Chapter 8

“I wouldn’t let anybody hurt you. We could grow up together, E.T.”

Elliott, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

Apron still on, Ro resisted the urge to run and forced himself to walk calmly down to the dock with Jessie. And while she secured the plane, he did what he always did and set to work unloading the bags.

Crêpes Suzette, eh? Good to know.

No matter how right Jessie might be, he still wasn’t sure he should take her advice on Hope, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cook the woman what she liked, right?

Ro didn’t dare look over when he heard the plane door first open, because he knew Jessie’d be watching for his reaction. Instead, he kept his head down and reached for the next bag. There weren’t many this time, since the crew’s gear was already there, but there was still something in the far corner of the dim hold, something just out of his reach.

Ducking his head and shoulders inside, he made a grab for it, then just about shit himself when it moved. Jerking back, Ro cracked his head on the top of the hold before scrambling out of the hole.

“Jesus, man, what the fuck d’you have in there?” He meant to shoot a glare at the pilot, Gavin, but saw Hope first and never got any further, because, damn, she looked good.

Maybe it was the way she wore her jeans tucked inside those brown knee-high boots. Or maybe it was seeing another one of her thick scarves—deep pink this time—wrapped around her neck. Or maybe it was both of those things, coupled with the way she still looked cold standing there in her bum-hugging down jacket.

Whatever it was—it was good. Especially with her hair hanging loose like that and her blue eyes blinking back at him with…was that worry?

“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching her hand toward his, which was still rubbing the top of his head. He jerked his hand down, stumbled back a step, and grunted.

“What? Yeah. Fine.” He didn’t even have to look at Jessie to know she was smirking, and even though he could hear Gavin’s voice, Ro couldn’t make out what he was saying, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was moving away from both Hope and Jessie before he did something stupid.

He pulled the flashlight from the hook on the door and shone it around inside the hold. It only took a second to find the moving bundle again, and when he did, he let out another string of curses—all directed at Gavin.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the hell are you doing with a dog in your hold? Dumb-ass.”

“What are you talk—” It was Gavin’s turn to curse. “Shit. Is that mutt in there again? Stupid damn stray—three times this week he’s jumped in when I wasn’t looking. Someone at that Hardy dock is gonna hear about this.”

The way Gavin was talking and gesturing, there wasn’t a hope in hell Ro was going to let him anywhere near the dog then. Apparently, neither was anyone else, because they all seemed to crowd between him and where Ro hunched down to look inside again.

“Come here, pup.” Having probably scared the poor thing already with his yelling, Ro held his hand out, palm up, and spoke in a hushed tone. “Come on, boy, it’s okay.”

The little dog didn’t move, just cowered in the far corner, whimpering quietly.

Ro kept his right hand where it was, hoping the dog would trust him enough to come over and sniff it, but when that didn’t seem to be working, he set the flashlight down and held his left out behind him, flapping it at the others standing on the dock.

“Give me some food,” he said. “Anything.”

Hope immediately started digging around inside her bag, then pulled out a plastic sandwich container and tugged the lid off.

“It’s only peanut butter, but I have crackers and other stuff if you want to try those instead.”

Of course she did. Ro shoved the sandwich inside the hold and smiled down at the thick layer of peanut butter slapped between two half slices of whole-wheat bread.

“Come on, boy, look what I got for you.” He pulled the sandwich open so he had two pieces to tempt the dog with, then set both pieces in his left hand and waited.

“I don’t got time for this,” Gavin growled. “Either grab the goddamn thing or lock up the hold so I can get going.”

“Relax,” Jessie said, her voice just shy of a warning. “The poor thing’s probably scared half to death.”

Ro heard Gavin mutter something else, but he ignored him. God only knew how long that dog had been stowed away, and it couldn’t have been very comfortable or warm bumping around back there, so Ro was going to let him take as much time as he wanted to come out. Once they got the dog calmed down again, he could make the return flight to Port Hardy up front with Gavin.

