I thought he was in Brazil."

"I don't know where he is," she admitted quietly.

"You want to tell me what he did to you, Abby?"

A canyon of silence yawned between them. She looked so vulnerable and lost and troubled, he couldn't resist covering her hand with his. "I'd like to help if I can." And this time he meant it.

"Thanks, Harry." Abby laced her fingers with his. "But I can't talk about it."

He scooted closer and brushed her hair back with his fingers. "I'm a good listener."

She met his gaze then, her eyes filled with sadness. "I appreciate that. After Lenny, and then that awful Hunter Stone, and now that tabloid guy who trashed me in the papers, I didn't think there were any decent men left."

She raised a hand and placed it on his jaw. "Thank God every man isn't like that. It's nice to be with someone who's honest."

Oh, God.
If she only knew.

"Someone I can be myself with, someone who's not trying to get something from me. Someone I can talk to." She curled her feet beneath her, squeezed his hand, and brushed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He swallowed.

"I know exactly what I want to say when I do Monday's interview."

"What's the topic?" he asked, emotion thickening his voice.

"What women want." The fading sunlight dappled rays of gold and red across her face. He ached to wipe the sadness from her eyes with a night of lovemaking. To erase all her problems. To wipe his own slate clean so she would never know his deception.

He would make it up to her when he wrote the final piece.

"What do women want?" he finally asked.

She traced a short fingernail up his shirt, making his nipple tighten. "They want love and romance and passion. They want friendly foreplay."

"Friendly foreplay?"

"Yes, being friends is important in maintaining a long-term relationship." Abby sighed and pressed her hand against his heart.

"Hmm, I never thought about it like that. What else do women want, Abby?"

She snuggled into his arms. "They want a nice man like you, Harry. Someone romantic."

Shelly hadn't thought so. But he could be romantic; Abby seemed to bring out that side in him. "What else?"

Her voice grew soft. "They want someone they can trust."

Chapter 20