Operation Blind Date. Justine Davis
her hand again, stopping her musing and making her wonder how long she’d been standing there staring at him.
“See, he knows it’s not ‘nothing,’” Teague said.
It took her a moment to backtrack in her mind, she’d been so lost in her contemplation of the man before her. That was unlike her, and only added to her unsettled state.
“No,” she admitted, “it’s not. It’s just not something you need to hear.” She reached down to stroke Cutter’s head once more. “See you next time, Cutter. Nice to meet you, Mr. Johnson.”
She turned to head back to her office. And had to stop when Cutter darted in front of her, blocking her path. Startled, she couldn’t help but laugh.
“Well, I’m flattered, sweet boy, but your mom’s probably missing you by now. You’d better go.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Teague said.
Laney whirled around. In her state of mind, the words almost sounded ominous. But the man’s expression was so glum and resigned any thought of being in danger from him vanished quickly. She wasn’t sure what this man did—wasn’t sure exactly what Foxworth did, for that matter—but she was sure he wasn’t a threat.
You thought that about Edward, too, she reminded herself, the thoughts flooding back, a painful contrast to the pleasant diversion of contemplating an attractive man. You thought he was harmless, safe to recommend to your best friend.
“Don’t let me see an expression like that and then try to convince me that nothing’s wrong,” Teague said quietly. “I may not be as smart as Cutter, but I’m not blind.”
She managed a laugh at the joke.
“I mean it. He knows when people are in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble.” That much, at least, was true. She wasn’t the one in trouble. She was just to blame for it.
Cutter sighed audibly. This time he got up and walked behind Laney, leaned into the back of her legs the same way he’d done to Teague moments ago, an action that had amused and puzzled her. The dog was, she noted, more gentle with her.
She heard a wry chuckle from Teague and her gaze shot to his face.
“Guess he figures I’m more stubborn or more stupid, so he has to push harder,” he said, his tone matching his expression.
In spite of her worry, she smiled; she couldn’t help it.
“Look, I know this sounds crazy, but he really does know. When people have a problem, I mean.”
“I believe it. He’s a very perceptive animal. More than any I’ve ever known and I’ve known a few.”
He seemed relieved that she accepted it. “It’s even more than that. He... It’s hard to explain. He’s like a mind reader, a strategist and an early warning system all in one. He’s one of our team now, and we’ve all come to trust him, rely on him even.”
His praise of her favorite client warmed her; people who loved and respected dogs went quickly to the friend column in her book. One who realized how special Cutter was started near the top. But it was the phrase “early warning system” that made her blink.
“What exactly is it that the Foxworth Foundation does?”
“Hayley hasn’t told you?”
“She said they help people. I assumed they were some sort of charitable operation.”
“They are, when they need to be.” He seemed to hesitate, then asked, “Do you have another appointment?”
“Just with my bookkeeping program.”
He glanced at his watch, a heavy, military-looking thing with more dials than she could conceive of needing. Then he looked back at her.
“I was about to go get him a pumpkin muffin next door.”
She smiled. “He likes pumpkin muffins?”
“I think he’d bite for one. But only the pumpkin. Hayley brings an assorted box in now and then, and that’s the only one he wants.”
Laney laughed. It felt good after the morning’s grim thoughts.
“Join us for a cup of coffee.” He smiled crookedly, in a sheepish way that warmed her. “Or one of those pumpkin latte things. My weakness.”
That he could admit a liking for the flavored, frothy drink without feeling his manhood threatened was more reason to like him. And she liked his easy humor about it, too. He was racking up points quickly.
And you, she told herself firmly, are not keeping score. You have enough to deal with.
But she found herself saying yes anyway. After all, what harm could there be in sitting in a public place with him? She’d have to be wrong not only about him, but about Hayley, Quinn and Cutter for it to be a problem.
She knew she wasn’t wrong about Cutter.
She trusted Cutter wasn’t wrong about Teague Johnson.
* * *
Teague took another sip of the latte. It was probably a good thing they only did this seasonally, he thought, or he’d be twenty pounds overweight, or having to add five miles a day to his runs, which were already long enough.
Cutter, muffin happily consumed, had found the one spot of sunshine near the outside table and plopped down for a snooze. Now that they were talking, the dog had that mission-accomplished sort of air that Teague had learned to recognize.
“Now that’s the Cutter I know,” Laney said.
“He only seems to know two speeds,” Teague said, indicating the dog with his cup, “that, and full tilt.”
“Maybe the latter requires the former,” Laney said.
Teague smiled. And not for the first time since they’d sat down here, he felt the urge to just forget what had brought them here, to simply sit here and enjoy a few minutes with an attractive woman, without the undercurrent.
But if it wasn’t for that undercurrent, they wouldn’t be here. It wasn’t like he asked every appealing woman he ran into out for coffee. In fact, he hadn’t asked a woman out for coffee, dinner or anything else in a long time. A very long time.
“Problem with your drink?”
Her quiet question made him realize he’d been frowning. “No.” He seized on his earlier thought, since he wasn’t about to open the door on his pitiful social life. “Just thinking it’s good this is only available now.”
She smiled. “It might not be so appealing on a hot summer day.”
“Did you really use the words ‘hot summer’ while sitting here in the Pacific Northwest?”
She laughed. It was a wonderful sound, and he wondered why she didn’t do it more. Then remembered that the reason was probably why they were sitting here in the first place.
“It does happen,” she said. “A couple of years ago we nearly set a record.”
“A record heat wave here is a cold snap elsewhere,” he said; he was willing to let the chat about the weather continue, if that’s what she needed to ease into the real subject. Or maybe she’d flat-out refuse to talk about it, and he could walk away knowing he’d at least tried. Guilt-free.
“Like where you’re from?” she suggested.
He gave a one-shouldered shrug of assent. “Where I’ve spent time,” he acknowledged, and left it at that. This was not the time to speak of distant lands of heat and burning sun and sand. “But I was born in Seattle, grew up over there.” Time to do a little steering of this conversation. “You?”
“I was born in Phoenix,” she said. “But we moved here when I was two, so I practically