Seconds ticked by in silence until Jessie spoke, quiet and low. “Why don’t we all head up to the lodge? Maybe it’ll help to give the dog some space.”

There were sounds of feet shuffling on the dock, followed by “Here, take this” and “You take that, I’ll get the other one,” and then there was silence. Even so, and even though Ro never shifted his gaze from the dog, he knew he wasn’t alone. There was someone standing behind him, and it couldn’t have been Gavin, because his muttered curses faded with the footsteps. He doubted it was Kevin or Chuck, and since it was Jessie’s idea to get off the dock, it probably wasn’t her, either.

“Do you want to try something else?” Hope whispered. “I have a bit of beef jerky and a couple slices of cheese.”

Ro chuckled quietly into the gloom, careful not to spook the dog.

“I think this is good,” he said. “Give us a minute here.”

Sure enough, a few seconds later, the dog’s twitching nose finally convinced the rest of him to creep closer, slowly, until he got within tongue’s reach of the peanut butter. Ro didn’t move, just let him lick until his scrawny little body finally stopped trembling.

“That a boy,” he said, slowly slipping his right hand under the dog’s belly. “Good stuff, eh?”

Carefully, so he didn’t jar either one of them, Ro eased backward away from the hold, one hand wrapped around the dog’s middle, the other holding the rest of the sandwich.

“Awww, look at him—he’s adorable!” With her hands steepled over her mouth and nose like that, Hope’s exclamation came out muted, which was probably just as well, because they didn’t want to startle the dog any more.

And for the record, there was absolutely nothing adorable about it. A mix of brown and black, the scruffy matted thing appeared to be some kind of terrier mix, which clearly hadn’t had a decent meal in a while; knowing Ro’s luck, it was probably flea-ridden, too. Crouching down, he set the dog on the dock with the remaining chunk of crust, then stood up again. Instead of eating the bread, though, the dog tucked itself between Ro’s feet and sat there staring up at him.

It was pathetic.

This time Hope crouched down. She lifted the crust and held it out to the dog, but as soon as she started to move, he scooted around and hid behind Ro’s foot, where he sat peering nervously between Ro’s legs.

“What are we going to do with him?” she asked. “He’s so scared.”

Ro shouldn’t have looked at Hope just then. He should have kept his eyes on the ratty little mutt and been done with it, but he didn’t, and that was a mistake, because somehow, impossibly, in the minute or two since she’d first set eyes on the damn thing, that mutt had worked its way into her heart.

She’d said herself that she couldn’t possibly look after a pet, which meant no matter how much she might want to keep it, they were going to have to get it back on the plane with Gavin, and Ro was willing to bet neither the dog nor Gavin was going to be very happy about that.

“For starters,” he said, “let’s get the scrawny thing off the dock before it falls in and drowns.”

Hope led the way, but she was so busy looking over her shoulder most of the way that she was the one who nearly fell off the dock—twice! It was easier keeping track of the dog, who stayed glued to Ro’s side the whole way up the dock, rubbing against the side of his leg with every step.

“He likes you,” Hope said.

“No, it doesn’t; it just thinks I have more peanut butter in my pocket.”

Once they hit the gravel path, Ro expected the dog to do whatever dogs normally did—sniff, dig, bark—but this one did none of those things. When Ro stopped walking, so did the dog. When Ro turned in a circle, it followed, getting itself tangled between Ro’s legs, and when Ro finally crouched down to give it a pat, it tried to crawl up on his knees.

“Yeah.” Hope’s quiet laugh made Ro laugh, too. “I don’t think it has anything to do with peanut butter.”

Dropping cross-legged on the ground, Ro let the dog climb up on his lap, where it turned in two complete circles before curling up and resting its chin on Ro’s knee.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Ro said. “ ’Cause you’re not staying.”

The words were barely off his tongue when Gavin came ripping down the path, waving over his shoulder as he raced by them.

“Later!”

“Hang on!” Ro shoved to his feet and stumbled after him, holding the dog out in front of him. “What about him? You can’t just leave him here! Gavin! Wait!”

