Back In The Saddle. Karen Templeton
By rights, Zach should’ve let his brother return the sunglasses to Dorelle. Except Josh—rightly—pointed out that Mallory’s mother would be far more likely to pay another visit to the clinic than Josh would get anywhere near where they lived on the other side of town. And since they didn’t look like some cheapo discount store things, Josh guessed she’d probably like them back.
Sure enough, the next day Dorelle called, asked if Josh had brought them by. So naturally Zach said he’d be glad to return them to her since she had no reason to bring the dog in at the moment. No, of course it wasn’t a problem.
So here he was, standing on the wooden-planked porch fronting the ranch-style house, set off far enough from the highway that the surrounding pinons and aspens easily swallowed up whatever traffic noise there might have been. It was real pretty out here, Zach had to admit, even though with two young boys and his practice he’d grown to appreciate the convenience of in-town living. Even if the town was Whispering Pines, where convenience was definitely in the eye of the beholder. Still—he turned, smiling at Benny watching the boys chase each other across a space far too large to be called a front yard—sometimes he missed living out in the country.
The front door—carved, huge, way overdone for the house—opened. In a dark green sweater that made her eyes go more hazel than gray, Mallory looked up at him, frowning. Zach lifted the sunglasses. She sighed.
“I swear, that woman loses more pairs of sunglasses. But you didn’t have to bring them. We could’ve picked them up the next time we were in town—”
“She asked.”
“Then I guess that explains the cookies.”
“Cookies?”
“Three kinds, last time I checked.” She leaned over to look past him. “And I take it the comets streaking across my yard are the boys?”
“They have two settings—warp speed and zonked out.”
Mallory chuckled, but her smile didn’t quite blossom full out. “Sounds familiar. Well, I suppose you may as well bring them in to eat the cookies. Because heaven knows I don’t need them—the chair makes my butt look big enough, thank you.”
Swallowing a grin, Zach turned and called. Panting and flush-faced, they ran over, the dog plodding slowly behind. Zach automatically started plucking bits of dried grass out of his youngest’s hair. “You guys remember Miss Keyes from yesterday?”
“Uh-huh,” they said in unison, doing the bobble-head thing as the dog finally finished the journey...and promptly planted his muddy front paws on Mallory’s lap and started to lick her face, his tail pumping a mile a minute.
“Benny!” Zach bellowed over Mallory’s shrieks and the boys’ explosion of giggles, grabbing the dog’s collar and tugging. Hard. Like trying to move a five-hundred-pound boulder. “Down!” With a mighty yank, he finally got the dog off Mallory’s lap. “And you two can stop right now,” he said to the boys. Who of course only laughed harder.
Mortified, Zach turned back to Mallory, busy wiping dog slobber off her cheek. He dug in his jacket pocket for a tissue. Which, with drippy-nosed boys, he always carried. Amazingly, it was actually clean.
“I’m so sorry!” he said, handing over the tissue and glaring at the completely unrepentant dog. “I had no idea he’d do that—”
“No worries,” she said, chuckling, mopping up the dog spit. “Come here, baby... No, it’s okay, don’t you pay any attention to the mean ol’ man...”
The dog gleefully obeyed her, wagging back to again get in her face, grinning his doggy grin and clearly enjoying the hell out of her fawning all over him. A moment later Dorelle appeared, bringing with her the scents of chocolate and brown sugar.
“Oh, I’m so glad y’all came!” she said, snatching the glasses from Zach. “Can they have some cookies?” She beamed down at the boys. “Right out of the oven, all gooey and warm.”
Two sets of pleading eyes swung to his, and Zach sighed. “Only a couple, they haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Got it,” Dorelle said, gathering the boys to her like a mama hen and herding them toward the kitchen. “Y’all like milk with your cookies? Or juice...?”
Zach returned his gaze to Mallory, her lap still full of blissful dog. “Um... I wasn’t actually planning on staying?”
“Meet my mother, the unstoppable force,” she said, gently pushing the dog down so Zach could come inside, into a spacious entryway flanked by a living area on one side, a formal dining room on the other. Not that he knew much about decorating, but the overall effect seemed more yard sale hodgepodge than designer-contrived. Or maybe that was the contrivance. “Oh, and by the way, Mama’s concept of a ‘couple’ probably does not jibe with yours.”
“That’s okay, neither does my mother’s.”
“And by ‘not planning on staying,’” she said, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at him, “was that you just trying to be polite? Or do you really have someplace else to be?”
“Would it make any difference?”
“To my mother? Not a lot, no.”
“And to you?”
Her eyebrows lifted. As did the corners of her mouth. “Far be it from me to detain a gentleman under false pretenses,” she said with a slight bow. “Or keep him against his will. Although I’m sure you know my mother probably didn’t leave those sunglasses behind on accident.”
Zach shoved his hands in his back pockets, unsure about how he felt by this turn of events. Unsure, period. “I did have my suspicions.”
Mallory glanced at the dog for a moment, then back up at Zach. “She’ll swear up one side and down the other she’s not trying to fix me up, but the woman lies like a rug.”
He smiled. “So I take it you’re not exactly on board with her plans?”
After a moment, she said, “The past five years haven’t exactly been a picnic. All I want is a little peace, you know? Some space where nothing’s happening. I am not looking for someone new in my life, believe me. At least not now.” Her lips curved. “And I suspect,” she said gently, “you know exactly where I’m coming from.”
Her understanding rattled him more than he was about to let on. “I do. So the question is...do we tell your mother?”
“Oh, I suppose we should let her have her fun. She doesn’t get much of that these days. And anyway, you seem reasonably sane, which is more than can be said for ninety percent of the men I usually come in contact with. The women, too, for that matter.” Her eyes narrowed. “I feel like you and I could actually have a real conversation, if we put our minds to it.”
Something like a tiny spark flickered in the center of his chest. “Then we don’t have any pressing engagements.”
“Good,” she said, then started toward the large living room, the tile changing over to bare wooden floors. A doorway at the far end opened into what was probably a converted garage, through which he glimpsed a few pieces of exercise equipment. The dog plodded beside her, her new BFF.
“Nice place.”
“Don’t know about ‘nice,’ but it met the main criteria—right location, all on one level, easy access to the outside. It took surprisingly little to retrofit it for my needs. I know the furniture’s goofy, but that’s what happens when seventies’ kitsch—my mother’s stuff from our old ranch—meets I-don’t-really-give-a-rat’s-hiney. And, yes, the torture chamber vibe—” she nodded toward the exercise gear “—adds a nice touch, don’t you think? Seriously, I have absolutely no style