EXCLUSIVE SNEAK PEEK
Prologue
Today was going to be a first.
And possibly not in a good way.
“Are you sure this is a good idea, George?”
He gave his wife a wry grin. Twenty-two years of marriage meant they seemed to share a brain more often than he was comfortable with.
“I thought you told me I should agree to the Winchester’s offer when I got the email, Dee?” It had been an unusual enough request that he’d asked her opinion even after he’d brought it to Dwayne, his friend and partner in their non-profit.
Neither had seen any problem with the offer of three purebred golden retriever puppies being donated to the service and guide dog foundation. Nor had he.
It was the reason they were being donated that had given him pause.
It still did.
But it was too late to change his mind now. The Winchesters were due any minute. Turning them away when they got here would likely be one cruel blow too many to a family already dealt more than any parents should have to handle.
Losing a child was never easy.
Delia brushed absently at a clump of fur stuck to her shirt like a badge of honor. Occupational hazard when working kennel duty. “I did. But now I’m worried they might be acting on impulse, driven by their pain. What if they change their minds in a few weeks and want the dogs back?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” He reached across the metal table lined with the food bowls they’d been filling and squeezed her arm. “What do you always tell me? Don’t borrow trouble, the interest is too high?”
She smiled and placed her hand over his. “So, you do listen to me once in a while.”
A smart man always listened to what his wife was telling him. Even if she wasn’t saying it in words.
He leaned across the table and kissed her. “Always.”
“Oh, God, are you two getting smoochy in here? Do I need to cover my delicate ears?”
George snorted at the long-suffering tone and gave his wife another loud, smacking kiss Dwayne was sure to hear. “Every day, pal.”
“And twice on Sundays.” Delia added another loud kiss complete with obnoxious smoochy sounds before going back to portioning out the afternoon meal for the kennel. “Are you here to help, or just to play martyr because Janie’s visiting her mother so you’re not getting any and we are?”
“Yes, and yes.” Dwayne moved into the room, one hand on the harness handle attached to the golden retriever at his side, white cane loosely grasped in the other. The dog led him unerringly to the worn metal table and stopped. “Do you want me to scoop or deliver?”
“You can take over delivering. I need to get out front and wait for the Winchesters.”
“Oh, right.” Dwayne gave a small frown.
“I hope we did the right thing there.”
Delia sighed. “That makes two of us.”
Three of us.
The scent of the season’s first grass mowing perfumed the air as George used one of the wide paths to cut across the campus to the building housing the foundation’s business offices. A few of the newly arrived students who’d begin training Monday with the mobility service dogs they’d just been paired with wandered the grounds.
He greeted each by name as he passed. If memory served, this group included men and women from as close as New Jersey and as far away as Wyoming. That made thirty-seven states where they’d placed service dogs, all at zero cost to the recipients. Eventually, they’d hit all fifty. As long as the donations kept coming in, they’d keep expanding.
We did damn good here.
Pride at how far they’d come from the tiny one-building operation they’d started as never failed to put an extra bounce in his step.
Although his knees protested that bounce more and more lately. Just like they moaned and groaned about getting out of bed, standing up, and pretty much anything that involved walking, bending, or kneeling.
All of which, unfortunately, made up a large part of his work with the dogs in their various stages of training.
One of these days he was going to end up with replacement knees to match the titanium rods and plates the Army had put his shattered pelvis back together with after the explosion that took out his and Dwayne’s Humvee thirty years ago.
“But not today,” he muttered, flexing the misbehaving joints. He preferred to keep his original parts as long as possible. He was only fifty-five, for fuck’s sake. Way too soon to turn into a damn Erector set.
After a quick stop inside to wash the gritty smell of kibble from his hands, he headed out front. Just in time to see the black Suburban pull into the long circular driveway and loop around to a stop in front of the building. He waited, hands in his pockets, as a man and woman in their mid-forties got out.
What he didn’t expect was the teenage girl who slid out of the rear seat like a pale wraith. Blonde hair half hiding her face, dressed in jeans and a dark purple t-shirt emblazoned with a band logo he didn’t recognize. She stood near her parents but still apart, looking lost, sad, and a little angry.
Oh, this could end up being even worse than he’d thought.
Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve faced down enemy fire and VA red tape. You can handle one moody teenager.
At least, he hoped so.
He walked toward them, hand extended in welcome. “I’m George Bassi. You must be the Winchesters.”
“Yes.” The middle-aged man dressed in neat khakis and a light blue polo shook his hand with a firm grip. “I’m David. This is my wife, Carol, and our daughter, Nicole.”
“Nice to meet you folks.” He and Carol shook, then he offered his hand to the teen. Which seemed to surprise her, judging by her brief hesitation before taking it. Her fingers were delicate in his, like a fragile bird’s wings, so he took care not to crush them.
“Now, I understand you were interested in donating a few pups from your dog’s litter to Another Step Forward for our service dog program. Is that right?”
“Yes. Three of them.” David Winchester hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the steadily increasing yapping coming from the rear of the vehicle. “Sadie’s litter was eight total. The breeder was promised one as a stud fee. Three went to good homes. And we, uh, we decided we’d like to keep one for ourselves. So Sadie doesn’t feel too lonely, since Mikey...” He ended on an uncomfortable shrug.