Gavin never looked back once; he untied his plane and, while standing on the float, shoved away from the dock, then hopped inside and fired it up.

“What the hell?” Ro kept looking from the departing plane to the dog in his arms and back again. “Now what do we do?”

Hope’s laughter made him turn.

“Well, I’m no expert,” she said, “but you might want to figure out what you’re going to feed him, maybe get him some water and a place to sleep.”

“A place to sleep?” Ro gaped. “What for? It’s not staying.”

Hope stepped closer, slowly reaching out to pet the dog, but it pulled away until it was pushed right up against Ro’s chest.

“He’s not an it,” she said. “He must have a name.”

“Like what? It’s not like he has a collar or anything; he’s just a John Doe dog—an it.”

The front door of the lodge opened and out stepped Jessie, who blinked from the departing plane to the dog in Ro’s arms and then squinted as if she was trying to compute what exactly she was seeing.

“You kept it?”

“No, I didn’t keep it,” Ro snapped. “Gavin dumped it on us.”

“On you, you mean,” Hope corrected. “JD won’t even look at me.”

“JD?” Jessie asked. “Who’s that?”

“Him.” Hope pointed at the mutt, who by this time seemed far too content to stay right where he was, tucked against Ro’s chest. “John Doe.”

“You named him already?”

Hope and Ro answered at the same time.

“Of course.”

“No.”

When Jessie cocked her eyebrow at them, Hope smiled, but Ro sighed.

“Look at him,” Hope said. “We can’t call him ‘It.’ ”

“Yes, we can,” Ro argued. “Because it’s not staying.”

“You sure about that?” Jessie tipped her head toward the departing Cessna. “ ’Cause it looks to me like you got yourself a pet, Ro.”

“Me?” Ro balked for a second. “Are you out of your mind? We’ve never had a dog here before, Jessie. Shit, I’ve never had a dog before, period!”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” She held her hand out for JD—no, it—to sniff, but it turned its nose in to Ro’s neck, so instead she patted Ro on the shoulder and headed back inside. “Just keep him out of the kitchen. Health regulations, you know.”

Having JD show up like that was brilliant. There wasn’t a television audience alive that didn’t love a dog, especially a sad little stray like him, and even more when that sad little stray was so in love with the one person who didn’t want to love him back.

JD never let Ronan out of his sight for the rest of the day. He even followed Ro to the dock when the guests arrived, but instead of continuing down to the plane, as Ronan did, JD tucked in by the corner of the fish shack and waited.

Hope couldn’t have anticipated what would happen with JD, but no matter what, the dog footage would be golden, so she made sure Chuck kept his camera close. She had to go inside with the guests, but she cast a final glance back in time to see Ronan talking to the pilot. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but when Ronan pointed toward JD, the pilot lifted his hands palms out and shook his head.

With any luck, Chuck would pick up some of what was being said, but in the meantime Hope followed everyone inside and then tried not to count the seconds waiting for Ronan to show up. He didn’t. Liam went through his whole welcome speech, introduced everyone, and then laughed when Ro wasn’t there to be introduced.

“He must be in the kitchen working on dinner—trust me, he won’t disappoint you.”

With the welcome done, guests and O’Donnells mingled, laughed, and devoured the snacks left out for them, but still no Ronan. Hope and her crew worked the room, talking to as many people and getting as many shots as they could—there were so many people this week that she was afraid they’d miss something.

If two cameras were good, three would be even better, so she left Chuck and Kevin and dashed downstairs to grab another one. Voices from the great room followed her, but one voice was ahead of her down the hall. Ronan.

“For the love of—Would you just stand still for two seconds?” His words were immediately followed by the clamor of scrambling and splashing and a string of curses.

“Uh, Ronan?” she said, calling out toward the bathroom. “You all right in there?”

“No!” His near-bellow was followed by a softer grunt and another curse. “Can you give me a hand for a minute?”

