What Happens Between Friends. Beth Andrews
you think anything’s wrong?”
“Because you’re standing in front of me, wet, muddy and bedraggled—”
“Ooh...breaking out the big-boy words. I’m so proud.”
“—which I’m going to guess means you’re flat broke, unemployed or without prospects. Or all of the above. No offense,” he added.
“None taken.”
How could she when he’d pretty much summed up her situation? And quite succinctly, too.
At least he wouldn’t hold any of those items against her.
“Actually,” she continued, “I prefer to think of it as financially challenged, between jobs and open to life’s many possibilities.”
“To each their own.” He stepped closer, gave her one of his searching looks, as if he could see inside her head. Too bad she didn’t let anyone, not even her best buddy, get that close to her. “What can I do to help?”
Those damn tears were back. Here she was, slinking into Shady Grove with her tail and her failure tucked firmly between her legs. But with James, there were no recriminations or smirky looks—oh, man, she really hated those smirky, I-expected-so-much-more-from-you looks.
Her mother was an ace at them.
He didn’t list all the many, and varied, ways Sadie had gone wrong in her life—conveniently forgetting the times she’d been successful. Didn’t insist she’d be happy and fulfilled only if she stopped chasing foolish dreams and married some dentist or lawyer, birthed two-point-five kids and spent the rest of her days locked in a three-thousand-square-foot Cape Cod house, complete with inground pool, gourmet kitchen and white picket fence. He didn’t expect her to stay in Shady Grove.
Didn’t expect her to follow in her mother’s footsteps.
Irene had given up her freedom for security. She’d traded in spontaneity and excitement for schedules and monotony, had tossed aside her independence for a life of entitlement, one she hadn’t even earned. She’d settled.
Sadie never would. She had too much of her father in her. Would rather die than to be...ordinary.
And James knew it. He knew her, better than anyone.
She squeezed his forearm. “Thanks, but right now, all I want to do is get into some dry clothes, have a huge piece of your birthday cake and then drown my sorrows with a bottle of wine.”
“I think we can manage that.”
“I’ll get my bag.” As she passed the passenger side, Elvis, previously lying across both front seats—the better to spread his muddy paw prints around—sat up, his ears perked. Sadie let him out and he raced to the front of the Jeep, his body vibrating. He barked three times, sounding like some vicious beast ready to tear a man’s arm off and use it as a chew toy, then sniffed the ground, lifted his leg and peed on her front tire.
James blinked. “There was a dog in your car.”
“Sherlock Holmes has nothing on your deductive powers.”
“You got a dog?” he asked, sounding as shocked as if she’d hog-tied good old Sherlock and painted his toenails bright pink.
The strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, she shut the rear passenger-side door. “Sort of.”
“Is that like when you sort of had a job as Bill Gates’s personal assistant?”
“I told you, Bill and I had a real moment at that restaurant. We clicked.” She linked her hands together to show her and Bill’s connection. “He probably misplaced my number, that’s all.”
James’s snort made her think he didn’t believe her.
“I never pictured you with a pet, especially one that big.”
“He’s not technically mine. I found him.”
“What do you mean, you found him?”
“I’m not sure how to make that statement clearer. He was in the middle of the road, I swerved to avoid hitting him, hit that stupid sign then went back and found him on the side of the road.”
“You went back to rescue a stray dog? By yourself?” James asked, incredulous. Worried. Well, it was one of the things he did best. “What if he was rabid?”
She and Elvis exchanged an amused look—okay, so it was definitely amused on her end. As if he’d understood every word they’d said, Elvis hung his head and slunk over to James, where he sat and lifted his paw quite adorably.
“Yes,” she said, her tone all sorts of wry, “clearly he’s the next Cujo.”
But James didn’t hear her, he was too busy shaking Elvis’s paw with one hand, petting him with the other as he murmured to the dog about what a good boy he was, how smart.
“Aww...there’s nothing quite as heartwarming as a boy and his dog,” Sadie said.
“No.”
She blinked innocently at him. No one did innocent like she did—even if she had to say so herself. “What?”
“I’m not taking him off your hands. I already have a dog.” He straightened. “Unlike this one, she’s never pissed on anyone’s tire and she doesn’t stink. And don’t try to tell me you got him for me for my birthday.”
Shoot. That had been her next tactic.
See? That was the problem with someone knowing you so well. No sense of surprise. “So you won’t take him in, raise him as one of your own,” she said.
“That about sums it up.”
“But you will help me find out if someone is searching for him?”
He kept silent, as if he was thinking that one over. Silly man. Didn’t he realize she knew him just as well as he knew her?
Which was how she knew he was going to agree even before he nodded.
Grinning, she linked her arm with his, hugged it close to her side. “I knew I could count on you.” Always. Forever. “Come on. Let’s go see about that cake.”
* * *
JAMES GLANCED AT his phone. By his calculations, Sadie had been back in his life for approximately twenty minutes and he’d already agreed to help her with her latest problem. Which meant he’d be taking on the responsibility of finding the damn dog’s owners. Twenty minutes. Must be some sort of record. Leo was right. He was a sucker.
He never could refuse Sadie anything.
It was his cross to bear, his greatest weakness.
She was his greatest weakness.
He stopped just inside the doorway to his parents’ room, flipped on the four recessed lights in the vaulted ceiling, casting the room in a soft glow. The walls, a deep olive green, were offset by low-pile beige carpet and white trim. Filmy, tan curtains with splashes of darker brown hung open, leaving a clear view of the crescent moon trying to break through the clouds, the hills a dark shadow in the distance.
Sadie pressed against his back. “You sure your mom doesn’t mind me hopping in the shower?” she asked, her breath washing over the sensitive skin at the side of his neck.
He made the mistake of glancing at her. Damn it, she wasn’t beautiful, not classically so, anyway—her chin was too narrow, her cheeks too wide, her nose on the thin side. But if you put all the elements together—her mouth with its sharp cupid’s bow, her milky-white complexion and ice-blue eyes—she was more than lovely. More than just another pretty blonde.
She was stunning. Effervescent and sparkling, like the finest champagne.
And like champagne, if you weren’t careful, you could get drunk on her.
His hands fisted. Need for her