The girl, Nicole, spun on her heel and went to open the back of the Suburban without a word. But not before he saw the shimmer of tears she was trying to hide.
The concerns simmering in his gut flared to life again as he half-listened to her talking to the puppies, whose noise level immediately went way down. “Are you sure your daughter is okay with this?”
David nodded. “It was her idea, actually. These three were slated to be sold with the others, and half the money donated to the local animal shelters. That’s the deal we made with Mikey. Our son. He was upset we chose a papered purebred over going to the shelter. So as a compromise, we agreed that if we ever bred Sadie, half the profits from her puppies would go to the local shelters to help other animals in need.”
David’s dry tone made sense. Golden retriever puppies with documented pedigrees went for a decent chunk of change. Their son must have been quite the negotiator for his father to give up half the extra income they’d probably bought the dog for in the first place.
Which raised the question.
“Not that we’re not grateful, but then why are you giving three of them to us?” It seemed strange for them to go against what was essentially their late son’s last wishes.
“Nicole—” Carol darted a glance toward the rear of the SUV and lowered her voice. “Nicole is having a hard time with Mikey’s death.”
From the catch in her words, her daughter wasn’t the only one.
“She wanted to do something to honor his memory in a more meaningful way than a plaque on veteran’s square or a street being named after him. Something that embodied who he was. How he lived, and why he…why he’s not with us anymore.”
“He was an Army medic.” David’s words were gruff. “He died saving his injured men after an ambush. Some of whom may very well have come home needing a service dog for their injuries.”
Ah. Now the pieces were fitting together a little better.
But there was still one piece he wasn’t sure would snap into place the way everyone was hoping. Himself included.
He tipped his head. “Would it be okay if I talked to Nicole alone for a minute?”
The couple exchanged one of those brain-sharing looks he and Dee did so well before David nodded. “Sure.”
Not entirely certain how this would go, he took a slow stroll to the rear of the Suburban. Nicole had opened it and was sticking her fingers through the wire bars on the three carrier doors as she talked and cooed to the squirming puppies.
As soon as she noticed him, she jerked her hands back, wiping them on her jeans as though he’d caught her doing something wrong.
“They’re cute,” he observed.
“They’re little teeth monsters. But,” she added with a laugh, “they’re adorable monsters.” She picked at the remains of some purple polish on her thumbnail. “They’ll make good service dogs, though. They’re super smart. Just like Sadie.”
“It’s a very generous thing you’re doing here.”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Yes, really. I don’t think you’d be here if you didn’t believe your gift would make a difference in someone’s life. Three someones, actually. The veterans and first responders matched with our dogs are able to lead active, independent lives because of people like you and your parents, who care enough to help make it possible.”
“It isn’t about us. This is for Mikey.”
The snap in her tone had him wanting to smile. So, the fragile dove had some steel in her, after all. That was a good sign.
He leaned a hip against the SUV. “Mikey’s your brother, right?”
“He was. He’s dead.”
Ah. There was the pain and anger.
“He’s still your brother,” he said softly.
Her throat worked as she swallowed. She nodded. Tears shimmered again, but she blinked rapidly, not letting them spill over. “Thank you. Nobody else seems to think that. It’s like he’s become off-limits to even talk about.”
“Then talk to me. Tell me about your brother.”
It was like that simple request uncorked everything she’d kept bottled up inside for who knew how long. Her words, stumbling over themselves sometimes in her rush to say everything at once, painted a picture of not a saint, but a big brother she’d spent a lifetime looking up to and trying to emulate.
The boy who’d had a love of animals and taught himself how to care for any injured wildlife that showed up in their yard.
The teen who’d allowed his head to be shaved to help raise money for the St. Baldric’s childhood cancer foundation every spring.
The high school senior who didn’t take a date to prom, but instead organized a large group of friends to go together so no one felt left out.
The soldier who’d run out into a market in some tiny village whose name she couldn’t pronounce under heavy enemy fire to try and help three of his wounded brothers.
How he’d saved their lives at the expense of his own.
How he’d missed coming home to them at the end of his enlistment by a mere twenty-seven days, and in doing so missed the birth of Sadie’s puppies, his own twenty-first birthday, and everything he might have accomplished in what should have been a long life and a future full of possibilities.
She paused to take a breath.
When she spoke again, her tone was softer. More reflective.
Hopeful.
“My brother always thought of others before himself. But he’s gone now. He can’t help anyone anymore. But since Sadie was pretty much his dog, having some of her puppies become service dogs is almost like he still is, you know?”
Some undefinable emotion squeezed inside his chest. What he’d first thought a sullen, angry girl-child had turned out to be a surprisingly empathetic young woman, inciteful beyond her years.
“It will be exactly like he still is,” he said with quiet certainty. “It’s an excellent way to honor his memory, Nicole, and I’m grateful you’re entrusting us with your brother’s legacy.”
His words seemed to light a spark inside her.
“Legacy. Yes. Exactly. Thank you.”
As they unhooked the straps holding the three plastic carriers in place, she spoke without looking at him. “Can I ask one small favor? Well, two, actually.”
Uh-oh.
“Sure.” He answered with the same wary caution she’d asked.
She tapped the blue painter’s tape with a single word in black magic marker affixed to the tops of the carriers. “We already named them. After…after the men Mikey saved that day. I know we probably should have waited and let you do it, but…it kind of seemed right. You know?”
