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But that would be insane. She was a forty-one-year-old divorced woman who hadn’t been touched by anything other than silicone and her own fingers in over five years. She needed a push-up bra to keep her full Cs anywhere near where they used to live, and her ass had always been a bit plumper than she’d liked. It’d been at least a good seven months since she’d worn a touch of make-up, and her idea of fancy was jeans that didn’t have holes in them and a premium cotton T-shirt.
Men didn’t flirt with her. And not just because she didn’t put herself in many situations where single men would have the opportunity to pick her up.
This guy probably had to beat off perky twenty-somethings with daddy issues everywhere he went. He could have his choice of women without putting in an ounce of effort—no way in hell she’d do it for him.
“Uh, so what kind of dog are you interested in?”
Rising to his full height of…maybe six-two, he shrugged. “Not sure. Just kind of hoping I’ll know it when I meet ’em. Just know I’m not looking for something too small.”
It’d been a long time since a man had this effect on her, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Actually, that was the problem. She didn’t like that she did like it. He towered over her five and a half feet, making her feel small and delicate, vulnerable even.
Brooke didn’t do vulnerable. Not anymore.
Squaring her shoulders, she fought off old feelings of inferiority. This was her turf, her home. She was the expert here. This man hadn’t done anything to humble her. He couldn’t help his height and its effect on her. Damn her ex-husband and his mind games.
“Well, let me let the crew out, and you can meet them and watch them running around playing. You can see if any of them steal your heart.”
“Sounds good,” he said as he held out a hand. “I’m Curly.”
Yes, you are.
“Brooke,” she said. “But I guess you already know that.” She placed her hand against his, and as the callused fingers closed around her palm, she fought to repress the shiver that tried to run up her spine. Those hands were so…masculine. So strong and rough. If she hadn’t guessed it before, she’d know now that he was not a man who lived his life behind a desk. He must do something outdoors if his tanned, gritty hands were any indication.
She liked that. She’d never cared for men who had office jobs or inactive lifestyles.
Okay, that was a lie. She’d been very attracted to one once, but that had certainly blown up in her face.
As she pulled her hand from his, she frowned. Shit, given that she worked outside training dogs all day, her hands were probably as coarse as his. What man wanted a woman with beat-up hands?
Note to self: buy hand cream.
Not that she planned on getting with this or any man in the near future. Still, it wouldn’t kill her to take a little better care of her skin.
“Nice to meet you, Brooke. This town speaks highly of you.”
“Are you new here?” she asked as she opened the first kennel and let the little eight-pound terrier out. He yipped and yapped a circle around Curly’s feet before jetting outside.
“Born and raised,” he said as he mimicked her actions and opened a kennel, releasing a senior golden retriever. “But I’ve been away for over a decade. Just moved back a few days ago.”
What the hell? Did he think she couldn’t handle the kennels herself? For fuck’s sake, she’d been managing it on her own for years. “I’ve got it,” she snapped as he reached to open another door. Quick as lightening, she grabbed for the latch herself, opening it before he had a chance to.
Frowning, he took a step back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The move made him look smaller and less powerful. “Sorry, didn’t mean to step on your toes. Just trying to make myself useful. Didn’t want to be rude and stand around while you did all the work.”
Brooke’s cheeks burned. Maybe she’d read that wrong. She wasn’t used to having a man around. “Well, um, welcome back. Bet a lot has changed since you moved away.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered half under his breath.
By now, she had all the dogs out of their kennels. They were surrounded by wagging tails and lapping tongues. Brooke laughed and tried to usher them out into the yard. “Come on, gang. Let’s let the man breathe,” she said as she herded them outside. It was impossible for her to feel anything but joy when in the presence of happy dogs. Knowing the safety, happiness, and comfort she provided was the only kind treatment some of these dogs had ever received provided her with a tremendous sense of pride.
