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Davis grins. “That’s Arlo. He hasn’t figured out how his legs work yet.”
“I know the feeling,” I murmur, drifting around the kennel.
As if it weighs nothing, Davis hefts a large bag of dog food and begins filling bowls. Out of nowhere, a dog with dark fur materializes to stand beside him.
Davis tosses the dog a treat and says, “This is Keena.”
Thisis Keena?
A disgusting feeling of relief sweeps over me. “She’s yours?” I ask nonchalantly.
“She comes and goes between houses. Currently, she’s at Ford’s right now. But she’s mine, attitude and all.” He runs a massive hand gently through her fur. Keena leans into his touch and I flush.
Unbelievable. I’ve never been jealous of a dog before, but there’s a first time for everything.
“German Shepherd?”
“Belgian Malinois,” Davis says, giving Keena an ear rub. I fight a smile. Watching the stern handler from earlier melt over a dog does something warm and fluttery to my insides. “I got her the winter…you, uh, left.”
“Oh.” An awkward silence falls between us. I sweep a lock of hair from my eyes and study his handsome face. “You did a lot while I was gone.”
“Had to,” he grunts stiffly. With no further explanation, he returns to his tasks, rinsing off his massive hands in the farmhouse sink.
I shake my head. Forever mute, the man.
While he checks the dogs over, I sink into a squat and look Keena in the eyes. “You take good care of him, girl?”
I stick my hand out and wiggle my fingers in a bid to draw her closer.
If it’s possible for a dog to turn up her nose at me, Keena does. She sits there. Her hard gaze as no-bullshit as Davis’s.
I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t want to share him either.
“She doesn’t like strangers,” Davis says, coming back to us. I stand. “Don’t take it personally.”
“I won’t,” I say, ignoring the doubtful glance Keena gives me.
A series of barks erupt from the yard, and I flinch, stumbling into Davis. He wraps an arm around my back and holds me close to his chest. I close my eyes, inhaling his steadying scent of man and leather and coffee.
“Sorry,” I whisper into his tense muscles. “I’m jumpy.”
“Let’s go outside.” He steps back and guides me toward the door with firm hands.
We step back out into the chilly morning, and Davis turns, surveying me with a scrutinizing gaze. “You warm enough?”
Before I can answer, he’s adjusting my jacket. Butterflies escape in my stomach from our closeness, the heat of his massive frame in my space. The way his big hand slides over my throat as he adjusts my collar.
An image of Davis’s hands roaming up my body in the cabin from the last night we were together flashes through my mind, and my heart rate spikes.
“Good?” Davis looks down at me. For a brief second, he winces as his hand grazes my stomach. Pain in his eyes.
“Good,” I breathe.
Across the field, I see Charlie stomping down the front porch of his cabin. A small woman appears at Charlie’s shoulder, dancing around him as they walk toward us.
“Davis.” I grab his arm and he goes rigid at the physical contact. “Who’s that?”
“That’s Charlie.”
