Montana Homecoming. Jillian HartЧитать онлайн книгу.
in him. He had to know more, so he tried again. “What do you do for a living?”
“A little of this, a little of that.” She threaded the needle. “I think the couch cushion is totally salvageable, but what about that throw pillow?”
“Not a chance of saving it, and I’m the one asking the questions.” He swept up the pillow missing half its stuffing. He had more pressing matters, mainly the intrigue of Brooke McKaslin. “Where did you go to college?”
“I didn’t.”
Curious. He would have pegged her for an intellectual type with a degree in fine arts or maybe social work. She stayed away for most holidays or he would have spotted her at Gram’s long before this. “Why did you move so far from your family?”
“Uh…” She looked up from knotting her thread. Her long hair whipped as she glanced around the room. “Liam, where is Oscar?”
“Nice one, but you aren’t going to distract me. I’m on a mission—”
“No, really, where’s Oscar?” Concern tugged at her rosebud lips. “Where did he go?”
A crash rang from the kitchen, accompanied by the thud of something four-footed landing on the floor. A plate clattered to a ringing stop.
“Mystery solved,” Liam quipped. “He’s in the kitchen helping himself to our dinner.”
Chapter Four
“Amazing. The wrapping isn’t even stopping him.” Liam surveyed what remained of the defrosting pound of hamburger with disbelief etched on his face. “Worse, it didn’t even slow him down.”
“Oscar has a gift, that’s for sure.” Brooke laughed. “Oscar, give.”
Recognition sparked in chocolate-brown eyes. The dog obviously knew the word. His jowls stopped working. Big, sharp teeth clamped mutinously. With his big feet braced and every muscle tensed, he did not want to relinquish his prize.
“Oscar.” She willed a little authority into her voice. “Give.”
His eyes went down. His head went down. With one big swallow he gulped the rest of the meat before there was any hope of recovering it. All she saw was a flash from the wrapping paper before it disappeared behind his sharp teeth.
“I’m disappointed in you.” She let that show in her words, too.
Oscar swallowed one final time and whined in defeat, and his nose drooped to the floor as if he were disappointed in himself, too. Doggy brows arched in dismay.
A perfect picture of remorse.
“Just like with the ham.” Liam raked his fingers through his thick locks of hair. “He totally lost his head and lived to regret it.”
“We’ll have to work on his impulse control. And you.” She whirled at him, doing her best not to notice the concern for the dog on his face, the fact that he wasn’t angry, that he wasn’t quick to lash out at the dog. “You know he has food issues. You shouldn’t have left that meat out to tempt him.”
“Me? I’m in trouble?” He chuckled at that, thought about it, shook his head. “I probably deserve it. You’re right. I clearly need training.”
“Glad you can admit it. That’s the first step.” She shouldn’t be chuckling along with him. Just like she shouldn’t be noticing how handsome he was with his silk tie askew and loosened, with his striped dress shirt a little wrinkled and the top button undone. She shouldn’t be noticing the way the sunlight backlit him, glossing him like a statue. The most incredible statue she’d ever seen—sculpted masculine features, carved muscled physique and compassion towering over her.
Don’t gasp. Don’t stare. Don’t notice. She swallowed hard, trying to will her eyes to move away from him. Did they?
No. Did she want them to?
No. And wasn’t that the problem? Surely if she tried hard enough she could talk herself into it, right?
“I’ve got to get used to having you around, buddy.” He knelt to rub the dejected dog’s head. Poor Oscar was so unhappy with himself, he whined even harder. Worry creased his canine face. “We’ll figure it out, yes we will. I’m guessing you were awful hungry at least one time in your life, huh, buddy?”
“He probably was.” Brooke knelt, caught by the man’s sensitivity, impressed that he’d figured out what was driving Oscar’s behavior on a deeper level. “Everyone has things that motivate them or hold them back. Even dogs.”
“Are you telling me he’s always going to be a food thief?” Humor in those words, sympathy for Oscar in those deep eyes.
“It’s likely. He’ll get better, but it’s easier to train you not to leave food out.”
“Ah, that’s what you meant about the training me thing?”
“Sorry, Liam, but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. You are going to require a lot of training before you deserve this guy.” Laughing, seeking refuge in humor instead of her feelings, she brushed her fingertips across the soft fur of Oscar’s neck.
Relief squeaked through the dog’s tight-sounding throat. His tongue lashed out, swiping across her face one, two, three times so fast she could barely pull away as the fourth one hit her. Raw ground beef dog breath. She shook her head. All part of the job. “I say you should feed this guy. Don’t waste any time. Where’s his kibble?”
“Look around.” Liam swept his hand to the floor, where pieces of dried dog food were scattered over the entire span of the linoleum. It had been flung under the lip of the cabinets, tossed into the corners and tucked beneath the debris of what was once an organized kitchen.
“Oscar.” The pictures hadn’t told the full story. Everything had been knocked off the counters. Even the magnets from the refrigerator’s front panel. “You’re a nut. You know that?”
Oscar’s single bark reverberated through the kitchen, just short of deafening. He looked happy to be understood at last.
“What about us?” Liam tugged open the pantry door and unrolled the food bag. Oscar’s ears went up. His nose hiked into the air, sniffing. His tail thumped hard on the ground before he launched across the kitchen, nails clipping fast. Food rushed into a red plastic dog bowl. “You and I are going to have to eat something. We’ve got to keep up our strength if we’re going to keep up with Oscar.”
“Is he even chewing?”
“Nah. I think he’s inhaling it whole. Hope it all goes down all right without getting clogged. Do you know the Heimlich for dogs?”
“I do. The bowl’s already empty. Incredible.”
“Oscar’s got skills. Not necessarily good ones.” Liam rolled up the bag and hid it in the pantry, making sure the door was securely closed. “Maybe it would be good to get him out of the house. Say, go for a ride?”
“Woof!” Oscar danced at the word, big chocolate eyes sparkling with excitement. He raced to the back door so fast, his hind legs skidded out from under him. “Woof!”
“It’s too late to disappoint him now.” Liam pulled a ring of keys from his trouser pocket. “C’mon.”
“I’m in charge of this training session.” Really, she had to hold her ground. She had to keep control because something felt very, very off. Maybe it was the way laugher made his expressive eyes glitter. Or the rolling lilt of his chuckle, inviting and contagious and ending in a deep masculine rumble. Whatever it was, she had to remain unaffected. Remote. Steel.
“I’m not in charge, either,” Liam quipped, “so it’s only fair. Are you hungry?”
“You mean we’re going out to eat?”