She shot him a quick look from the corner of her eye.
Clearly, this meant a lot to her. And though it was unusual, so was using dogs that hadn’t come from their own breeding program, vetted or not.
“I understand.” He read off the names on the labels. “Samson, Bailey, and Cooper.” He grinned as the pups each yipped. “Those are good names. And it seems they already know them, so I don’t see why they shouldn’t keep them.”
Her slight shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”
“And the second thing?”
She worried at her lip before meeting his gaze.
“If I give you a letter, three copies of a letter, would you give them to the people who eventually end up with the puppies? I don’t want to intrude on their privacy or anything,” she added hurriedly when he opened his mouth to say no. “I just want to tell them about Mikey. So they know who he was, and how these guys became service dogs because of him.” She swallowed. “I don’t want him to be forgotten.”
Well, shit.
This request went right past unusual and dove straight off the cliffs of inadvisable into a sea of stupid.
She must have read his expression, because she blurted, “You can read them yourself, so you know I didn’t write anything bad or ask them to keep in touch or invest in bitcoin or something.”
Despite the weak joke, the plea in her gray eyes was unmistakable.
Damn it.
“Alright,” he said slowly, second-guessing himself even as he said it. “As long as they look okay, and my partner agrees, I think we can do that. I can’t guarantee they’ll be read, but I can pass them on when the time comes.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Mr. Bassi. You’re the best.”
No, he was a sucker for a clearly hurting kid looking for a way to make some sense of the loss of her big brother.
Dwayne is going to fucking kill me.
“I think your brother would be very proud of you, Nicole.”
For the first time, the clouds lifted a little from her eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Definitely.” He paused. Should he?
What the fuck, why not.
“Would you like to tour part of the campus? See exactly what it is we do here?”
Her eyes brightened even further. “Sure! I mean, yes, please.”
After depositing the pups in the kennels, he gave the family the nickel tour. The indoor arena, the classrooms set up for real-life situational training, the mock downtown for learning street and sidewalk navigation. The only place they didn’t walk through was student housing, though he did explain its dorm-like setup, which provided both community and privacy as needed.
Some of their vets struggled with PTSD, and having a safe, quiet place to retreat to with their dogs was a must.
Nicole seemed to soak in every word and asked a thousand questions. After almost an hour, he thanked them again and finally waved them on their way.
Since today seemed to be the day for impulses, he went back to the kennel and leashed up one of the puppies at random. Samson, according to the nametag on his blue nylon collar. He did a pretty decent job of following basic commands on the way back to his office, only biting at the leash a few times and trying to dart off after a squirrel once. Otherwise, he trotted along at George’s side like a little pro.
The kid hadn’t lied. The pups were indeed smart.
The puppy he settled on the dog bed in his office with a new chew toy. The three envelopes from Nicole he laid on his desk with the respect normally given a bomb.
He sat and stared at them for a few long minutes. Cursing himself for agreeing to her request. Wondering what they could possibly say. Debating whether he should just toss them into the trash unread. It wasn’t like she’d ever know.
But he’d know, damn it.
“Fuck.”
The puppy yipped in response to the sharp curse. It studied him with bright eyes for a moment before deciding everything was okay and attacked the toy with renewed vigor.
Resigned to the repercussions of his own stupidity, he picked up the top envelope and slid out the single sheet of stationery filled with small, neat handwriting. Actual stationery. He didn’t think people even used that anymore. And of course it was purple. That seemed to be Nicole’s favorite color.
Okay, now he was just stalling.
With a sigh, he started reading.
Dear Serviceperson,
First, I want to thank you for your service. If you’re reading this, it means that you were wounded in some way and are in need of a service dog, and for that I’m truly sorry. But if you’re reading this, it also means that you’re getting one of the dogs that was born to my brother Mikey’s dog, Sadie, and for that I’m glad. You see, Mikey was a medic in the Army, and he was killed trying to help some wounded soldiers just a few weeks before he was supposed to come home.
I’m sorry to say I was really angry with my brother when I first heard what he’d done. I guess it’s selfish of me to think he should have cared more about keeping himself safe than risking his life for other people. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no way he could have done anything else. Mikey was always the kind of guy everyone could rely on. He was smart, and funny, and the best big brother anyone could ever have. I loved him lots, and I’m going to miss him even more, every single day of my life.
I’m not telling you any of this to make you sad. I just wanted to explain about my brother, and why the dog you’re getting is so special. My brother spent the short time he had on this Earth helping others. I can’t wish him back to life, but I can wish this: that his generous spirit live on in the love and comfort you receive from your service dog. Take each day you have together as a gift, and maybe once in a while think about Mikey. I know when I do, I’ll be picturing him smiling down on you, knowing that his legacy, and Samson, are in good hands.
Wishing you a happy and fulfilling life,
Nicole
Well then.
Now he knew why she’d gotten that look when he’d used the term legacy.
Leaning back in his chair, he shook his head in amazement. Hard to believe a teenager had written that. Clearly, she had a lot more of her brother’s maturity, compassion, and fortitude in her than she realized.
Than her parents likely realized, either.
Clearing his throat, he re-folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. A quick peek at the other two showed they were identical except for the dog’s name at the end.
