Heartbreakers: Treat Her Right / Mr November. Lori FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.
The woman laughed. It was a nice rich husky sound, much better than her screaming. “I’ll surely still be here.”
Zack looked out, feeling as if he’d landed in the twilight zone. Now that his daughter had drawn attention to them—and the neighbors knew they’d been watched—he couldn’t very well ignore them.
The man from the porch sauntered into the yard, smiling. Zack blinked with yet another surprise. Massive was the only word for him. Built like a large bulldog, he stood a few inches shorter than the woman, but was twice as thick and all muscle. He lifted an arm as stout as a tree trunk and waved.
“I’m Conan Lane,” he called out, “and this squawking shrew is Wynonna.”
To Zack’s amazement and Dani’s delight, the woman elbowed Conan hard, making him bend double and wheeze, then she corrected sweetly, “Call me Wynn.”
Seeing no hope for it, Zack shouted back, “Zack Grange, and my daughter, Dani.”
“Nice to meet you both!” And then to further exasperate him, Wynn said, “Since we’re all awake and it’s such a beautiful morning, I’ll bring over some coffee so we can get acquainted.”
Zack stammered, unsure how to deny that audacious imposition, but she’d already turned and hurried into her house, the enormous Conan following her. He frowned down at Dani, who shrugged, grinned, and said, “We better get dressed.” And off she dashed, her blanket dragging behind her.
Zack dropped to the side of his bed and scrubbed his hands over his face. He was badly in need of a shave and a long shower. At the moment he had no doubt his eyes were more red than blue. He’d worked twelve grueling hours last night, tended two especially trying emergencies, and he was starved as well as fatigued.
Luckily, this was his day off, which he’d intended to spend shopping with Dani. Because his daughter liked to play hard, and paid no mind at all to the knees of her jeans or the elbows of her shirts, she was desperately in need of new fall clothes.
He did not want to be bothered with outrageous neighbors.
Especially not neighbors who’d awakened him too early and were too damn large. And loud.
Shoving himself off the bed, he determined to get through the next few minutes with as much politeness and forbearance as he could muster.
The doorbell rang not three minutes later. He’d barely had time to pull on jeans and a sweatshirt. He picked up his running shoes, carrying them loosely in his hand. On his way to the door, he peeked in at Dani. She stood there in a T-shirt and blue-flowered panties, surveying her closet with a studious frown.
Zack leaned on her doorframe. “Dress warm, honey.”
She nodded, frowned some more, and looked through her clothes. Zack bit back a grin and asked, “Hard decision?”
She was so intent on her choice, she didn’t answer.
Because jeans were a given, he said, “How about a sweater?” preferring that over what she might have chosen otherwise—a ratty sweatshirt. He posed it as a suggestion, rather than an instruction, because he knew she liked to make her own decisions—about everything—any time he gave her that option.
She nodded agreement. “Okay. What sweater?”
He walked into the room, reached into her closet and pulled out a soft red sweater with multicolored buttons. “This one is nice,” he suggested, trying his best to sound serious and sincere.
She studied the sweater, considering, until the doorbell rang again. Snatching it out of his hand, she pushed at him and said, “Go! Go get the door, Dad!”
Zack laughed as he walked away. His daughter, the social butterfly. Most times, Dani didn’t give two cents for how she dressed. She’d pull on the same clothes from the night before if Zack didn’t get them out of her room and into the hamper fast enough. But let them have company and she agonized. Not that she wanted to wear dresses. Heaven forbid! And anything other than sneakers or boots repulsed her four-year-old sensibilities.
But she did like color. Lots and lots of color. Often if left to her own devices, she’d clash so horribly it’d make his eyes glaze.
Still sporting a grin, Zack bounded down the stairs and went to the front door. He turned the locks and opened it, wishing he didn’t have to do this today. He’d wanted nothing more than to sleep in, then take a long leisurely soak in the hot tub, eat an enormous breakfast, and spend the day with his daughter.
Now he had to be neighborly.
The second the door opened, the woman looked at him and her smile faded. “Oh dear,” she said. “We woke you up, didn’t we?”
Zack went mute and stared.
Up close, she seemed even taller, and she did indeed look him in the eye. At six feet tall, that didn’t happen to him often. His two best friends, Mick and Josh, were both taller, Mick especially, who stood six foot three. But then they were both guys. They were not female.
A light breeze ruffled her flyaway hair, which seemed to have been permanently crimped. The color was nice, a soft honey-brown, lighter around her face where the sun had kissed it. Curls sprung out here and there and everywhere, like miniature springs. He doubted such unruly hair could ever be fully contained.
A soft flush colored her skin—high across her cheekbones, over the bridge of her narrow nose and the tip of her chin—either by the warmth of the day, her exertions, or the bright sunshine. Zack suspected the latter.
Sporting a crooked smile, she stared right back at him with the most unusual hazel eyes he’d ever seen. So light they were almost the color of topaz, they were fringed by thick, impossibly dark lashes, especially given the color of her hair. After a silent moment, her arched brows lifted and her smile stretched into a full-fledged grin.
Zack caught himself. Good God, he’d been staring at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. He’d been staring at her...with interest. He shook his head. “What gave me away?”
“What’s that?” She now appeared confused.
“How could you tell that you woke me?”
“Ah. The hair standing on end? The all-night whiskers? Or it could be the bloodshot eyes.” She made a tsking sound. “Have you slept at all?”
He ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, “I worked pretty late last night,” and left it at that. He wasn’t with it enough yet to start rehashing the past evening’s events. He pushed the screen door open and stepped aside. “Come on in.”
She looked behind her. “Conan will be right along. He’s getting some muffins out of the oven. He’s a terrific cook.”
Conan-the-massive cooked?
The woman held up a carafe. “Fresh coffee. French vanilla. I hope that’s okay?”
He hated flavored coffees. “It’s fine,” he lied, “but totally unnecessary.”
“It’s the very least I can do now that I know I got you out of bed.”
If she hadn’t, he thought, perhaps he’d have finished that sexy dream and not been so edgy now. But as it was, he couldn’t quite seem to get himself together.
She hesitated at the door. “I really am so sorry. This is my first house and I’m equally stressed and excited and when I get that way, I unfortunately get—” She shrugged in apology. “—loud.”
Her honesty was both unexpected and appealing. Zack forced a smile. “I understand.”
Yet, she still held back. “I don’t mean to barge in. If you have some cups, we could sit here on your porch. We’ll share one cup of coffee, chat a little, and that’s all, I promise. It’s a beautiful morning and we are all awake now, right?”
Great. If he kept her