My Sunshine (28 page)

Laura sighed. “I don't want to watch.” She leaned forward over her knees to pick up a puppy. The sight of its disgruntled frown made her laugh. “Isn't he sweet?”

“He is a she.” Isaiah considered the wrinkled little face that Laura turned toward him. “And, yes, she's pretty darned cute. It's hard to look at a face like that without smiling.”

Laura gently returned the puppy to her siblings. “Thank you for letting me keep them here, Isaiah. It's very kind of you.”

He shrugged. “I'm as happy about saving them as you are, and you're the one who's kind. It's no easy project you've taken on. For the next four weeks you'll be losing a lot of sleep.”

“I don't mind.”

“No, I know you don't.” He ran his gaze over her face as if to commit each line and angle to memory. “And that's what makes you so special.”

 

After Laura had unpacked her things and arranged them in the bureau, she returned to the main part of the house. Isaiah was clattering around in the kitchen, doing something that filled the rooms with mouthwatering smells. When he saw her emerge from the bedroom, he called, “You hungry?”

Laura rubbed her hands on her jeans. This entire situation made her nervous. It was one thing to see Isaiah at the clinic and quite another to be staying at his house.

“Starving,” she confessed.

“It's nothing gourmet, just grilled cheese sandwiches and soup from a can.”

Laura hiked up a hip to perch on a bar stool. “It sounds good. I haven't eaten.”

“Figured as much. On the way home I stopped at
a store. We have the basics—eggs, bacon, bread, some fruit, and lunch meat. Tomorrow I'll do some more shopping. You'll want to cook while you're staying here, right?”

Laura couldn't imagine eating out for a month. “Yes. If that's all right.”

“All right?” He laughed. “I'll love it. You mind cooking for two?”

“I always do, and sometimes for four. What I need is a cookbook for one person.” Laura propped an elbow on the bar and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “I can do the shopping if you like.”

“I don't want you paying for the food.”

“Why not? I want to pay half, at least.”

He shook his head. “No way. Supplying you with room and board will be my contribution to saving the puppies. I'd just give you cash to cover the groceries, but paying that way is complicated for you. If you're worried that I'll get the wrong stuff, you can come along when I go to the store. That way you can get what you'll need for cooking, and I'll be there to cover the tab.”

“Okay.” Laura hoped he didn't talk a lot as they moved through the aisles. She had trouble enough remembering all that she needed without added distractions. “Sure.”

He ladled the soup into bowls and then turned the sandwiches on the built-in griddle. As he worked, Laura indulged herself in another surreptitious study of him. His Wranglers were loose from wear and baggy at the seat, but the denim hugged his long legs just enough to showcase the powerful contours of his thighs. He wore a wrinkled green
plaid shirt neatly tucked in at his trim waist. The bright, geometric design drew the eye to his chest, shoulders, and arms, which were also well padded with muscle and rippled under the cloth whenever he moved.

He glanced up and caught her staring. For an uncomfortably long moment he paused in his task to meet her regard. Then his firm mouth quirked at the corners and he returned his attention to the food.

Moments later Laura was dunking pieces of her cheese sandwich into the soup. She made appreciative noises as she ate. “Sorry. I know dunking isn't polite.”

“Go for it. I like to dunk mine, too.” Cheek bulging, he cast her a teasing look. “Don't tell my mother, all right? She's a stickler on table manners.”

Laura laughed. “Aha. Now I've got something on you.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as they enjoyed the meal. He slurped when he spooned soup into his mouth, which helped Laura to relax and do a little slurping herself. When she accidentally dribbled on her chin, he grinned and winked at her.

They tidied the kitchen together, an endeavor that had Laura's heart leaping into her throat when she turned and ran face-first into his chest. “Whoa. Are you okay?” He caught her by the shoulders and bent slightly at the knees to check her face. “That had to smart.”

Laura didn't know which was worse, the sting of
her nose or the unsettling tingle of her skin where his big hands rested. “I'm fine.”

“Do you want some ice?”

“No, no.” She shook her head and gave in to the urge to rub her nose. “We didn't hit that hard.”

When the dishes were in the machine and the counters were wiped clean, they washed the doll bottles and filled them with warm formula. The puppy-feeding operation took place in the living room in front of the fire, Isaiah on one beanbag, Laura on the other. They sat cross-legged, each with a puppy cradled in the bend of one arm.

“I've never done this,” she informed him.

He chuckled. “With thirteen hungry mouths to feed, you're going to be an expert in no time.”

When the first two puppies had been fed, they went back to the bedroom for replacements. The moment they had returned the first puppies to the wading pool, Laura realized they had a potential problem.

“Uh-oh. How will we tell which ones we've fed and which ones we haven't? They all look alike.”

Isaiah looked momentarily perplexed, but then his frown eased away. “You're talking to an identical twin. Tucker and I look alike, but anyone who knows us has no trouble telling us apart because we behave so differently.”

“How does that help us with the puppies?”

He grinned. “Behavior differences, Sherlock. The puppies we just fed are sleepy. See?” He pointed to the pair of contented babies. “If it wiggles, feed it.”

Laura laughed and grabbed a wiggler. When they returned to the fire, Isaiah said, “The novelty
of this is going to wear off for me at about three o'clock in the morning.”

“No worries. I brought my windup alarm. I can handle the night feedings without help.”

“It's the weekend. I don't mind getting up.”

Laura couldn't quite envision herself sitting beside him on a beanbag when she was wearing only a nightgown. “No, no. I wanted to do this. It won't be that hard.”