He tapped the small stack of envelopes on the desk. There was no reason not to give them to the people who ended up with Samson, Bailey, and Cooper. He’d still run it by Dwayne and Delia, but he was pretty sure they’d say the same thing once they read them. They were beautiful and thoughtful.
Of course, that was all kind of moot if the pups didn’t have the basic skills after their foster period was over to actually make it into the program. Or to pass all the task-specific training after that. Not all dogs had the unique combination of ability and personality to make a good guide or service dog.
For Nicole’s sake, though, he hoped hers did.
Of course, there was still the option of them becoming emotional support or therapy dogs if they flunked out of the program, though that would mean passing them off to someone else. They weren’t set up to handle that particular training here.
Not yet, anyway.
He glanced over at Samson, who’d cued in on the sound of the envelopes tapping and was watching him closely, his chubby body poised with barely contained expectation. A smile came to his lips.
“You’re a sharp one, aren’t you, pal?”
Nothing was a guarantee. But after all these years he was a pretty good judge of dogs, and right now he had a good feeling about these three. One way or another, Michael Winchester’s legacy of helping others would be carried on exactly the way his sister wanted.
Chapter 1
“Dude, why didn’t you tell us your neighbor was so bangin’ hot?”
Ben Murphy choke-snorted at the idiotic question.
Hot? His neighbor was a geriatric Attila the Hun who’d scared the snot out of him as a kid, despite being his gram’s best friend.
He continued painting the bedroom wall without bothering to look toward the window his friend was staring through, opened wide to let the faint June breeze air out the room. “Maybe because I didn’t know you had a thing for older women, Cody.”
“If that’s older, I have no problem with it.” Cody’s forehead thunked against the glass. “Sweet Jesus, I think I’m in love.”
“And I think the paint fumes have finally gotten to you if you’re drooling over Mrs. Roketzki.”
“She’s married?” Cody picked up his head with a sound of disappointment, leaving behind a sweaty smear. “Man, that’s a damn waste. But hey, at least you can still enjoy the view.”
“Would you watch it?” He hopped over the tray of pale cream paint they’d both been working out of and snatched the brush dangling forgotten from Cody’s hand as he mooned out the window. “You’re dripping all over the place.”
“So what? You’re redoing the floors anyway.”
His teeth snapped shut over a crude retort. Yes, he’d be refinishing all the old hardwood in the place. And yes, his friends were supplying cheap labor in his ongoing renovation project in exchange for little more than free food and beer, so he couldn’t really bitch too much. You got what you paid for.
But the closer they crept toward finally being done, the less it felt like just a reno project and the more it was feeling like an actual home.
His home.
And with that feeling came a strange new sense of possessive pride. One that made Cody’s careless treatment of it itch like sand in his board shorts after a wipeout at the beach.
“Could you maybe finish cutting in the trim on that last wall instead of joking around? I’d like to get this done today.”
Before he lost his free labor and had to finish it himself.
Cody and the other two guys he’d wrangled into playing Joe Painter for the day would head home right after he fed them the burgers and brats waiting in the cooler downstairs. All members of the same FDNY truck company, today was their last day off before their next tour started in the morning.
“Who’s joking? You’ve been holding out on us, man.”
Ignoring the hint of accusation, Ben held out the brush, bristles up.
After one last wistful look out the window, Cody took it and turned back to the wall he’d abandoned mid-stroke with a dramatic sigh.
Before returning to his own roller work, and despite knowing he was probably doing exactly what Cody and his sick sense of humor wanted, he couldn’t resist one quick peek.
Ho-ly shit. That was not Mrs. Roketzki sunbathing in the yard next door.
Not even close.
Oh, no, the dark-haired woman stretched out on the striped lounger in Mrs. R’s backyard was a young, nubile work of art clad only in a tiny black bikini.
On her stomach, face turned in the other direction, only her back half was visible. A long, straight line of sun-kissed light brown skin that ran from defined shoulders down to the cloth-covered mound of her delectable ass and ended with two long legs he had no problem imagining wrapped around his hips.
Or his neck.
Fuck. Me.
Kenoway was a quiet little hamlet of less than fifteen hundred people, and his new neighborhood seemed polarized between retirees and mommies pushing strollers. Opportunities for meeting attractive, single women his own age were thin on the ground.
Which was okay. Not shitting where you lived was a hard-learned lesson he had no interest in repeating.
But the sunbathing goddess next door…she didn’t live there.
That made her fair game.
“Guess you’re not as averse to older women as you thought, huh?”
Ignoring the snark in Cody’s voice, he shook his head. “Trust me, if that was Mrs. Roketzki in a bikini, you’d be looking for eye bleach. Who that is”—he nodded toward the window—“is a mystery.”
One he intended to solve before the day was over.
Tearing himself away from the view was tough. But he forced himself to focus on finishing the job at hand, giving it the same attention to detail as before he’d spotted all that intriguing deliciousness next door.
Easier said than done, of course.
A weakness for beautiful women was something he and Cody shared. During the four years they were roommates, they’d cut a wide swath through the single female population. Not only where they lived in Queens, but the other New York boroughs as well.
Between Cody’s golden beach boy looks and his own dark hair and Irish green eyes, it wasn’t vanity but fact that they did well with women. When they went out on the prowl together, they did even better. Add in their firefighter status, and getting dates was almost too easy.
