Page 13 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

Clementine would have preferred to remain unnoticed, but ignoring locals drew attention. “You could sell it as a tourist attraction,” she called back. “Just put up a sign: Feed the world’s first Doberman duck.”

Imelda cackled.

“Don’t feed the ducks.” The abrupt male voice snipped over Clementine’s shoulder, so close it made her jump. Jack David had caught her off-guard again, setting her off kilter.

“I wasn’t feeding the ducks.”

“You were suggesting it.”

“As a joke.”

She regained her kilter and faced her mark. Jack was sweaty again, his Nike shirt and running shorts molded to his fine physique. Her temperature rose, but his friendliness seemed to have cooled, judging by the annoyed press of his lips. Not a great start to her plan.

Imelda yanked her dogs farther down the path, but yelled to Jack, “I’ll pick up Colonel Blue at noon.”

“I’m sure he’s looking forward to it. How’s Iron Man recovering?”

“Leg will be right as rain in no time, but he’s not fond of his cone of shame. The other dogs are calling him names.”

Jack smiled, making full eye contact with Imelda. “Glad he’s doing better. Give him a cuddle for me.”

A cuddle? And why was Imelda joking with a blue-blood tyrant who had fired her fellow townsfolk? Unless Imelda’s niceties were rooted in fear and she chose sucking up over rudeness.

Jack continued his run on the gravel trail, not a glance spared for Clementine. She cursed under her breath. Now she was chasing him, when she needed him chasing her.

She picked up her pace and caught up to him, mirroring his quicker stride. More difficult for her, considering his longer legs, but Clementine wasn’t a petite woman, and running was her jam. She could jog Central Park with her eyes closed.

“You have a dog named Colonel Blue?” she asked.

He kept his attention ahead. “No.”

Wow. One word. The awkward flirty man who’d hit on her had gone AWOL. “Does Imelda walk your pet armadillo?”

He didn’t crack a smile. They skirted a large willow tree and Jack powered forward, picking up the pace. “Blue is my father’s dog. He’s away. Imelda walks him.” Each sentence was clipped and harsh. A total brush off.

It proved her initial assessment of his insolent brattiness, but it didn’t help her cause. She increased her speed to match his. Small talk was needed. She had to draw him in. Make him feel interesting. “Since you live in Whichway, not the Whatnot Diner, what do you do for work?”

The steel set of his jaw bulged, as though he was angry. Because she’d turned him down on the highway? Or maybe the false name had soured him. Both reasons made sense. That didn’t keep a twinge from pinching her chest. Twinging that shouldn’t happen. She didn’t care if not-Maxwell was interested in her. She did care about his family’s painting.

If he didn’t soften up soon, she’d have to suck up her pride and fake an injury.

“My father founded David Industries.”

“The factory in town?”

“Yes.”

He ran faster. She matched his speed, breathing harder. A lawnmower buzzed in the distance.

“That place is huge. And you work there?”

That place is huge. God, she sounded inane. David Industries wasn’t just huge. It was the town’s main artery. It employed three-quarters of the population, keeping quaint Whichway thriving. Jack was the current CFO, the brains behind their lens-tech-invention-thingy that allowed cameras and phones to autofocus. She knew all these details, hated pretending like she didn’t, but men loved talking about their work accomplishments.

Jack wasn’t behaving like most men.

Feet pounding the gravel, he said, “I manage the finances and run R and D.”

“R and D?” There she went, sounding simple again.