* * *
By the time he walked through the door of Molly’s Diner for breakfast, Mike had almost put his conversation with Barry out of his mind. He and Lacey Lovejoy had
nothing
in common.
The thought was reinforced when he spied her sitting at the counter, chatting with the bald cook, Clancey. Indeed, the woman was hard to miss, since she resembled a parrot with a perm. Inexplicably rankled, he took a seat at the opposite end and buried his face in a menu. But even from here, he could hear her tinkling laugh as she and the man discussed the similarities between, of all things, men and dogs. From the cook’s conversation, he was obviously gay, and the two were having a grand time one-upping each other with their jokes, prompting supportive comments from other customers sitting nearby, mostly single women.
“He’ll do anything for a treat,” Lacey said.
“He’ll bury his bone anywhere,” Clancey interjected, to uproarious laughter.
“He barks when another dog comes into his yard.”
“He’s loyal when you’re around, but roams when you’re gone.”
“He sniffs all your friends,” Lacey added, eliciting a burst of applause.
Mike frowned, not amused at the woman’s sense of humor. He glanced at his watch. Besides, didn’t she have a business to run? Maybe she wasn’t as much in demand as she was purported to be. Maybe she was all smoke and mirrors. Thankfully, the volley ended when Clancey returned to the grill, allowing Mike to peruse the blue plate special in relative peace.
“Good morning.”
He looked up to see Lacey standing there, in living Technicolor—a flowing turquoise skirt, a yellow peasant blouse, a flowered scarf that did little to contain her riotous curls. Her face, he realized with a start, was actually quite beautiful, once a person got past all that hair. Her cheekbones were high and chiseled, her nose fine and flaring, her mouth a pink bow. And her eyes were the strangest color of pale green, almost ethereal—probably contacts, he mused, to foster the perception she was “mystical.”
“Hello,” he said coolly.
“I was just wondering how Sheridan is feeling.”
“He seems better,” Mike lied.
“That’s good,” she said cheerfully. “The fresh air up here is good for every living thing, don’t you think?”
He grunted.
“See you around,” she said, then left on a breeze of some citrusy scent that tickled his nostrils.
He rubbed his nose and watched her leave, collecting people as she went along, who apparently wanted to talk about their pets. Outside, a dozen or so dogs of all shapes and sizes were tied up along a railing, food and water within easy reach. When she walked out, tails wagged and ears perked and they all began to bark in a canine symphony. Lacey stopped to pat and coo to each one, moving down the line like a celebrity receiving her fans.
Mike pushed his tongue into his cheek. It was as if she was the Pied Piper of Pooches.
When she stepped into the sun, brilliant rays of light glanced off her white-blond curls, setting them afire. For a moment, she did look a little magical, he conceded. Then his mouth went dry. Because starkly silhouetted against the voluminous clothes she wore was a surprisingly willowy, womanly figure.
Lacey Lovejoy had secrets, all right. She was hiding a hot little body under all that useless fabric.
She bent over, tilting a pretty spectacular behind into the air. His body responded to the way she moved, and erotic images popped into his head. An Irish setter was licking her smiling face, and Mike was struck with the most absurd pang of…
jealousy
?
The sound of a man clearing his throat brought his head around. Clancey, the cook, was standing there, staring at him pointedly. “See something you like?”
Mike realized with a start that his mouth was open and his tongue was practically hanging out. He straightened and closed the menu. “Blue plate special.”
“Coming right up.” The beefy bald man gave him the once-over, then sauntered back to the grill.
Mike frowned at the man’s back, then chanced another glance out the window. A sun-bathed, shimmering Lacey was walking away, and all the dogs at the railing were straining against their leashes to follow her.
Mike felt the pull of her on his own body…and acknowledged, with a disturbing twinge, that he was no better than the other hounds. He dragged his gaze away from her and murmured, “Down, boy.”
Chapter Four
Lacey eyed the twelve-foot stepladder with trepidation. The spotlight overhead had burned out and needed to be changed, but the landlord wouldn’t be able to get to it until tomorrow. And she had a fear of heights that left her shaky even on mall escalators.
