One Day in Apple Grove(13)

“He likes you.” Jack watched the way she slowly stroked her hand from the top of the puppy’s head, down the length of the dog’s spine. Mesmerized, back to thinking of mermaids and sea sirens, he couldn’t look away.

“I’ve always wanted a dog.”

He wiped his damp palms on his jeans. “I had two growing up. I still miss them.”

“What happened?”

“Jake, my first dog, was a beagle,” he told her. “He lived to be fourteen. I was so lonely when he died that my folks got another one right away. Sam was thirteen when she died.”

“It must be like losing a member of your family,” she whispered, absently rubbing the dog’s ears.

Jack moved to sit beside her, sensing the direction of her thoughts. Taking a chance, he said, “You miss her.”

Cait nodded. “There will be days when I wonder what my life would have been like if my mom hadn’t been in that accident.” She paused and the puppy squirmed until she started to pet him again. “But we had Pop and Meg.”

“Your sister gave up a lot to take care of you and Grace when you were really little.”

“I know.”

When she remained silent, he couldn’t ignore the urge to comfort her. He scooted closer and let his shoulder brush against hers. That static zing shot through him again. It wasn’t just one of those things. There was something about the woman sitting on his kitchen floor that called to him on more than one level—otherwise he wouldn’t be getting those shocks whenever they touched. Would he, or was he just physically drawn to her?

The knees of her jeans were nearly worn through and clung to her legs and backside like a dream, leaving little to his imagination. She was long, lean, and he couldn’t help but wonder if her legs were as stellar as Meg’s; although the oldest Mulcahy sister was shorter in stature, she had a first-class pair of legs. Well, he thought, the weather was getting warmer, so the chances of him seeing Caitlin’s legs clad in shorts were pretty good.

It had been a really long time since he’d been obsessed with a woman’s legs…longer than he cared to remember. There was more going on here than just the rescue of the little fuzzy ball of fur…had fate stepped in and decided that he needed to be rescued as well?

When Cait’s pocket vibrated against his hip, he smiled. “Is that a pistol in your pocket?” he quipped.

She smiled, obviously appreciating the movie reference. “You’ve gotta love Mae West.”

He grinned down at her. “Do you have to answer that?”

She sighed. “It’s a text.”

When she made no move to retrieve her phone from her pocket, he asked, “Are you going to answer it?”

“It’s probably my dad, and I really don’t have the energy to face him right now.”

He patted her knee and then the puppy. “It won’t get any easier if you put it off.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled, shifting so the puppy could curl up in her lap again. “You didn’t break the law and then scratch your dad’s favorite truck—the symbol of generations of Mulcahys on the job here in Apple Grove.”

“True,” he agreed, “but it could have been worse.”

“I know, I could have dented the door—or somebody could have been hurt.”

Needing to see her smile, he offered, “I have connections if you want a paint job like mine.”

When her mouth curved upward, he felt warm inside. To keep her smiling, he told her, “My knucklehead friends thought I’d get mad that they used army camo colors.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He grinned. “I thought it looked cool.”

“So that’s why you left it when you had plenty of opportunities to fix it over the years?”

He nodded and, seeing her relax, returned to the subject that was obviously troubling her. “Your father was probably worried just as much about you, but now that he knows you’re fine, he has the luxury of worrying about the truck—and doing his parental duty of reminding you that you screwed up.”

“I feel so much better now,” she said.

A lock of hair slipped from her braid and got stuck on the tips of her eyelashes. Without thinking, he reached over and smoothed it out of her eyes. “Good.” The need to pull her closer filled him, jangling his nerves. But he’d satisfied his curiosity—her hair felt soft as silk.

The silence lengthened between them until the puppy chose that moment to leap into his lap. “Oompf!” Stars swam before his eyes as a wave of nausea swept up from his toes.

“Doc, are you all right?”