Chapter 10

Landon

When the alarm buzzes on my iPhone, I jolt out of bed. Not that I really needed an alarm anymore since I always set my own hours. But I still turn it on every night, a habit from my days punching a clock. Nothing like an annoying buzzing noise to start the morning.

I stand up and stretch, not feeling the least bit tired. I got a good night’s sleep, despite dreams of tiny dogs licking me everywhere. A sudden thought sets my heart to thumping and my groin to tightening. Brooke. She will be here in a few hours.

It’s your second chance, Landon. Your do-over. Don’t fuck it up this time.

For me, that’s often easier said than done. Somehow, I’ve got to make a better impression. I still like Brooke and most of all, I’m desperate for her help.

I still get a gut-wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about how Chili destroyed my signed copy of Great Expectations. It’s barely recognizable, but I just couldn’t bring myself to throw it away. Searching Google for hours, I finally found the name of a guy that repairs antique books. If anything can be done to repair it, he can try. I can’t let go of that piece of Carla, even if it looks like it belongs in the recycle bin.

Outside the bedroom door, angry yelps fill the air. Why in God’s name are they so damn loud in the morning? The worst culprit is Fajita. I open the door and say, “Quiet down already! Geez!”

They run toward me, jumping up and down and wagging their feathery tails. I can tell they want me to pet them, but I’m not up for that right now. “I said quiet down! I’m about to take a shower? Is that alright?”

They continue their shrill chorus of barks until I give up and take them outside to do their business. Do they make litter boxes for dogs?

Fifteen minutes later, I make my way to the bathroom and step into the hot shower. I lather up and let the water wash over my skin. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I shampoo my hair. When the tension in my back lets up, I’m relaxed and ready to start the day.

I step out of the shower and wipe off the steamy mirror with the palm of my hand. Carla hated when I did that. I smile a little at my reflection. “Not bad for a dude your age,” I say as I rub some gel into my hands and spike up my hair.

Today is supposed to be a fresh start with Brooke, so I figure why not change up my look a little. Women do it all the time. Guys have very limited options. We can shave or not. We can grow out our hair or not. I’ve heard of men who get their eyebrows waxed, but I could never dream of doing that.

The metrosexual thing just isn’t my style. Too much manscaping turns a man into…not a man. I’m sure that it’s normal in Hollywood, but straight guys in my neck of the woods don’t make a fuss over eyebrows. Besides, the thought of it sends a shudder through me.

Carla used to get her eyebrows waxed. Sometimes the skin would be pink and raw afterward. I never understood why she bothered with it all. Her natural beauty shone through no matter what she did or didn’t do. But one day, she explained that women don’t only keep up their appearances for men...they also do it for other women. If a dude told me to wax my eyebrows, I’d tell him exactly where he could go.

It’s hard for me to relate. Men don’t judge each other’s looks unless the situation is extreme...as in some dude has food caked up in his beard. Or his ass crack is hanging out. For god sake, buy a belt and actually use it. But for the most part, guys don’t even notice what other men look like. We’re way too busy checking out women to worry about our personal style.

I need to find something to wear. I’ve been procrastinating on laundry, so the pickings are slim. I grab a pair of khakis and a pink button-down shirt. I’m confident enough to wear pink, but I would never buy it for myself. Grandma Nancy gave it to me for Christmas one year, saying it would bring out the brown in my eyes. It seems fitting that I wear it today because maybe it will bring me luck with taming the little terrors.

I get dressed and make my way to the kitchen. For breakfast, I have a choice between cereal and leftover Chinese food. I decide to heat up the lo mein. Instead of my usual pot of coffee, I pour a glass of orange juice. I’m surprisingly energized, for once, I can do without the caffeine.

As I eat the noodles and guzzle down my juice, my gaze falls to the picture window overlooking Prior Lake. It’s cold outside, but at least the sun has made an appearance today. Low temperatures I can live with, but days and even weeks with barely any sunlight can be downright depressing. I love living in the Midwest, but sometimes, usually around January or February when I’m up to my knees in snow and ice, I think about moving someplace warm. Maybe Arizona or New Mexico. Dry heat would be fine by me, even with desert temperatures.

After breakfast, if you want to call it that, I pop open my laptop and check my emails. My picky editor compliments me on my rewrites. I flash a big smile. So far, the day is off to a great start.

The dogs run up to me, barking. Maybe I spoke too soon, I think as they try to jump up on my lap. “No! No!” I shake my head. It’s useless. They keep on jumping and wagging their tails. I take a deep breath. At least I got to eat breakfast in peace. I have to celebrate the small victories.

I get up off my ass and get the dog food out of the cabinet. Grandma Nancy neatly painted each of their names on the bowls. Without a doubt, she treated them better than some people treat their own kids. The dogs gobble up the food. It’s the expensive stuff with the all-natural ingredients. I never dreamed of shelling out that kind of cash for some dog food. Christ, it costs more than hamburger, but that’s what they’re used to eating. I tried to get them a generic brand once, and the spoiled little brats refused to even take a bite.

While they’re eating, I take a moment to blast off a few more work emails. Then, I get started on an outline for the second book in my new trilogy. Things are off to a slow start. I’m not sure where to go with the story. I stand up and walk around the room to get the creative juices flowing.

When I come back to the computer, instead of writing, I log onto Facebook, typing in “Brooke Kirkland.” Not surprisingly, a few women with that name pop up on the screen. But there’s only one in Prior Lake. Besides, I can spot those azure eyes anywhere. I’m amazed that she’s kept her profile public. I’m even more amazed that her status is “Single.” Something about reading that single word causes my balls to tighten.

I adjust my pants as I log out of Facebook. Hopefully, she doesn’t have one of those apps that tells her who looks at her profile. I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker.