 

As it turned out, the first middle-of-the-night feeding occurred at two o'clock, not three. Isaiah awakened with a start to the faint sound of a feminine voice. He'd already shot from the bed before he remembered the puppies and his pretty houseguest. He grabbed his jeans from the foot of the bed and dragged them on. Hapless lifted his head from the spare pillow and blinked sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, buddy. No point in your getting up.”

The pup snuggled back down and closed his eyes. Isaiah pulled on a shirt as he entered the living room. Not bothering with the buttons, he followed the sweet sound of Laura's voice to the guest room. The door was ajar, and the light from within spread across the hardwood floor in a golden wedge. Craning his neck, Isaiah peeked around the door frame. Backside to the door, Laura was bent over the wading pool, cooing and talking to the puppies. She wore a flannel nightshirt that would have reached modestly to just above her knees had she been standing erect.

Only she wasn't.

Isaiah jerked back so fast that he cracked the side of his head on the door. Unfortunately that quick glimpse of bare, shapely legs and the shadowy triangle at their apex had been branded upon his brain. A certain recalcitrant part of his anatomy went rock-hard.

Laura whirled around, holding a puppy in one hand. With her eyes unfocused from sleep and her hair mussed from the pillow, she might have passed for a twelve-year-old if not for the womanly curves of her body, which, much to his dismay, were displayed in revealing detail by the soft, worn flannel. Without a fire the ambient temperature of the house had turned chilly, and her nipples had reacted to the cold, going hard and pointed.

“Isaiah,” she said breathlessly. “You startled me. What was that thumping noise?”

It had been his head, knocking on wood. That worked. “I rapped on the door to let you know I was here.”

“Oh.”

“I heard your voice. I thought I'd come help.”

“I'm not dressed,” she pointed out.

Isaiah had noticed that, yes. Since the first moment that he'd clapped eyes on Laura, he'd been struggling not to feel physically attracted to her. Now he was having trouble remembering why. She was beautiful, sweet, and easy to get along with. He enjoyed her company and liked her as a person. What more could a guy want?

Nothing, he realized. She was everything he'd ever wanted and more.
Sweet Christ.
Two in the morning was a hell of a time to have this kind of
epiphany. He needed a cup of coffee. Or maybe he needed his head examined. He was a confirmed bachelor. He had his life all planned out, and none of his plans for the near future included a wife, no matter how sweet and wonderful she was.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Hell, no, he wasn't all right. He'd just been blind-sided by the realization that he was in love with her. He wanted to wring his mother's neck. This was all her fault. If not for her he never would have met Laura Townsend.

“Isaiah?”

He blinked and refocused. The picture hadn't changed. Flannel had never looked so good.

“I'm fine,” he said.

“Are you sure? Maybe you should go back to bed.”

Alone?
He rubbed a hand over his face.
Time-out.
He needed to think this through. A cup of coffee might help clear his head. Yeah, that was it. He was sleep-befuddled. Once he came awake, he'd laugh at himself. Isaiah Coulter in love? Not for another five years, at least.

“I'm fine,” he said again. Gesturing vaguely behind him, he added, “I'll build the fire back up while you mix the formula. Sound okay?”

He went to the kitchen first to put on a much-needed pot of coffee. Then he laid a fire. As he huffed and blew, trying to make the kindling catch, Laura padded barefoot to the kitchen. He was relieved to note that she'd slipped on a pair of sweat-pants, pink ones that went nicely with the itty-bitty roses on her nightshirt.

At least
her
good sense hadn't gone on hiatus. A tantalizing picture of her backside flashed behind his eyes again, and every thought in his brain crisscrossed. He
wanted
her. The masculine side of him wasn't exactly pleased that she'd decided to hide those gorgeous legs.

Coffee.
He'd think more clearly—not to mention more rationally—once he got some wake-me-up pumping through his veins. He hurried to the kitchen. Laura stood at the sink, frowning intently as she mixed the formula. He poured a cup of java and took a huge sip, then another. The liquid was so hot that it seared his tongue.

Laura turned toward him with a bottle held aloft. He knew he was a goner when he found himself studying the delicate angles and planes of her face instead of sneaking a peak at her unfettered breasts.

“Is this the right amount of water?” she asked.

Isaiah forced himself to check the water level. “Perfect,” he assured her, only he wasn't thinking about formula ratios.
She
was perfect. Almost from the start he'd been hooked. All those times when he'd wondered at himself for finding ways to be with her. His panic when she'd almost been fired. His anger with Tucker for implying that she was a liar. He'd loved her all along and just hadn't had the good sense to realize it.

Okay. Fine.
Being in love wasn't a death sentence. As recently as Thanksgiving he'd toyed with the thought of settling down in two or three years. It was just happening sooner than he'd expected. No big deal. Granted, he was busy, and carving out
blocks of time to spend with Laura wouldn't be easy. But that wasn't an insurmountable problem. He and Tucker had been talking for months about bringing in a couple of partners so they could each take more time off. If they followed through on that, they'd each have a lot more time for a personal life. Aside from the fact that his mother would gloat, he could think of no good reason why he shouldn't act on his feelings. It wasn't as if he fell in love every day of the week.

Problem. This was Laura's first night in his home. If he made a move on her—hell, if he even looked at her wrong—she'd probably think he was a lecherous creep who had maneuvered her into this situation, hoping to get her in the sack.

“Are you sure you're all right?” she asked.

He jerked back to the moment. “I'm great. The coffee helped.”

And it had. He could think more clearly now, and being in love with her no longer seemed quite so alarming. His main concern, now that his brain was firing on all cylinders, was how he should proceed. Slowly, he decided. If he suddenly blurted out that he was in love with her, he might scare her off.