My Sunshine (27 page)

“Little girls don't play with baby dolls like they used to. You found some, I hope.”

Laura held up a sack. “Thirteen. The clerk made sure I counted right. I think they'll work.”

He took the bag and opened it toward the light. “Right on. These will do great.”

Arms laden with belongings, Laura bumped the car door closed with her hip. “I went to five stores before I found them.”

“Five? Jeesh.” He stepped over to take the box and overnight case from the top of the Mazda. “You must be beat.”

“A little.”

Working in tandem, they began carrying her things to the house and depositing them just inside the front door. As they went back and forth, they spoke in starts and stops. He told her that he'd fed the puppies with a syringe and put them in the wading pool for a snooze. “I called the people who owned their mother. When the puppies are weaned, they'd like to have their pick of the litter. You can sell the others and keep the money.”

When Laura heard how much each puppy might bring, she couldn't believe her ears. “How much did you say?”

“You heard me,” he said with a grin. “If they all live, and I see no reason why they shouldn't, this endeavor will be very profitable.”

Laura hadn't given a thought to the financial rewards. “I didn't know a dog could cost that much.”

“Oh, yeah. Certain breeds, anyway. Evidently the mother and father were both show quality.
German bloodlines, they said. Some of the puppies will command a very high price.”

When they had carried everything inside, Isaiah closed the front door and swung a hand to encompass the house. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

Laura took in the spacious living room, which seemed all the larger because it was almost empty. A wrought-iron chandelier hung from the center beam of the knotty-pine ceiling. Its mellow light combined with that of a fire crackling cheerfully in a large rock fireplace at the opposite end of the room to wash the unadorned log walls with amber. Two burgundy beanbag chairs sat before the raised hearth. A big-screen television was the only other piece of furniture.

“It's a great house.” Empty, but pretty.

She wondered why he had no sofa or regular chairs, but before she could think of a polite way to ask, he said, “I keep meaning to do something with the rooms, but I never seem to find the time.”

“Oh.” Laura bit back a smile. That was so like Isaiah, always racing from one task to the next, with never enough hours in his day. “Finding the right pieces takes a lot of time, and it's not something you should rush. Once you get a couch and chairs, you'll be stuck with them for a while.”

“Exactly.” He gave her a speculative look. “You'd be good at it, I bet.”

“Good at what?”

“Picking out furniture. I thought about hiring a decorator, but every time I start to call, I chicken out and hang up.”

“Why?”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't know. Tucker's decorator did a great job with his place. It's just . . .” He gestured with his hand. “I'm afraid she'd do it up fancy like his, and I'd hate that. I want my home to reflect my personality, not someone else's. You know what I'm saying?”

Laura understood exactly what he meant. It wouldn't do for some decorator to come in there and create a spectacular showplace with delicate knickknacks cluttering every surface. Isaiah was a hardworking man with an outdoorsy lifestyle. He needed furniture and wall decorations that suited his personality. Laura envisioned a durable leather sofa and oversize easy chairs, flanked by distressed-wood tables—chunky, comfortable furniture in keeping with the style of the house and the man who lived there.

As she stepped farther into the room, she ran her gaze over the loft above her. She loved the railing, made of yet more logs, none of them planed, so each post had natural twists and knots to lend it character. A staircase to her left angled up the wall, providing ingress to the top floor.

“There are three bedrooms up there and two more down here,” he explained. “I'd offer you your choice of sleeping accommodations, but only the first-floor guest room has a bed.”

Laura couldn't help but laugh. She was just pleased to know that she wouldn't be expected to sleep on the floor. “Down here is fine.”

“It's probably just as well.” He gestured at the railing above them. “If a puppy escaped from the wading pool up there, it'd be a mighty long drop.”

Laura shuddered at the thought. “Did you design the house?” she asked as she turned to see everything.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because it's like you somehow.”

Laura had no better words to explain it, only that the house reminded her of him: big, attractive, solid, and straightforward, yet imaginative as well. She liked the window seats to the right of the front door. They were wider than most and ran quite deep, providing enough room for a person to recline. With some bright, overstuffed cushions, they would provide cozy reading areas with all the natural light that would pour through the windows during the day.

“Let me take your coat,” he offered. “Then I'll show you through.”

As Laura drew off her jacket to hand it over, Hapless reared up on her leg for petting. “Hello, Hapless. Oh, yes, I love you, too.” Laura gave the puppy a scratch behind the ears. “You're a sweetie. Yes, you are.”

“He's a pest,” Isaiah corrected as he closed the coat closet. “If you get tired of him, just push him down.”

“I never get tired of dogs.”

With a final pat on the dog's head, Laura trailed after her employer for her first look at the inside of the house. Behind the double-sided stone fireplace was a spacious dining room devoid of furniture. Beyond that was an equally large kitchen, divided from the living area by a long bar lined with wicker-back stools.

“What a nice kitchen,” she exclaimed. “And there are bar stools. How nice. You can sit down while you eat.”

He narrowed an eye at her. “Keep it up and I'll have you shopping for furniture and decorating the place.”

Laura almost wished he would carry through on the threat. She'd never decorated a brand-new house. It would be fun—and challenging.

“I wanted a gourmet kitchen,” he explained as he showed her the Viking range top, the double ovens, a gigantic Sub-Zero side by side, and a custom work island with tons of under-the-counter storage. “State-of-the-art,” he said proudly, even as he cast her a sheepish grin. “Too bad I can't cook.”

Laura laughed again. Around Isaiah she seemed to do a lot of that. “Maybe you can take cooking classes.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, right. In my spare time, maybe?”