Hope moved closer, already pretty sure what she was about to see, but it was so much worse. And, oh, so much better.

Ronan was on his knees, bent over the side of the tub, his arms wrapped around a soap-covered JD, who was wiggling and squirming and trying his darnedest to get away. Water and bubbles were literally everywhere—all over the floor, the sink, and the countertop—and somehow they’d even managed to spray the wall behind the toilet.

She tried not to laugh, she did, but Ronan had water running down the side of his face, a huge pillow of bubbles slipping slowly down his forehead, and there didn’t seem to be a single dry thread on the front of his T-shirt.

“Uh…” she laughed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Close the door so he doesn’t escape.”

She did as he said, then tiptoed through the mini-lake on the floor to the towel cupboard, which was thankfully full. Quick as she could, she spread towels all around Ronan, then reached for the old yogurt tub bobbing around in the water.

“You hold, I’ll rinse.”

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded, given that the second Ronan loosened his grip even slightly, JD started scrambling again.

“Hey.” Ronan’s reprimand wasn’t loud, but it was firm as he cupped his hands on either side of JD’s head and forced the dog to look at him. “Whoa. Just…whoa.”

JD’s tail stayed tucked between his legs, but he stopped struggling and stood there panting up at Ronan, whose thumbs massaged soft circles under the dog’s ears.

“You got him?” Hope asked quietly as she filled the bucket with fresh water.

“Yeah.” Ronan nodded, but he never broke eye contact with JD. “Can you rinse fast without making any sudden movements?”

“Sure,” she muttered. “It’s one of my superpowers.”

JD stiffened as she poured the first bucket over his neck and back, but he didn’t try to escape. She refilled as fast as she could and did it again and again, the whole while listening to Ronan’s low gentle voice whisper calming words.

“It’s okay, buddy, that’s a good boy. Good boy. She’s just gonna…See, that wasn’t so bad. There you go. Good pup. Couple more.”

The only time his thumbs stopped massaging JD’s ears was when Hope needed to rinse underneath them, and even then Ronan never let go completely. Absolutely drenched, poor JD looked more like a giant wet rat than a dog, but it only made him more adorable.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I think that’s it. Let me grab a…”

As Hope reached for another towel, JD slipped free of Ronan’s hands and shook what seemed like an ocean of water all over everything—except Hope, who’d managed to get the towel in front of her just in time.

Ronan, on the other hand…well, he took most of it face-on.

“You’re, um…” Hope snickered as she held out the towel. “Dripping a little.”

His mouth twitched as he pushed to his feet and tugged the towel out of her hand, his soft-green eyes doing a horrible job of hiding the smile he seemed to be fighting. His T-shirt clung tight against his shoulders and across his chest and dripped down the front of his jeans…yes, those jeans.

Oh boy.

Everything inside Hope seemed to shift into warp drive: her breathing, her pulse, the way her tongue kept slipping out to lick her suddenly dry lips, and the number of incredibly stupid things piling up on her tongue, waiting for her to blurt them out.

If he’d stop looking at her like that—fascinated, almost as if he’d never seen someone lick her lips before—then maybe she’d be able to calm the crazy going on inside. But what was even crazier was that she liked having him look at her like that, liked that there was a current shifting between them, and really liked that they both seemed to know it.

JD’s sudden sharp bark made them both jump.

“Whew.” Hope laughed lightly as Ronan blew out the same breath behind the towel he was scrubbing over his face and head. “Okay, well, you seem to have it under control now, so I’ll just…”

She forced her gaze away from Ronan and down to JD, who was standing in the middle of the tub, tail wagging, wiry coat sticking out all over his body. And unless Hope was mistaken, she’d have sworn he was actually smiling up at them.

“Is he—” Ronan stopped, shook his head slowly. “Okay, yeah, thanks for your help.”

“No problem.” Stepping around him to get to the door, she lifted another clean towel and pressed it against his shoulder until he had hold of it.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “Cheeky bastard didn’t leave a dry spot on me.”