But without the light, her grooming area was too dark for her comfort level when dealing with shears and clippers. Besides, the ladder felt sturdy and this seemed as good a time as any to overcome her phobia. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the bottom rung. Slowly she inched her way up the ladder, giving herself a pep talk throughout, and coaching herself not to look down. When she reached the top, she felt good.
For two seconds.
Then she wobbled and vertigo clutched her stomach. She gasped and the lightbulb she held slipped out of her hand, hitting the floor in a splintering spray of fragile glass. Lacey gripped the ladder until her knuckles turned white. She made the mistake of looking down at the pile of sparkling shards and froze, unable to go back down.
She hadn’t thought to bring her cell phone up the ladder with her…not that she could let go long enough to actually use it if she had.
The grooming room was adjacent to the front room, out of the line of sight of the storefront windows, so she wouldn’t be able to get the attention of a passerby.
And she didn’t have an appointment for another hour…although the thought of someone having to climb up the ladder to rescue her was more than a little embarrassing.
* * *
Her sweaty hands slid on the metal sides of the ladder, and her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing. She took deep breaths, willing her pulse to slow, but her knees felt weak. She squeezed her eyes closed and wondered how much longer she could stand there. An hour stretched ahead like an eternity.
At the sound of the bell chiming on the front door, her heart leaped with relief.
“Hello?” she called.
“Hello?” a male voice returned.
“I’m in the back,” she said, hoping it was her landlord. “I need a hand.”
But when she saw a black Labrador come around the corner carrying a pink stuffed bone in its mouth, a hot flush started at her knees and worked its way up.
Please, no.
Sure enough, at the other end of the leash, Mike Nichols appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders taking up much of the space. He looked up. “Hello.”
She used the tip of her tongue to whisk away the perspiration on her upper lip. “Hi, there. Keep Sheridan back—I dropped a lightbulb.”
“Sheridan, stay,” he said, then walked forward. “Where’s your broom?”
“You don’t have to—”
“In here?” he asked, pointing to a closet.
She supposed it did make sense to clean up the glass before she climbed—or fell—down. “Yes.”
He opened the closet and emerged with a broom and dustpan. Lacey hung on to the ladder for dear life, chancing a glance down occasionally as he cleaned up the pieces of glass. She had a bird’s-eye view of his broad shoulders and back as he moved with the easy agility of a man who had full command of his body.
And what a body it was. His Army-green T-shirt molded to his well-built torso like an old friend, while his worn jeans encased long, muscular legs. Lacey’s sweat glands kicked into overdrive.
After he dumped the last dustpan of debris into a waste can inside the closet, he announced, “Done. I assume you need another bulb?”
“Yes,” she managed to say. “From the box on the shelf.”
She heard rather than saw him retrieve the bulb and walk to stand beneath the ladder. When she glanced down, he was holding the bulb up to her. He was so tall and she was so short, all she had to do was let go and reach for it…yet she couldn’t. Her stomach swayed again, mostly at the thought of toppling headfirst and embarrassing herself—more—in front of this man. She leaned into the ladder and clung to it.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I…uh…I’m kind of…stuck.” It was easier to talk now because she wasn’t looking at him.
“Stuck?”
She tried to laugh, but the noise came out sounding a little strangled. “I’ve always had a problem with heights.”
“And you thought today would be different?”
His sarcasm rankled her. “I don’t like asking for help.”
“That’s silly—I’m right here.”
She bit down on her tongue. “Okay…will you please help me get down from here?”
“Sure. Give me your hand.”
Lacey sank farther into the ladder, her forehead pressing against the rung above her, her pride gone. “I’m afraid to let go.” She expected him to laugh, but he was quiet for a couple of heartbeats.
“Then I’ll come get you.”
She tensed when she felt the ladder flex under his added weight, and held her breath as he climbed up behind her. Her face flamed when she realized he was getting an up close and personal look at her backside. His big body slid behind hers like a warm wall. She felt utterly contained and safe…except for the fact that her heart was jogging in her chest like a runaway puppy.
