Reese's Wild Wager. Barbara McCauley
night air in with her, and the earthy scent of autumn leaves. In her arms she held Boomer, Reese’s Border collie-terrier-Lab. Boomer was covered with mud. So was Sydney. All the way down to her fluffy brown slippers.
Mud on Sydney Taylor? Definitely a Kodak moment, Reese thought. He wanted to laugh, desperately, but the look of ice-cold fury on Sydney’s face stopped him. She’d murder him if he so much as smiled. Everyone knew that Sydney Taylor could cut a man off at the knees with just a glance. She might be pretty, but she was so damn bossy everyone called her Sydney the Hun. Not to her face, of course. After all, she was the granddaughter of the Honorable Judge Randolph Howland, and that did deserve a certain amount of respect.
Reese glanced at his brothers. Based on their slack jaws, they were obviously just as shocked as he was to see the impeccable Sydney Taylor in her bathrobe, covered with mud, holding a dog in her arms. Somehow, even in her disheveled state, she had an air of royalty.
“Well, if it bothers you that much, Syd—” Reese brought his chair back down on four legs “—the game’s just about over.”
Narrowing eyes the color of blue ice at Reese, Sydney lifted one finely arched eyebrow and pressed her lips tightly together. “You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. Your dog was in my flower bed again.”
Sydney had recently moved into the upstairs apartment of the historic brick building directly across the street from Squire’s Tavern. She’d also rented the store downstairs and had been renovating to open a restaurant. She’d installed a deep-blue awning over beveled glass French doors and created a garden-like entrance. Hence the flowers which Boomer had become so attracted to.
“Are you sure it was my dog?” Reese asked innocently. “I could have sworn I saw Madge Evans’s poodle out earlier.”
“Madge is a responsible pet owner,” Sydney said irritably. “You, on the other hand, are not. This is the fourth time in three weeks I’ve caught Boomer in my flowers. He’s all but ruined my pansies, dug up my bulbs twice and chewed up my chrysanthemums.”
Boomer barked, his guilt sealed when bright yellow petals fell from his jaw. Sydney stalked across the room and dumped the dog on top of the table. Boomer danced excitedly; chips and cards flew. Then Boomer gave a fierce shake of his long black-and-white coat and mud flew, as well. With an oath, Lucian jumped up, wiping at the splattered mud on the front of his white shirt.
Miss Lady Luck had suddenly been replaced by Miss Fortune, alias Sydney Taylor. Reese glanced forlornly at the queens in his hand, sighed, then threw his cards down and swiped at the dirt on his face. Boomer jumped off the table, sat at Reese’s feet and looked up at his master expectantly. The dog’s nose was covered with damp mud.
Reese knew he should be repentant, he really did. But there was just something about Sydney. Something about that haughty, patronizing air of hers that made him want to puff up his chest and bring that cute little chin of hers down a notch or two. Reese glanced at his brothers for a little moral support, but based on the gleam of amusement in their eyes, he was obviously on his own.
Reese stood and looked down at Sydney, considered telling her that she had a slash of dirt across her temple, then thought better of it. “I’ll buy you some more flowers and bulbs.”
Folding her arms tightly, she met his gaze. “What good will it do if your dog keeps digging them up? Need I remind you that my grand opening for Le Petit Bistro is in four weeks?”
Hardly. There was very little in Bloomfield County that everybody didn’t know about everybody else, some of which was even true. Since Sydney had returned three months ago from culinary school in France, the whole town had been talking. Not about the restaurant she was planning to open as much as the reason why she’d left town over a year ago: Sydney had been left high and dry at the altar by Bobby Williams, Head Coach at Bloomfield High School. Bobby had been offered a position at NYU, only he’d neglected to mention the job to Sydney, along with the fact that he’d decided not to get married. At least, not to her. Bobby and Lorna Green, a cocktail waitress from Reese’s tavern, had eloped on their way to New York.
No one had seen Bobby or Lorna since, but there had been talk that Lorna had been looking rather plump around the middle at the time she and Bobby had taken off together.
Reese had certainly never missed Bobby; he’d never liked the egotistical jerk, anyway. But Lorna, though a little dim-witted, had been a good employee, a rare commodity these days. Especially at the moment. With one waitress out on maternity leave, another on vacation, and a new girl who was sweet but couldn’t remember what time to show up for work, the tavern had been in chaos for the past two weeks.
And now Hurricane Sydney had blown in.
Nothing I can’t handle, Reese told himself and gave her his best smile. “I’m really sorry, Syd. It won’t happen again.”
“Spare me the charm.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “I realize that works on most of the women in this town, but it’s wasted on me.”
From any other woman, Reese would have wholeheartedly risen to the challenge. But this was Sydney, for Heaven’s sake. Sydney was starched stiff as a nun’s habit. Going up against Sydney would be sort of like the Titanic taking on the iceberg. And those were icy waters he’d rather not swim in.
Except, at the moment, with her hair all rumpled, dressed in her robe and slippers, Sydney didn’t look quite so starched or quite so stiff. She looked kind of…soft. Soft and cute.
Startled by his thoughts, he looked at her again, saw the rigid lift of her shoulders and tight press of her lips. Geez, what had he been thinking? Sydney Taylor might be an attractive woman, but soft and cute? And those frumpy robe and slippers she had on were not exactly Victoria’s Secret.
“Reese Sinclair, are you listening to me?” Sydney narrowed her eyes. “I’m not leaving here until we settle this once and for all.”
“You could have him destroyed,” Callan offered from the sidelines.
Boomer jumped up and barked shrilly.
With a gasp, Sydney whirled. “I would never harm an animal.”
“Not the dog.” Callan looked offended that Sydney would think such a thing. “I meant Reese.”
The look Sydney gave Callan could have wiped out spring crops. Reese glared at his brothers. He knew they were having a good laugh at his expense. He didn’t even blame them. If the situation were reversed, he’d want a front row seat. With popcorn. But if he was going to go one-on-one with Sydney Taylor, he sure as hell didn’t want an audience. “Weren’t you all just leaving?”
“Not me.” Lucian glanced at the cards still in his hand.
“No hurry.” Gabe started to take his coat back off and Callan followed suit. “We could squeeze in a couple more rounds.”
“Game’s over.” And so’s the show. Reese snatched the cards out of Lucian’s hands, helped Gabe put his coat back on, then shoved all three of his brothers out the door and closed it behind them.
“Okay.” Reese turned and faced Sydney. “Now, where were we?”
“You were about to tell me how you intend to keep your dog inside your own yard and out of my flowers.”
“Oh. Right. Well, here’s the thing.” Reese glanced at the dog, then moved beside Sydney, lowering his voice as he bent his head close to hers. The scent of lavender mixed with something else he couldn’t identify drifted from her skin. He hesitated, not only to appreciate the smell, but because he was surprised. He’d never thought about Sydney smelling so…nice.
Brow furrowed, she frowned at him. “What thing?”
“What? Oh, well, you see, Boomer’s sensitive about being locked up. Ever since I found him out on the highway and brought him home with me, he gets depressed if I try to keep him in.”
Boomer, who heard his name and seemed to understand he was the topic of conversation,