Hell, he’d even picked up one woman—or been picked up, he still couldn’t decide which—late one night while he’d still been soot-covered and smelling like the dumpster fire they’d just put out.
And that hadn’t even been his strangest conquest.
Since they went out together so often, he and Cody had one simple rule to avoid potential problems: the first one to spot a woman had first claim on her. If he passed, the other could make a move. But if he tried and struck out, she was off limits.
No guy wanted his friend scoring with someone who’d found him lacking.
It was a system that worked well for them in the past.
Now, though, it presented a problem.
Cody had seen the backyard mystery goddess first. Technically, that made her his. And Ben wasn’t okay with losing the chance to see if all that sun-kissed skin tasted as good as it looked.
Not even to his best friend.
“He threw at him on purpose!”
“You’re outta your mind. It was a hundred fucking degrees. The ball slipped coming out of his hand!”
Cody shook his head at the raised voices from the bedroom at the other end of the upstairs hallway. “You knew it was going to happen eventually.”
Yeah, he did.
Honestly, he’d expected it to happen a lot sooner.
Bryan Wong was a diehard Mets fan, while Dominic Russo bled Yankees blue. Usually, they could agree to disagree when they talked baseball. But the teams had played each other in a Subway Series over the weekend, so they’d been taking good-natured potshots at each other all day.
From the increased volume, it seemed their rivalry had hit its limit on friendly.
Time to pack it in before they started trading more than angry words. After six long months of reno work, the last thing he needed was anyone knocking holes in his brand-new sheetrock.
Once he sent Cody to grab the two knotheads and bring them down to wash up and get the grill started, he threw some plastic wrap over the paint tray with a sigh. Looked like he’d be knocking out whatever was left on his own after all.
Though with luck, maybe Bryan and Dom had finished their room before getting on each other’s last nerve.
But even if they hadn’t, he was finishing this damn painting tonight, regardless of how tired he’d be for his commute down to the city in the morning. Not to mention sore. His right arm and back were already barking.
But it would all be worth it to come home after his tour in two days and have one more thing checked off of his never-ending to-do list.
Two more weeks.
If he stuck to his timetable, that’s when he’d finally be able to stop living out of the tiny bedroom downstairs. Once his grandmother’s crafting room, it had become his combination bedroom, living room, and kitchen.
If you could call a microwave and mini-fridge a kitchen.
Living in the middle of a construction zone sucked. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal when he’d first decided to gut the entire house at once rather than break it into a bunch of smaller projects. After just a few weeks, though, he would have gladly moved back in with Cody if he hadn’t already gotten a new roommate.
Before heading downstairs, he couldn’t resist one more look out the window.
And damn near swallowed his tongue.
His mystery woman must have taken a quick dip in the inground pool to cool off. She was just reaching for the towel draped at the end of her lounger, water streaming from her lithe body.
And oh yes, her front side more than lived up to the promise her back half had made.
She slicked her short brown hair straight back against her skull, reminding him of the mythical Irish selkies his gram used to tell him stories about when he was a kid. Sleek, seductive, and not of this world, they ventured from the sea to ensnare unsuspecting human men.
Well, consider him caught.
After giving her wet body a brisk rub with the towel, one that got his nerve endings tingling, it appeared she was going to lie out in the sun some more.
Oh, yeah, do it, please!
A loud bang came from the back of his house as the screen door slammed. Bryan and Dom continued their argument over a hit batter as they went out onto the patio where the barbeque and a few chairs were set up.
That seemed to be the deciding factor for his pretty little sunbather.
Instead of lying down again, she wrapped the towel around herself and headed for the back door of Mrs. Roketzki’s house, her steps precise and measured like a dancer. Or maybe a runway model.
She snapped her fingers and a large golden dog he hadn’t noticed lying in the shade jumped to its feet, shook itself, and trotted obediently to her side. Letting the dog in first, she closed the screen door behind her. And then the inside door as well, judging by the loud thump.
Well, fuck.
Guess she wasn’t coming back out anytime soon.
With no reason left to linger, he trotted downstairs to the one functioning bathroom to wash up. When he joined his friends, Bryan and Dom had thankfully traded baseball for beers, while Cody tinkered with the gas grill he’d coveted for the past two months.
As well he should. The thing was ginormous.
He probably shouldn’t have splurged on it, what with the million other expenses drilling a bottomless pit in his bank account. But he knew he’d be without a functioning kitchen for several months. And he needed something to handle cooking for however many hungry firefighters he could get to come help out on their days off.
And they could eat a fucking lot.
Grabbing a Bud from the cooler, he twisted off the cap and dropped into one of the white plastic chairs from the dollar store. He downed several long, cold swallows before coming up for air. “God, I needed that.”
“Your own fault for being such a goddamn slave driver.” Dom tipped his own beer back and drained it, finishing with a belch. “No reason we had to get every friggin’ room in the house painted in one day.”
“Oh, so you were coming back our next day off to finish up, then?”
Dom’s features fell into a look of comic surprise. “Fuck no!”
“Well, there ya go.” Another long swallow, and the last cloying tang of paint coating his tongue all day finally washed away.
“At least it’s cooler up here,” Bryan said, garnering unanimous agreement. “It’s fuck-all hot back in the city.”
