The Sweetest Gift

What was Kirby McKaslin doing in his yard, glowing golden and dainty and heavenly, her hair rumpled and windblown? Then he looked down and realized she had a tight grip on a bright pink leash. The leash was attached to a powerful rottweiler. She bent to free the dog, and Leo bounded forward to run circles around Sam’s legs.

“Howdy, boy. What have you done now?” Sam knelt to stroke his hands down the dog’s broad back. It was the best choice, since that meant he didn’t have to look at Kirby.

It was his rotten luck that he couldn’t forget her entirely. Her feet were in his line of vision. Delicate feet to match the rest of her encased in trim leather loafers made of the softest-looking leather he’d ever seen. She was quality all the way—any man could see it.

Remember, be polite and neighborly. That was the plan. He refused to remember another delicate woman. See, with just that tiny thought, pain ripped through him, raw and jagged. A constant reminder of the biggest mistake of his life.

One he’d never make again.

Chapter Three

“Your dog must have found a space in the fence,” she said in that velvety-soft voice of hers. “It was no trouble figuring out who he belonged to.”

She was trying to make conversation. Whether she was just being polite or trying to start a relationship thing, Sam didn’t know. He couldn’t let himself care.

He stared hard at his dog. Leo glowed with happiness. He obviously liked Kirby. That was one check mark in her favor, that she was kind to animals, but he wasn’t going to let it change his resolve.

He stood slowly, careful of his stiff left leg. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

“It was my pleasure. He’s a good dog. A little energetic.”

“He’s got a lot of puppy in him still.” Sam kept his focus on his dog’s broad head. “Guess I’ll be right over to fix that fence. I’m sorry he jumped into your yard. C’mon, Leo, inside. Now.”

The dog followed him, happily tossing their pretty neighbor his most charming dog grin.

It was embarrassing, that’s what, a tough guard dog with his tongue lolling like that. That kind of affection would lead a guy to heartache. Didn’t the dog know that?

“Leo? That’s his name?”

That was Kirby’s voice, dulcet with amusement, calling him back, making his shoes pivot so that he turned toward her, as if he had no say in it. As if his feet were in charge.

“What’s wrong with the name Leo?”

“Nothing, exactly.”

Leo danced at the tinkling warmth of Kirby’s laughter. Sam had to admit he liked the sound of it, too. Soft, not grating. Gentle, not earsplitting.

“It wasn’t what I expected from a big dangerous-looking dog like that.” She held out one hand and Leo dashed straight for her, gazing adoringly at her while she scratched his chin. “Is he purebred?”

She was captivating. He couldn’t seem to figure out a way to answer. He was a big tough guy. He knew how to speak. What was wrong with him?

You’re in trouble, man. His game plan was going to be blown to bits if he didn’t thank her and exit stage left. All he had to do was haul Leo through that door, close it, and he’d be safe. Unattached. Distant.

But did he do that? No. Did he summon up his best drill-sergeant impressions and sound harsh and mean so that she’d never look at him again with those sparkling eyes full of hope? It’s what he should have done.

But did he? No. He wanted to hear her laugh again. Against every instinct he had, he advanced when he should have retreated. “So what would you have named him? Wait, I know. Something fancy. Like Prince or Duke, maybe.”

“Now you’re mocking me.” She thrust her gently rounded chin just high enough for the wind to sneak beneath the fall of her silken hair and ruffle it.

The wispy locks caressed the side of her face and made him wonder if her hair was as soft as it looked.

“No, I like people names for dogs,” she added. “They have feelings, too.”

“Let me guess. You’ve got one of those pampered little dogs. With carefully brushed hair tied up with a pink ribbon. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“A cocker spaniel, right?” He’d recognized the note and type of bark earlier, when she’d been unlocking her front door.

“How did you know?”

“I just do. I’m gifted.” Oh, that made her laugh. “What? You don’t think so?”

“Gifted isn’t the word I’d use. Irritating. Annoying. Arrogant.”

“Ouch. Calling me names already? That doesn’t bode well for our future together as next-door neighbors.” He liked the way a little wrinkle furrowed between her brows right at the bridge of her nose. “You’re mad because I’m right.”

“I’m not mad, and there’s nothing wrong with having a polite dog.”

“My dog doesn’t have to be well mannered. Not with his good looks. He’s naturally adored no matter what.”

Was Sam Gardner talking about himself, too? “Yes, but good looks can only take a guy so far.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.” He braced his hands on his hips, a fighting stance, broadening his shoulders, drawing tight his chest muscles.

He looked as invincible as steel, but there was a tenderness in him, a kindness that shone in the chocolate warmth of his eyes, that gleamed like a promise in his deep rumbling voice. “My dog is good-looking and at the top of the food chain. Look at him. Big teeth. Bred for fighting. He’s a trained guard dog.”

“He’s a thief. He helped himself to most of the dog biscuits.”

“I can get you another box. Hold on.”

“I don’t want you to reimburse me with dog treats. I was just—” Okay, so Sam Gardner did meet another criterion. He could make her laugh.

But that didn’t mean he was a good man. For example, he might not be a responsible pet owner. “Didn’t you notice Leo was gone from your yard?”

“One minute I looked out the window and he was fine. But the phone rang and he must have escaped while I was talking to my lady love.”

“You were talking with your aunt, huh?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’m gifted—what can I say?”

“You overheard me through the open windows when you were bringing Leo back.”

“And you heard my dog’s little bark.”

Sam chuckled, low and deep, studying her with a gaze so intent, it was as if he could see her soul, and she shivered, feeling exposed. Way too exposed.