“Perhaps your wife will enjoy cooking,” she offered.

He smiled slightly. “Maybe so.”

He led her into a nice-sized laundry room. “Washer, dryer.” He grinned and winked. “Here we have laundry soap.” He opened a door to show her the attached three-car garage. “While you're getting settled in your room, I'll park your Mazda out there,” he informed her. “Forecast calls for snow tonight and tomorrow.”

“It does?” Laura's expression brightened.

“Yep,” he confirmed, sounding far less enthusiastic than she felt. “Tomorrow I'll be shoveling the
drive, sure as the world. No point in having to scrape snow off the windshields, too.”

Laura followed him through the kitchen again, her gaze trailing over him while his back was turned. It wasn't often that she saw him without a lab coat. She studied his Western belt, where his first name had been tooled into the leather. Then she admired the purely masculine shift of his lean hips as he walked. He had the gait of a man who'd spent much of his life in the saddle.

“Do you have any horses?” she asked.

“Not yet. Come spring I'm hoping to get a couple.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Do you ride?”

Laura shook her head. “Not for years, and then only a little.”

“Well, now, we can't have that. I'll have to give you riding lessons. There are some great trails out here. The property backs up to BLM land.”

Prior to her accident, Laura had occasionally done eco studies for the Bureau of Land Management and other governmental agencies.

“Thousands of acres, no houses. You'll love it.”

Laura suspected he was right; she would love it. That was the whole problem: She loved everything about Isaiah Coulter, loved being with him. Once the puppies were weaned, she needed to avoid him. No more accepting impromptu invitations to go out to dinner with him. No more delivering kittens to sad old ladies. No more hanging out in the surgery for coffee breaks where she would be sure to run into him.

As they passed the stove, she saw a pot of
something on one of the gas burners. The smell of tomato soup wafted from under the stainless-steel lid, reminding her that she'd yet to eat dinner. Isaiah led her back to the front of the house to a door positioned under the stairs. He pushed open the portal and flipped on the overhead light to reveal a large bedroom. As Laura moved to stand beside him in the doorway, she was acutely aware of him physically—of his height and breadth, of the heat that radiated from his body and the masculine scent of him. It took all her concentration to focus on the bedroom furnishings, a lovely sleigh bed, a matching dresser with mirror, and a tall chest of drawers where she could store her clothing.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you're used to lots of stuff on the walls.”

“It's fine,” she assured him. And it was. The bed had been made up. There was no bedspread, but the colorful patchwork quilts had a charm all their own that went nicely with the rustic log walls. She stepped over to test the mattress. When she sat on the edge and gave a bounce, the springs squeaked. “Comfy. I'll sleep like a baby.”

Just then their gazes met. To Laura the air between them suddenly seemed charged with electricity. Man, woman, squeaking bed. She pushed to her feet so quickly she got light-headed.

He cleared his throat, looked away. “That leads to the bathroom,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “There's a jetted tub and shower. I think it'll meet your needs.” He cleared his throat again. “We won't be fighting for a turn in the shower, anyway.”

Feeling like an idiot, Laura stepped over to look
in the bathroom. “Oh!” she said with delighted surprise that helped to dispel the tension. “How pretty.” The tub was surrounded by what looked like an acre of forest-green tile. Above it the ceiling sported a glass dome, some of the panes stained ruby and green, others clear. “Oh, Isaiah.” She imagined hanging plants around the deep tub, how they would thrive in the tricolored light that would pour through the dome all day. With a few decorative touches, it could have been a bathroom fit for royalty. “Did you design this?”

“More or less. I sketched what I wanted and hired a guy to draw up the blueprints.”

“It's lovely.” Laura wished she could say
fabulous
without getting tongue-tied.

“Thank you. The main suite is even nicer. No tour of that until I pick up in there, though. I'm a complete slob.”

“The house looks clean to me.”

“Cleaning woman.”

“Ah.”

As Laura turned from the bathroom, she spied a turquoise wading pool on the floor between the bed and the wall. “Oh, the babies!” she said softly.

He came to stand beside her. “What I wouldn't give to be able to sleep like that,” he said with a low laugh.

Laura crouched down to admire her snoozing charges, all thirteen of them. She loved their stout little bodies, blockish heads, and squashed noses. “They have hearts on their butts.”

He laughed again and hunkered down beside
her. “They do at that. Tomorrow we need to take them to the clinic and dock their tails.”

Laura hadn't thought of that. “Oh, ouch. Do we have to do it so soon? They're so tiny yet.”

“Better to do it now. If you wait until they're older, it hurts a lot more.”

Laura couldn't bear to think about it. “It seems so mean. Why can't we just leave them with tails?”

“We could, I guess.” Hapless bounded into the room just then. Isaiah caught the rambunctious puppy back from jumping into the wading pool. “Off-limits, buddy. They're too little to play with you yet.” He gave Hapless a knuckle rub on the head. “The problem with not docking their tails is that rotts are such big dogs, and their tails are stout. As adults, they'll knock stuff off tables and slap people's legs every time they wag.”

Laura didn't think that would be so terrible.

“We also have to remember that they're expensive purebreds. Rottweilers normally have docked tails. They'll look weird if we don't do it.”

Laura supposed he had a point. Weird-looking dogs might be hard to place in loving homes. “Will it hurt?”

He considered the question. “I've never had it straight from a puppy, mind you, but I don't think it's that bad. A quick sting, maybe. We apply an analgesic ointment almost immediately, and most times they go right back to sleep.”