Ben grimaced at the reminder. Barely even summer, the hot, humid conditions that had gripped New York by the throat for the past week were bad enough. But add in sixty pounds of gear and a ripping three-alarm fire, and it could feel like your balls were going to boil in your own sweat.
Where they were stationed in Brooklyn was usually a good ten degrees cooler than in Manhattan. There, the heat and stale air collected in the maze of skyscrapers until you could choke on it. But this time, it felt like everything south of the Throgs Neck Bridge was in a slow cooker set on high.
Just one more reason buying his gram’s house after she passed last year and moving north to the suburbs of Westchester County was a good idea.
Even if he did get a little nauseous when he made that mortgage payment every month. He’d paid a little under market value, since it was his dad and uncle selling it to him. But it was still a hefty chunk of change to someone who’d only ever rented before, even at New York prices.
But damn if it wouldn’t be worth it in the end.
I hope, anyway.
The next hour was filled with talking, joking, and eating. Both he and Cody tapped out after one beer apiece. Cody because he was driving, and him because he didn’t want his walls to end up looking like a drunken orangutan had finished them.
And because he was still trying to figure out who his little selkie next door was, and how he was going to get around their stupid first-dibs rule. Or how he could meet her without having to deal with Attila Roketzki.
It was doubtful she was one of Mrs. R’s granddaughters. Not with that face and body. There was someone who came to check on the house over the winter while she was snowbirding in Florida with half the over-sixty population of New York State. But they didn’t usually help themselves to the pool.
Plus, it was June. She should definitely be back already.
Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen Mrs. R since he moved in. Not even to bitch at him about the noise. Maybe she was sick or something. Myrna Roketzki was fixed in his mind as an indestructible old harridan, but she was around his gram’s age, so it was possible his selkie was a live-in nurse or caretaker of some kind.
He could work with that.
Nurses were very partial to firefighters.
After all the food and beer were gone, he helped Cody pour the other two men into the backseat of his shiny black Avalanche. “You sure you don’t want to separate them?”
“Nah, they’ll probably both be asleep before I hit the Hutch.” Cody looked in through the still open door and added, “But if either of you starts any shit, I’m kicking both your asses out on the side of the parkway and you can walk home. Got it?”
After he slammed the door shut on their crude replies, he scrunched up his face as though having an internal debate before finally sighing. “You should go for it.”
Mouth already open to persuade—okay, beg—his friend to give up his claim on their mystery woman, Ben closed it again, nonplussed. Did he mean…?
“Just to clarify, go for what, exactly?”
“Her.” Cody jerked his head toward the two-story Cape Cod next door.
“Really?” Cody Moore was giving up dibs on a hot babe without a fight?
On that hot babe?
The world must be ending.
Not that he was complaining or anything. He was just surprised.
“Yeah. I know you want her, too. And I’m down in Queens, and you’re here, so…yeah, she’s yours.”
Relief mixed with the thrill of anticipation already fizzing in his veins. “You don’t have to sound so pissed about it.”
“I am pissed. She was…” His hands outlined imaginary curves. “Fuck!”
Yeah, she was that.
After scrubbing the last remnants of paint from his hands with another round of Goo Gone, he sped through a thirty-second shower and threw on clothes he hadn’t spent the day sweating through.
There’d been no car in the driveway next door, but he hadn’t heard one leave while they’d been eating, either. Chances were fair to good his little selkie, whoever she was, was still there.
And he wasn’t about to miss his chance.
#
Sitting at her kitchen table, Miranda Hernandez bit into the chicken leg she held. She groaned out loud as the array of spices from the crispy coating burst over her tongue in riotous abandon.
So. Good.
Definitely worth the extra effort of going to the small mom-and-pop grocery one town over for this week’s shopping. This was so much better than the boring fried chicken they had at the local chain supermarket, even if they did deliver. In this case, taste definitely trumped convenience.
Damn. She’d have to tell Trixie she was right.
Even the knowledge of her friend’s smug “I told you so” couldn’t dampen the pleasure of the meal. The potato salad was fresh and tangy, and the jalapeño cornbread tasted like it could have come straight from her abuela’s kitchen. The icy, tart lemonade was the perfect thing to wash it all down with.
Foodie heaven.
The only thing that would have made the meal better was enjoying it out on the patio in the fresh air and waning sunshine like she’d planned. But that was before her noisy neighbor had destroyed the peace and quiet of the afternoon and driven her inside from the sanctuary of her backyard.
Again.
It had been going on practically from the first day she’d moved in. Long stretches of blissful silence broken by several days of power tools and hammers and lots of extremely loud people who didn’t seem to understand the concept of volume control.
Or that voices actually travelled past property lines.
Or filters. Some of the language that drifted over the chain-link fence when they congregated outside was downright raw.
That wasn’t the part that bothered her, though.
In fact, after her five years in the Marines, she’d found some of the more creative insults kind of amusing to listen to. And maybe a little nostalgic. One of her best friends in the Corps had been a champion of the foul mouth. No one could curse like Gator.
With that slow N’awlins drawl of his, he could make even the worst words sound downright sexy.
No, what bothered her was when she really just wanted to zen out in the quiet solitude of her yard, and couldn’t. Kenoway was barely fifty miles north of NYC, but summer didn’t last all that long here. She wanted to enjoy every nice day possible between now and when the cold and snow of winter eventually trapped her inside.