His arm circled her waist. “You can let go,” he murmured in her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Nothing about this situation was remotely sexy…so why did his logical words and helpful touch elicit such inappropriate responses? Her breath was trapped in her lungs, her midsection pinged with awareness and long-neglected erogenous zones sang a tune.
“Relax,” he urged.
Her eyes fluttered closed. How pathetic was it that this was the closest thing to an intimate encounter she’d had in…too long? Slowly, she loosened her death grip on the sides of the ladder.
“That’s it. Let go.”
She did, and he made a little noise of approval in his throat.
“Okay, let’s go back down together.”
He waited for her to make the first move, then they descended in tandem. A moan lodged in her throat as their bodies slid against each other, hill to valley. Her skin caught fire every time and every place they touched. By the time her feet reached terra firma, she felt positively scorched from their encounter. He stepped away and turned her around for an inspection that did little to calm her pounding pulse.
“You okay?” he asked, searching her face. It gave her a good excuse to study his features, too. Mike Nichols was a striking man, with smooth, tanned skin, a strong nose and jaw, and deep blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes and brows. Very…appealing.
Even though Lacey’s knees were weak, she nodded. “Thank you.”
His unexpected smile was a jolt to her system. “You’re welcome. Want me to change the bulb?”
Her shoulders dropped in relief. “Yes, please.”
He picked up the replacement bulb and climbed the ladder as if it was a step stool, then screwed the bulb into the fixture. She took advantage of the moment to drink in the full impact of his big, athletic body. For him to perform such a simple task seemed like a waste of his abilities. It was easy to picture him in battle, or in a crisis. The man was built for action.
He descended the ladder, then scanned the ceiling. “Do you have any other bulbs that need to be replaced?”
Lacey blushed. “No. But thank you. I’m sure you didn’t drop by to do handyman work.”
“No,” he agreed amiably. “Not that I mind. But I came to make an appointment to have Sheridan groomed.”
She was surprised, since he’d made no secret he didn’t appreciate her input on his dog. “Just a haircut?” she supplied with a smile, using his words.
“And a bath if you think it’s necessary.”
She eyed his dog, still standing obediently near the door, holding the pink toy in his mouth. “Probably not. Labs don’t need to be bathed as often as other breeds—it dries out their skin.” She checked the clock on the wall. “I have time to groom him before my next appointment, if that works for you.”
“Good.” He looked at his dog. “Sheridan, come.”
The dog moved forward slowly, his head down and his eyes unfocused, dragging his leash behind him.
“Has Dr. Greenwood found anything wrong with him physically?” Lacey asked.
Mike’s mouth tightened. “Not yet.”
Realizing she was treading on touchy territory, she added, “I just want to make sure I don’t do something to inadvertently aggravate a situation. Is he on any medication?”
“Just standard tick and flea treatments.”
“Okay. Why don’t you come back in about forty-five minutes.”
He balked. “I’d rather stay and observe.”
Now it was her turn to balk. “I’m sorry—it’s my policy that the owner not be around when I’m working with their animal.”
Suspicion darkened his eyes. “Why?”
“I assure you I have nothing to hide,” she said, pushing down her irritation. “It’s just too distracting for the pet.” And in this case, too distracting for
her
.
“Sheridan isn’t a pet.”
“I understand, but this is the way I work.” She waited, sure he would take his dog and leave, but more sure she wasn’t going to back down…his excellent handyman services notwithstanding. “You can wait in the lobby if you like. I have better magazines than Dr. Greenwood.”
He didn’t smile, but he finally conceded with a nod. “Okay. I’ll be in the lobby if anything…if Sheridan needs me.”
Her heart pinched. The man was worried about his dog. “I’ll take good care of him and bring him out when I’m finished.”
With a look akin to a parent dropping off their child at day care for the first time, he retreated backward toward the lobby. Sheridan started to follow him, and not only did Mike not stop the dog, but he took a step toward it.
“Mike,” she said firmly.
He looked up, his eyes belligerent.
“
Out
.”
His mouth twitched, then he looked back to his dog. “Sheridan, stay.”
The dog whined, but obeyed. Lacey went to the animal to distract it before it could become distressed. With one last look at his dog, Mike disappeared around the corner.