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“Not if you’re breaking into your own house.” She took the hand he offered and hopped up. She was quick and agile like a dancer and in better shape than him. He worked out, but she was much younger and moved like an athlete.
“If this is your house, why are you climbing in a window?”
“I don’t have my key.”
He jacked an eyebrow. “Locked yourself out?”
“No. I did not.” For some reason, the logical question stirred her juices. “I went for a run and when I came back my key was gone,” she insisted.
“From your pocket? Maybe you dropped it somewhere on the road.”
“The key wasn’t in my pocket.” Her gaze slid away from his. “I keep one hidden…somewhere. It was there when I left.”
“I see.” Too stubborn to admit her mistakes.
“Somebody took that key.” She fisted a hand on one hip and squinted. The look was comical. Charming, too. “Maybe you took it.”
“Me?” Gabe touched his chest, both amused and taken aback at the ridiculous notion. “Why would I steal your house key?”
She surprised him with a laugh. “I have no idea. Dumb thought. Why would a total stranger come walking along and steal my key when I’m out for a jog?” The really cute squint returned. “Unless you’re some kind of a stalker.”
“How many stalkers do you know that carry around a two year old? I’m Gabe Wesson, your next-door neighbor. Moved in a few weeks ago.” He jerked a thumb toward his house. “This little monkey is my son, A.J.”
Everything about her softened—her stance, her expression, even her breathing—as she turned her focus to A.J. Gabe had never seen anyone melt, but he thought his neighbor came close. For Gabe there was nothing more attractive than a woman who liked kids, especially his.
“Hi, A.J.” Voice warm, she touched the back of his son’s hand with one finger. A.J. responded with his usual babble about trucks and Elmo. “I’m Brooke. Can you say Brooke?”
“Book.”
She lifted smiling blue eyes to Gabe’s. “He’s adorable.”
Gabe’s gut tightened. So was she. “These days he jabbers constantly. Sometimes I even understand what he’s talking about.”
“‘Book’ is pretty close. Lots of kids have trouble with R.” As if magnetized by his son, her focus returned to him. She tapped the red toy A.J. clutched against his chest. “What you got there, sweetie? A fire truck? Are you going to be a fireman when you grow up?”
The toddler pointed his chin upward and howled, “Woo-woo-woo.”
“That’s supposed to be a siren,” Gabe said.
“Well, yes. Anyone could recognize that.” Amused, she lifted her chin and echoed, “Woo-woo-woo!”
A.J. gurgled with laughter and thrashed the toy against Gabe’s chest. “Woo-woo. Firetuck, firetuck.”
“Easy there, boy.” Gabe caught the truck in one hand. “You’re beating up your old man.”
Brooke laughed and when she did, a dimple big enough to swim in dented her left cheek. Gabe’s belly ker-plopped. He was a sucker for dimples.
A.J. thought the smile was aimed at him and stretched out both arms. The truck dangled from one hand. A.J. was friendly, but he’d always preferred Daddy’s arms. Now he bounced and babbled and reached as if Brooke was a long-lost friend.
The action had a curious effect on her. The softened expression became a yearning, but she took one step back and shook her head, setting the ponytail into action. “I’m all sweaty.”
“He’s all sandy.” Gabe lowered A.J. to the grass and wiped a few grains from his shirt.
A.J. toddled over to Brooke and hugged her kneecap. She dropped a hand to the boy’s hair. A splint poked out from one finger. No wonder she’d had trouble holding on to the window facing.
“What happened to your finger?”
She glanced down. “Oh. That.” The question seemed to make her uncomfortable. “It’s broken. Slammed it in a car door.”
“Ouch.”
She waved the thick, white-covered splint. “No biggie. It only hurts if I whack it against something.” The dimple flashed again. “Which happens way more often than I’d like.” With a glance toward the house, she said, “You wouldn’t happen to have a skeleton key, would you?”