Unable to do that this evening, she focused on enjoying every bite of her meal instead. The carbs were a killer, but so worth it. She’d add an extra mile to her run tomorrow to make up for the indulgence. Life was too short to deny yourself the little things that made you happy.
A truism she was far too intimately acquainted with to ignore.
After she put her plate and fork in the dishwasher, she sat back down to enjoy the last of her lemonade. Before she took a single sip, though, there was a knock at the front door.
She frowned and checked her watch. Almost seven.
Anyone she knew who might stop by would have called first. And it was kind of late for any kids to be out selling something. Or maybe not. The sun didn’t set until after eight this time of year.
Buying that tub of popcorn from the twins down the block to help support their scout troop had been a strategical error. Once word hit the neighborhood grapevine there was a sucker for a good cause in their midst, she’d have kids selling everything from cookies to wrapping paper on her doorstep.
No good deed goes unpunished.
She briefly considered ignoring the knock and pretending she wasn’t home, then shook her head at the cowardly impulse. She’d faced down much scarier things than pint-sized peddlers, for God’s sake. Hiding wasn’t an option.
Besides, it might be Girl Scout cookies.
She’d run an extra five miles for a box of thin mints.
As she walked to the front door, her golden retriever Samson joined her, nails clicking lightly on the old hardwood floors. She stroked his head, fingers sliding through the soft silk of his fur without having to reach down too far. Though on the tallish side for a woman at five-eight, Sam was pretty big himself.
Which had its downsides. Especially when Sam decided he wanted a cuddle and crawled into her lap while she watched tv on the couch. An eighty-pound lapdog was damn heavy no matter how cute he might be.
And Sam was pretty darn cute.
“You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you, Sammy?” She used her mushy voice as she tugged lightly on one of his feathered ears. He rewarded her with a quick doggie kiss on the wrist that made her smile. “Yeah, and you know it, too, don’t you? Shameless attention whore, that’s what you are.”
Sam sneezed as though in agreement.
She was laughing at that when she pulled the wooden inner door open. “Yes?”
“Oh, good, you are home. I was beginning to wonder if I’d missed you leaving or something.”
The laughter drained from her like a pulled plug.
Not a neighborhood kid. A man.
One she didn’t know.
Instantly, her instincts went from welcoming to suspicious. “Can I help you?”
There was a pause, probably the stranger wondering at her sudden brusque tone. “Um, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m Ben. Ben Murphy.” Another pause before he added, “From next door.”
Ah. Her noisy nemesis.
Some of her tension eased, but she felt no inclination to unlock the screen door separating them and invite him in. Just because he lived next door didn’t mean anything.
If he was even who he said he was.
She hated being so distrustful. But it was a lot harder to take things at face value these days. Which sucked, but this was the reality of her new normal. If she was going to live independently, she’d have to learn to deal with this kind of thing.
Realizing the long silence was her cue to speak, she reluctantly said, “I’m Miranda Hernandez.”
“Well, Miranda, it is very nice to meet you.”
Oh. My.
Something about the low timber of his voice was like the stroke of crushed velvet against her skin. And a few other places.
It kind of irritated the hell out of her. Guys with a voice like that usually knew how to use it. And did. Shamelessly.
Case in point. One damn sentence, and he had her totally out of sorts.
Suck it up, Hernandez.
The familiar refrain from her old drill instructor helped stiffen her spine against the inner wobbles caused by that velvety stroke. All she had to do was gut it out until he said whatever he’d come over to say and left.
Then she could melt into a gooey hormonal puddle.
“That’s a good-looking dog. Is he a retriever?”
Her hand dropped to where Sam had planted himself at her side and stroked his head self-consciously. “A golden retriever, yes.” She was used to questions about her dog, but they could still be uncomfortable.
“Cool. I like dogs.” Pause. “What’s his name?”
“Sam. Samson.”
Another pause. When she didn’t offer any other information, Ben cleared his throat, possibly realizing he’d strayed into unwelcome territory.
“So, ah, are you here visiting with Mrs. Roketzki?”
Interesting. Clearly, he didn’t have an ear to the ground about what was going on in his own neighborhood.
If he really lived here.
Suspicion spiked again. “Mrs. Roketzki is in Florida.”
“She is?” He sounded confused. “I thought she only snowbirded until around April or May.” He paused. “It’s June.”
Thanks for clearing that up, Slick.
The retort nearly spilled from her mouth before she caught it back. Not everyone appreciated her sarcastic brand of humor.
Or so she’d been told.
Thankfully, he seemed to realize the idiocy of his words all on his own, because he chuckled. “Right. You know that, obviously. What I meant was, why is Mrs. R still in Florida this late? She always said Vero Beach in the summer was like the third ring of hell.”
She debated a few seconds on whether to answer. It wasn’t like the entire block didn’t already know.
“She fell and broke her hip over the holidays. After she got out of the hospital she went to stay with her daughter in Miami while she goes through rehab.”
“Oh, wow. That sucks. I hope she’s going to be okay.”
The fact he sounded genuinely concerned moved him up a notch on her measuring stick. He might not be attentive enough to notice Mrs. Roketzki was MIA the past few months, but at least he cared once he found out why.
