lights on the bushes and a little wooden sign that read
Santa, please stop here.
He climbed the steps and knocked twice just under the holly wreath on the door.
Dogs barked inside and he could hear Megan shushing them just before she opened the door. The sight of her damn near took his breath away. She wore a Christmas-red dress, the wraparound kind with a tie resting on her hip. Those strings made his fingers itch to untie the bow, to sweep aside the silky fabric and reveal the hot curves underneath. His gaze raked down her body, all the way to her bare feet, that tiny paw tattoo on her ankle tempting him all the more.
And he would have told her just how incredible she looked with her hair flowing loose to her shoulders except two dogs ran circles around his legs. He planted one hand on the door frame and gripped the terra-cotta pot with the catnip plant in the other. Some kind of Scottie mix in an elf sweater yapped at him while a border collie bolted out around the porch, then back inside.
“Sorry for the mayhem.” Megan rolled her eyes. “Piper and Cosmo just need a good run in the back yard before I go.”
“No problem.” He passed her the plant. “Catnip.”
“Thank you, how thoughtful. Truffles, Pixie and Scooter will have a blast with it.” Her smile was wide and genuine, her lips slicked with gloss. “Come on inside. Evie is asleep and Abigail should be here soon to watch her. Beth helps out, but since she’s with your friend Drew...I just want to keep any talk to a minimum.”
He swept off his Stetson as she stepped aside to let him in. He focused on learning more about her from her house to distract himself from the obvious urge to keep staring at her.
Her home was exactly how he would have imagined: warm and full of colors. A bright red sectional sofa held scattered throw pillows and three cats. Her end tables were actually wood-encased dog crates. A toy box overflowed in a corner.
And there were photos everywhere. Of her with Evie. Of them with the dogs. The cats too. Years of her life not just on the mantel but also in collages on the walls.
She held up the sprig of catnip. “I’m just going to water this.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sure enough, the refrigerator front was decorated in finger-painted turkeys and a cotton ball snowman. He noticed her recycling station tucked just inside the laundry room, with its neat stacks of bundled newspapers and rinsed milk jugs in labeled bins. “I should take lessons from you on recycling.”
“You should,” she said pertly.
Chuckling softly, he looked past all those precise labels, and saw a large crate with a familiar calico cat inside.
“Is that the same cat I brought to the shelter?” He pointed. “Tallulah? I thought she was staying in your office.”
“Tallulah came down with an upper respiratory infection, so I brought her home to keep a closer watch over her.” She turned off the water and set the plant on the counter. “I’ve been crating her to keep her separate from the other animals.”
He knelt beside the extra-large enclosure, wriggling his fingers through the wire. The kitty woke, arching her back into a long stretch. She was a damn cute little scrap. “Is she going to make it?”
“She’s doing much better now.” Megan leaned a hip against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him with curious eyes. “She’s on medication. I’ve been keeping her at home with me at night to make sure she’s eating and hydrated.”
As if on cue, Tallulah went to the double bowl and lapped up water.
Whit stood again, inhaling Megan’s cinnamon scent. “Do you often take animals home from work?”
“We all do. There are never enough foster homes, especially right now.”
“And I added to that burden by bringing in Tallulah. I’m sorry about that.”
“You’re a confusing man, Whit Daltry.” She studied him intently.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m not even close to
Santa, please stop here.
He climbed the steps and knocked twice just under the holly wreath on the door.
Dogs barked inside and he could hear Megan shushing them just before she opened the door. The sight of her damn near took his breath away. She wore a Christmas-red dress, the wraparound kind with a tie resting on her hip. Those strings made his fingers itch to untie the bow, to sweep aside the silky fabric and reveal the hot curves underneath. His gaze raked down her body, all the way to her bare feet, that tiny paw tattoo on her ankle tempting him all the more.
And he would have told her just how incredible she looked with her hair flowing loose to her shoulders except two dogs ran circles around his legs. He planted one hand on the door frame and gripped the terra-cotta pot with the catnip plant in the other. Some kind of Scottie mix in an elf sweater yapped at him while a border collie bolted out around the porch, then back inside.
“Sorry for the mayhem.” Megan rolled her eyes. “Piper and Cosmo just need a good run in the back yard before I go.”
“No problem.” He passed her the plant. “Catnip.”
“Thank you, how thoughtful. Truffles, Pixie and Scooter will have a blast with it.” Her smile was wide and genuine, her lips slicked with gloss. “Come on inside. Evie is asleep and Abigail should be here soon to watch her. Beth helps out, but since she’s with your friend Drew...I just want to keep any talk to a minimum.”
He swept off his Stetson as she stepped aside to let him in. He focused on learning more about her from her house to distract himself from the obvious urge to keep staring at her.
Her home was exactly how he would have imagined: warm and full of colors. A bright red sectional sofa held scattered throw pillows and three cats. Her end tables were actually wood-encased dog crates. A toy box overflowed in a corner.
And there were photos everywhere. Of her with Evie. Of them with the dogs. The cats too. Years of her life not just on the mantel but also in collages on the walls.
She held up the sprig of catnip. “I’m just going to water this.”
He followed her into the kitchen and sure enough, the refrigerator front was decorated in finger-painted turkeys and a cotton ball snowman. He noticed her recycling station tucked just inside the laundry room, with its neat stacks of bundled newspapers and rinsed milk jugs in labeled bins. “I should take lessons from you on recycling.”
“You should,” she said pertly.
Chuckling softly, he looked past all those precise labels, and saw a large crate with a familiar calico cat inside.
“Is that the same cat I brought to the shelter?” He pointed. “Tallulah? I thought she was staying in your office.”
“Tallulah came down with an upper respiratory infection, so I brought her home to keep a closer watch over her.” She turned off the water and set the plant on the counter. “I’ve been crating her to keep her separate from the other animals.”
He knelt beside the extra-large enclosure, wriggling his fingers through the wire. The kitty woke, arching her back into a long stretch. She was a damn cute little scrap. “Is she going to make it?”
“She’s doing much better now.” Megan leaned a hip against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him with curious eyes. “She’s on medication. I’ve been keeping her at home with me at night to make sure she’s eating and hydrated.”
As if on cue, Tallulah went to the double bowl and lapped up water.
Whit stood again, inhaling Megan’s cinnamon scent. “Do you often take animals home from work?”
“We all do. There are never enough foster homes, especially right now.”
“And I added to that burden by bringing in Tallulah. I’m sorry about that.”
“You’re a confusing man, Whit Daltry.” She studied him intently.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m not even close to
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