“Your butt’s dry.” It was a good thing she was already out the door when she said it, because then he couldn’t see how huge her eyes opened or how red she was sure her face must have been.

His butt? Seriously? She could’ve said the back of his neck or something, but, no, she went right for the butt. Right into the “hello, let’s make this more awkward by admitting I’ve been staring at your ass” part of the evening.

Well done.

Hope made it all the way up the stairs before she remembered why she’d gone downstairs in the first place, but there was no way in hell she was going down again, not yet. She’d use her phone for the still shots. It’d be fine.

And it was, for the most part. She even managed to get in a bunch of quick interviews before Ronan appeared in the doorway, looking just as good in a dry T-shirt and faded camo-colored cargo shorts as he did soaking wet.

With his jaw set tight and his arms crossed over his chest, he scanned the room until he locked on Hope. His expression softened a little, and then he rolled his eyes and lowered his gaze to the floor next to him. With so many people crowding around, Hope had to step closer, craning her neck to see until…yes…there was JD, his still-damp fur sticking up all over the place, sitting right next to Ronan’s foot.

The smile burst across her face, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t tamp it down. Not even a little bit, and especially not after Ronan laughed quietly, shook his head, and headed through the lobby with JD tagging along beside him.

For the next while, Hope tried to focus on work, but it wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t only because half of her brain was still stuck on the image of soaking-wet-and-suds-covered Ronan bent over the tub. It was also because the special guest, Dave Roth—a popular former NHL goalie who’d retired a few years ago—had just arrived on a Helijet. Everyone was clamoring to get near him, which made it difficult for Hope and her crew to talk to him, or to anyone else for that matter. Instead, she and her crew backed up and gave everyone space to carry on as they normally would.

As much as she wanted to go find JD and Ronan, she couldn’t, because she still had a job to do, and so did Ronan. And if the way everyone scarfed down those snacks was any indication, he had a hungry bunch on his hands this week.

Luka had raved about the footage Hope sent her last week, and the story editors dived right in, pulling out bits from everything and weaving it into a short story, which pertained to the guests, as well as the beginning of a longer narrative, which would focus on the relationships between the O’Donnell men and Kate and Jessie.

The funny thing was that everyone at the studio seemed to have forgotten that Ronan had told them all to go fuck themselves; all they saw now was a good-looking single guy whose protective nature and gruff frowns made him more intriguing, more compelling. And a hell of a good target for their female audience.

Licensed products would be out the week after the first episode aired. There would be T-shirts to start with, but Luka had a whole lineup of items ready to roll—everything from ball caps to bobbleheads to bumper stickers and more. And each item sold would mean money in the Buoys’ account, which was great, but it would also mean they were one step further away from getting back to the old way of doing things.

Hope blew out a low breath and tried to shake all of that from her mind. It was too soon to start counting stickers or T-shirts yet; they needed to wait and see how well the pilot episode did on Saturday night.

In the meantime, though, she had a second episode to worry about, and despite Luka’s instruction, Hope didn’t think anyone wanted a mic or a camera stuffed in their face while they were eating, so they set those aside when everyone started piling into the restaurant and left most of the filming up to the ceiling cams.

As usual, none of the Buoys’ staff sat down to eat with the guests, because they were all too busy serving, chatting, and clearing. One by one, they’d duck into the kitchen for their meal, then rotate out with one of the others, until they’d all eaten. It was quite a system, one that seemed to work seamlessly for them, but still, Hope was very glad she didn’t have to do it—she didn’t know if she’d have been able to enjoy this chile-grilled salmon nearly as much if she had to eat it on the run like that.

From her spot at the bar, every time one of them pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, she got quick glimpses of Ronan—flipping a tea towel hanging over his shoulder, whisking something in a bowl, grating an orange. The last time the door swung, when Jessie ducked into the kitchen, Hope caught a couple of seconds of him swirling a skillet.

She had no idea what he was doing, but it was fascinating to watch, even if it was only through short peeks.

