A Soldier's Secret. RaeAnne Thayne
like the talk-show host. It’s a long story.”
One he obviously wasn’t interested in hearing about, if the remote expression on his handsome features was any indication.
She tugged Conan’s leash when he tried to wrap himself around the soldier’s legs and after another disgruntled moment, the dog condescended enough to sit beside her. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived so I could show you around. I wasn’t expecting you for a day or two.”
“My plans changed. I was released from the military hospital a few days earlier than I expected. Since I didn’t have anywhere else to go right now, I decided to head out here.”
How sad, she thought. Didn’t he have any family eager to give him a hero’s welcome?
“Since I was early, I planned to get a hotel room for a couple days,” he added, “but the property management company said the apartment was ready and available.”
“It is. Everything’s fine. I’m just sorry I wasn’t here.”
“The real estate agent handled everything.”
Not everything Tracy probably wanted to handle, Anna mused, then was slightly ashamed of herself for the base thought.
This whole situation felt so awkward, so out of her comfort zone.
“You were able to find everything you needed?” she asked. “Towels, sheets, whatever?”
He shrugged. “So far.”
“The kitchen is fully stocked with cookware and so forth but if you can’t find something, let me know.”
“I’ll do that.”
Despite his terse responses, Anna was disconcerted by her awareness of him. He was so big, so overwhelmingly male. She would be glad when the few months were up, though apparently Conan was infatuated with the man.
She had a sudden fierce wish that Tracy had found a nice older lady to rent the attic apartment to, but somehow she doubted too many older ladies were interested in climbing forty steps to get to their apartment.
Thinking of the steps reminded her of his injury and she nodded toward the sling on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t here to help you carry up boxes. I guess you managed all right.”
“I don’t have much. A duffel and a suitcase. I’m only here for a short time.”
“I know, but it’s still two long flights of stairs.”
She thought annoyance flickered in his eyes, as if he didn’t like being reminded of his injury, but he quickly hid it.
“I handled things,” he said.
“Well, if you ever need help carrying groceries up or anything or if you would just like the name of a good doctor around here, just let me know.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need anything. Just a quiet place to hang for a while until I’m fit to return to my unit.”
She had the impression Lieutenant Harry Maxwell wasn’t a man who liked being in any kind of position to need help. She supposed she probably shouldn’t be holding her breath waiting for him to ask for it.
“I’m afraid I can’t promise you complete quiet. Conan is mostly well-behaved but he does bark once in a while. I should also warn you if Tracy didn’t mention it that there are children living in the second-floor apartment. Seven-year-old twins.”
“They bark, too?”
She searched his face for any sign of a sense of humor but his expression revealed nothing. Still, she couldn’t help smiling. “No, but they can be a little…energetic…at times. Mostly in the afternoons. They’re gone most of the day at school and then they’re usually pretty quiet in the evenings.”
“That’s something, then.”
“In any case, they won’t be here at all for several days. Their mother, Julia, is a teacher. Since they’re all out of school right now for spring break, they’ve gone back to visit her family.”
Before Lieutenant Maxwell could respond, Conan broke free of both the sit command and her hold on the leash and lunged for him again, dancing around his legs with excitement.
Anna reached for him again. “Conan, stop it right now. That’s enough! I’m so sorry,” she said to her new tenant, flustered at the negative impression they must be making.
“No worries. I’m not completely helpless. I think I can still manage to handle one high-strung mutt.”
“Conan is not like most dogs,” she muttered. “Most of the time we forget he even is a canine.”
“The dog breath doesn’t give him away?”
She smiled at his dry tone. So some sense of humor did lurk under that tough shell. That was a good sign. Brambleberry House and all its quirks demanded a strong constitution of its occupants.
“There is that,” she answered. “We’ll get out of your way and let you settle in. Again, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. My phone number is right next to the phone or you can just call down the stairs and I’ll usually hear you.”
“I’ll do that,” he murmured, his mouth lifting slightly from its austere lines into what almost passed for a smile.
Just that minimal smile sent her pulse racing. With effort, she wrenched her gaze away from the dangerously masculine appeal of his features and tugged a reluctant Conan behind her as she headed back down the stairs.
Nerves zinging through her, Anna cursed to herself as she let herself back in to her apartment. She did not need this right now, she reminded herself sternly.
Her life was already a snarl of complications. She certainly didn’t need to add into the mix a wounded war hero with gorgeous eyes, lean features and a mouth that looked made for trouble.
* * *
He forgot about the damn dog.
Max shut the door behind the two of them—Anna Galvez and Conan. His last glimpse of the dog was of him quivering with a mix of excitement and friendly welcome and a bit of why-aren’t-you-happier-to-see-me? confusion as she yanked his leash to tug him behind her down the stairs.
It had been shortsighted of him not to think of Abigail’s mutt and his possible reaction to seeing Max again. He hadn’t even given Conan a single thought—just more evidence of how completely the news of Abigail’s death had knocked him off his pins.
The dog had only been a pup the last time he’d seen him before he shipped to the Middle East for his first tour of duty. During those last few days he had spent at Brambleberry House, Max had played hard with Conan. They’d run for miles on the beach, hiked up and down the coast range and played hours of fetch in the yard.
Had it really been four years? That was the last time he had had a chance to spend any length of time here, a realization that caused him no small amount of guilt.
Conan should have been one of the first things on his mind after he found out about Abigail’s death—several months after the fact. He could only blame his injuries and the long months of recovery for sending any thoughts of the dog scattering. It looked as if he was well-fed and taken care of. He supposed he had to give points to the woman—Anna Galvez—for that, at least.
He wasn’t willing to concede victory to her, simply because she seemed affectionate to Abigail’s mutt.
Anna Galvez. Now there was a strange woman, at least on first impressions. He couldn’t quite get a handle on her. She was starchy and stiff, with her hair scraped back in a knot and the almost-masculine business suit and skirt she wore.
He would have considered her completely unappealing, except when she smiled,