“She should be fine, from what her grandson told me, but the rehab might take a while. Which is why she’s staying in Florida for the rest of the year before deciding whether to come home in the spring or move there permanently.”
And as much as she didn’t wish the elderly woman any ill will, she secretly hoped she chose the latter.
It had only been a few months, but she was already in love with the house, the neighborhood, and the town. She was comfortable here. Something she hadn’t been sure she could achieve, especially so fast. Moving and starting over somewhere else would be difficult as well as disappointing.
“So, while she’s gone, you’re…?”
“Renting.”
“Really.”
It was hard to tell from a single word, but he didn’t sound thrilled she was his neighbor for the foreseeable future. The pinch of hurt that caused was surprising.
Well, too bad.
It wasn’t like she was thrilled about living next to him, either. In fact, now would be the perfect time to bring up a few things that were eroding her own neighborly goodwill.
“So, I can hear you’re doing some work on your place.”
“Oh, yeah. A complete reno, right down to the studs. I reconfigured some rooms, added another bathroom up on the second floor, reworked the kitchen layout…it’s been a huge job. It’s almost done, though. Finally.” He paused, and the animated enthusiasm in his voice changed to chagrin. “Damn, it’s probably been pretty loud and annoying for you while I’ve been doing all that, hasn’t it?”
Rather than blasting him with a resounding “Yes!” she found herself shrugging as if his renovations hadn’t been as irritating as bivouacking in a field of poison ivy. “Sometimes, yeah, a little.”
A little? Where had that come from?
Way to wimp out, Hernandez.
He made a sound of frustration. “I am so sorry about that. If I’d known you were living here, I would have come over and apologized sooner. But I swear the worst is over with. Well, the kitchen still needs to go in, and the floors need to be sanded and stained, but that’s it on the big stuff. And we knocked out all the painting today. Well, mostly. I have one more wall to get through tonight—maybe two—and then it’s done.”
An unspoken thank Godhung at the end of that statement.
The fact they’d been painting today explained both why she hadn’t known they were working at the house until they’d invaded the backyard, and why the citrusy odor of Goo Gone was drifting through the screen door from him like some cheap cologne.
“I’m just curious. If you didn’t know Mrs. Roketzki was still in Florida, why didn’t you ever come over to apologize to her about the noise?”
“Honestly? Because she scares the crap out of me.” There was laughter in his tone, but it was clear it was also the truth. “I figured I’d wait until she called over and complained before I bit that particular bullet.”
“Seriously? You’re afraid of her?” The woman had to be in her eighties.
“Have you ever met her?”
She shook her head. “I’ve only talked to her over the phone a few times. I dealt with her grandson, since he’s local. And my realtor.”
And now her landlord. Which had seemed a conflict of interests, but the price had been too good to care.
“Then don’t judge. She’s freaking terrifying.”
She laughed. “Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Thanks.” There was another pause. “So, um, since the house is almost finished, maybe you’d want to come over for a ‘welcome to the neighborhood’ drink? You know, so we can get to know each other a little better.”
Her breath caught at his words. He couldn’t possibly mean…
Was he flirting with her?
“I could give you the grand tour, see what you think of the improvements I’ve made to the place. It started out with the same floor plan as this house, so you’ll be able to compare them and appreciate the changes. Plus, maybe seeing what all the noise you had to put up with was for will help you forgive me faster,” he added with a teasing chuckle.
All the tingly warmth that had shot through her body chilled to icy numbness.
Oh, God.
He didn’t know.
And she’d been too lost in the moment of easy banter between them to consider the possibility. But if Ben didn’t even know about Mrs. Roketzki, he probably didn’t know about her, either, even though most everyone else on the block did.
Her hand curled around the doorjamb with punishing force, anchoring her as the hard smack of reality landed with painful clarity.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Her mouth was so dry the words felt like sandpaper abrading her throat.
“Ah, come on. Why not?”
Because I’m not what you think I am.
But the words wouldn’t come out, stuck someplace between her tongue and her pride. Instead, she swallowed hard and lied. “I was actually in the middle of dinner when you knocked. Maybe…maybe another time.”
Not that she really thought there’d be another invitation.
Not after he figured out the truth.
“Oh! Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think…” He gave a slightly self-deprecating laugh. “Wow, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Look, it was really nice to meet you, and I’m sorry again about the noise. And for interrupting your dinner. I’ll be at work the next two days, so you’ll have total peace and quiet, I swear. And maybe when I’m home again, we can give this another try. How does that sound?”
Like something that was never going to happen.
But she forced her lips into a polite smile anyway. “Sure. Sounds good.”
“Good! Well, okay then.” Another of those awkward pauses. “Well, goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Spine so stiff it might snap if she wasn’t careful, she stepped back and closed the door.
Only once that barrier was safely between her and the man outside did she allow herself to unleash all the curses Gator had taught her during those long nights on radio watch. Silently, of course. She had promised her mother she’d clean up her language when she got out of the Marines, after all.
As long as she didn’t say them out loud, she wasn’t technically breaking her word.
Once she completed the salty litany, she pushed away from the wall and stuck out her hand for Sam, who was immediately at her side. Together, they walked the familiar path to the living room couch.
Why not?he’d asked.
Simple.
Because her new neighbor with the sexy voice clearly had no idea she was blind.