With an armload of dishes, Jessie scooped up Hope’s empty plate, too, pushed through the kitchen, and then reappeared a minute later with a plate of…no…was it? Yes, it was. Crêpes Suzette, looking and smelling more amazing than the first time. But why was she setting it down in front of Hope? She hadn’t ordered it. She didn’t even know she could order it, because it wasn’t anywhere on the menu.

“Compliments of the chef,” Jessie whispered with a grin. “He thought flames might be a little over the top this time, considering the number of people in here, so you get ice cream instead.”

“Oh my God.” Hands folded tight against her chest, Hope leaned over the plate and inhaled as deep as she could. “I love this stuff!”

“He knows.” With a teasing wink, Jessie leaned closer. “It always pays to be nice to the chef.”

With that, she turned on her heel and headed down to the other end of the bar to refill some drinks, leaving Hope staring down at the beautifully rolled crêpes, with the perfectly peeled orange slices lined up on top and the scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on the side.

Eyes closed, she let the first forkful sit on her tongue for a second, marveling at the wonder he’d created yet again in that kitchen. Sweet Lord in heaven, that man could cook. She swallowed slowly, sighed, then opened her eyes as she stuffed the next piece in her mouth.

Ronan was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed, head tipped to the side a little, and a half grin, half smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Better than…chocolate?” he asked, and Hope didn’t even hesitate. She just nodded—hard and fast.

“You have no idea,” she said, laughing as she caught a drip of ice cream off her chin. “This is unbelievable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” A second later he was gone, back into the kitchen to whip up whatever other plates of heaven he was working on, while Hope sat there wondering if it would be too tacky to pick up her plate and lick it clean.

She spent the rest of the night as she had the week before: interviewing guests, learning bits of their stories, and homing in on the ones most likely to interest the network and its viewers. At one point, when she was hunched over her phone in the corner of the great room, googling northern diamond mines (one of the guests worked up there), Ronan walked over and, without a word, set a cup of tea on the table beside her and walked away again.

It wasn’t blueberry pomegranate, but she didn’t care. She’d have drunk castor oil if he’d set it down for her just then.

Eww. Okay, maybe not castor oil.

She spent the rest of the evening sipping that slowly, between chats with various guests and discussions with Chuck over who they should focus on. Even when the tea was gone, she carried the mug around with her as if it had some kind of special meaning, which, of course, it didn’t.

It was only a mug, the exact same as the three empty ones on the coffee table and the exact same as the one Jessie drank her tea from every night. All true, and yet Hope hung on to it even after she’d gone downstairs to her room.

Cookies, dessert, and tea. Was Ronan just being nice or was it more? It felt like more, especially after that moment in the bathroom. She hadn’t imagined that, had she? Given the number of moments over the last couple of weeks, she didn’t think she was imagining it, but she couldn’t be completely sure until…well, until she was completely sure, and there was only one way to be sure.

She had to ask.

No, she couldn’t do that, could she? That’d be awkward. Maybe, but did she want to spend the next three months wondering? She was thirty-four years old, and, no, that wasn’t old, per se, but time kept marching on while she sat around waiting for Mr. Perfect to show up. Ronan O’Donnell might not be perfect, but he was damn cute, and even though she didn’t know a lot about him, what she did know, she liked—she liked a lot—so maybe she should just do it.

Make the first move.

But she’d never done that before. How did it even work? Oh God, maybe she should forget it. Being single wasn’t the worst thing in the world; maybe one of her friends would build an in-law suite for her to live in so she wouldn’t be alone when she got old.

Sure, that would work. Deanne’s husband was always looking for projects to do around the house—he’d love this idea! Plus, it would give them a built-in babysitter.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she muttered, slumping down on the end of her bed. “Man up and just do it.”

Right. Okay. She could do this, but she couldn’t do it when other people were milling around. With the exception of Ronan, who seemed to be up late every night prepping for the next morning, Jessie was always the last one to go to bed, so all Hope had to do was wait.

Thankfully—or not—she didn’t have to wait long.