Page 23 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“That they adapt?”

“That they change to protect themselves.” A living embodiment of herself. “Also, they don’t shed or have to be walked.”

“So you’re lazy.”

“I’m running, aren’t I? Idiot,” she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.

He grinned.

His amusement made her strangely happy. “Lucy is adorable,” she said. “She has a red ball she chases when swimming in my bathtub. My dad would have loved her.”

“Mine isn’t a reptile fan.”

“Where is your father?”

“What do you mean?” Jack stopped short, so abruptly she’d gone five strides before noticing.

She faced him, breathing hard. “Isn’t your father away?”

“How’d you know he’s away?”

Shit. Had she heard it from a local or had she studied it in her notes? On any other job, she’d know the answer instantly. This job had been nothing but a delayed start, distracted focus, and lusty dreams. But nope, she was sure. She’d learned that tidbit publicly. “In the diner that first day, Jasmine said something about him being away, that she hoped he’d return for the festival.”

As usual, his gaze skittered away from her, but this was a different avoidance. Jumpy. Nervous. He dragged an agitated hand through his hair. “He’s been traveling, and I didn’t realize the time. I need to head to work.”

She’d fibbed enough to sniff out lies a mile away, and Not-Maxwell Jack David who performed as Elvis was telling falsehoods. She didn’t push. She didn’t want to distance him more than she already had. Talking dragons was a novelty, but what she needed was to get into his family estate. “Want to meet at the diner for a coffee? I can show you pictures of Lucy.”

“Another time. I’m behind at work.” He tipped his head to her and jogged toward his car.

Her focus stayed firmly on him. On his calves as they balled and lengthened, his shifting back muscles and delectable butt. A butt she wouldn’t touch, delectable or otherwise. She had a job to do for Nisha. For Lucien. For every kid who hadn’t chosen to be abandoned. She just had to work harder and ignore Jack’s gravitational pull.

8

Jack loved living in Whichway. The slower pace appealed to him. There was no aggravating traffic. The small town meant he’d never fully shake his awkward teenage past, but every hill and tree was part of his DNA.

Each morning, he’d drive past the rock where he’d skinned his first knee. He’d smile at the field that housed Whichway’s annual Race Into Spring weekend. His father had cheered him on there. He’d swung him in the air, even if he’d dropped his eggs while running to the finish line. They’d done the three-legged race together, falling over in hysterics.

They still attended every spring, played the same games with Jack’s little sister—the surprise child his parents hadn’t planned at their age, but who brought them untold joy. His father had missed his twelve-year-old daughter’s smiles at this past spring’s festival. If cancer beat him as predicted, he might never see another race.

Jack enjoyed passing the field these days, having these moments close. What he didn’t like was how often he ran into Clementine.

We can be friends, she’d said. Have coffee and go for runs.

Whichway suddenly felt too small.

She’d been everywhere the past two days. Running with him. Slipping onto the stool beside his. He may have skipped his coffee and pastry one morning, a desperate move to resist Clementine’s allure, but he couldn’t repeat the maneuver. Status quo needed to be maintained, which meant suffering through polite conversation with Clementine when what he wanted was anything but polite.

Now it was eleven p.m., and he was holed up in his research lab, thinking about Clementine when he should be focused on work.

He forced his attention to his page. His employees had left hours ago. The only noise was the droning air conditioner and the frustrated tapping of his pen. He was so close to solving their formula and finding the secret sauce to lower their costs and increase their volume. If they could do that, it wouldn’t matter that their technology had been stolen. They could compete for a chunk of market share.

“Keep that up and you’ll be as bald as me.”

Jack startled and dropped his pen. He hadn’t realized he’d been tugging his hair, and he certainly hadn’t heard his father enter. “What are you doing here?”

“Last I checked, I own this place.”

“Last I checked, you should be at home in bed.”