After a few minutes of browsing stupid articles on Yahoo!, I finally get back to work. Time zips by, and it’s almost two o’clock. When the doorbell rings, I feel as nervous as a kid on prom night. Why does this woman have such an effect on me? As I walk to the door, I demand that my stomach stop flipping over.

The little terrors follow behind me, barking up a storm. I open the door, and Brooke stands there, looking just as beautiful as she did the last time I saw her. My stomach rebels.

I smile. “Hey, come on in.”

She walks inside. Immediately, she bends to pet the dogs. “I missed you guys!”

I guess I’m chopped liver. But I deserve the snub. I know I should be grateful that she even came back. Not only did I act like a total prick during the first training session, I called her at her place of business, cursing and ranting like a lunatic. But I am worthy of forgiveness. It’s not every day that you witness the destruction of something so irreplaceable as a signed copy of Great Expectations given to you by your dead wife.

“You mind if we take this outside?” Brooke looks up at me.

Damn, those eyes. That look. That perfect body. The only thought in my mind is her. A shiver rips through me, an aftershock of thinking about how I just want to throw her down on the floor and pound into her. My body tightens to an uncomfortable level of tension.

“Whatever you think is best,” I manage to spit out on a lustful sigh.

She doesn’t seem to notice. We head out to the backyard. The dogs zip around like they’re everywhere at once. Fajita yips so loud that I feel a headache coming on. “Dear God, please make him stop,” I say.

“What’s his name again?” she asks, bending over. The curve of her ass fills out her jeans to perfection. I imagine lifting her shirt and licking the divot where her butt meets her lower back.

“Fajita.” It sounds more like a moan of pain.

“Fajita! Here, boy!” She whistles. Miraculously, he quiets down.

“It’s that easy?” I ask, not quite believing my own eyes. Some people just have the touch. But once again, I spoke too soon because Fajita starts a high-pitched yelping again. I cover my ears. “Damn!”

“Fajita, quiet!” she demands in an authoritative voice, but she’s not screaming either.

Landon, fuck me!

I couldn’t help but go there, but Fajita keeps barking. I shake my head. My doubts grow stronger by the second.

“Fajita!” She kneels down on the grass. He leaps into her arms, and she pets him. He finally stops barking. “Good boy! Good boy!” She looks up at me. “He just needed a little positive reinforcement and a little affection. Right, boy?” She rubs Fajita’s back, and he wags his little tail.

She works with the dogs for another thirty minutes. Each time they’re quiet for more than a few seconds, they get a click and a tiny bite of freeze-dried liver. I stand back and watch without saying a word. Brooke’s patience and talent with the dogs amaze me. I still can’t believe my eyes. They actually listen to her. I start to wonder if her methods might actually work.

Maybe you were wrong, lunkhead.

“You boys are doing great. It’s time for a break.” She reaches into her bag and gives them each a small dog bone. They gobble them up like it’s steak and lobster at the best restaurant in town.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I say.

“Thanks.” She smiles and walks over to me. “They’re so sweet.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, and I’m not just saying that. They’re the first Chihuahuas I’ve worked with. I’m really enjoying them.”

“I know Grandma Nancy would’ve liked you. She always wanted the best for these dogs.”

She turns that questioning gaze on me. I want to fall into the depths of her eyes and never come back. “They belonged to your grandmother?”

“Technically, she was my late wife’s grandmother. But she always treated me like one of her own.”

Brooke’s pretty lips turn upside down. I hate that look in her eyes. It’s that sad expression everyone makes when they find out I’m a widower. That’s why I don’t even like to talk about it. I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut. I brace myself. I don’t want to relive all of those emotions. Not now. I’m actually having a good day.

“Landon...I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she says.

An awkward pause falls between us, neither one of us knowing what to say. Regret at my admittance washes over me in waves.

“If you don’t mind my asking, when did it happen?”

“It was almost three years ago.” It’s a question I can answer. It’s funny what you learn about another person by examining the words that remain unsaid. That damn silence during the dead of night when everything falls deathly quiet kills me more than anything. Sometimes, I swear I hear Carla’s voice calling to my soul. To distract myself from breaking down, I try to watch one of the dogs, focusing on Fajita as his little body wiggles.

“I think I get it now.”

“Get what?” I’m afraid to even ask.

“So, you’re not a dog person. You’re taking care of these guys out of love. That’s really sweet, Landon.”

I’m not sure I can handle the three-hundred and sixty-degree swivel. She’s giving me whiplash. “So, I’m sweet now? I thought I was a total douche.”

She lifts an eyebrow, but a small smile plays on her mouth as she does. “The verdict is still out on that one...don’t push it.”

Burrito takes off running.

“Burrito! Burrito!” She starts after him.

“Don’t bother. He’s got the obsession with garbage, remember?”

She blushes, but all that does is make me wonder if she turns that shade after she comes. “How could I forget.”

I take a deep breath, hoping that she forgot about that teeny-weeny condom that Burrito unearthed from the neighbor’s trash last time. She starts laughing. Oh God, my luck just ran out.

“It wasn’t mine,” I insist.

She snorts. “You already mentioned that.”

“But...”

Burrito runs back toward us with what looks like a giant white diaper clinched between his teeth. As he gets closer, I realize it’s a used pair of Depends. Damn, can this little fucker ever find some ordinary trash like a fast food wrapper? I’d give anything if she thought I was addicted to Big Macs and Two Buck Chuck. Anything but this shit.

Brooke bursts into laughter. “Ah, let me guess, that isn’t yours, either.”

“No.” I take a deep breath, hoping that she doesn’t think I’m a guy with a puny dick and a weak bladder.

After what feels like a small eternity, she finally stops laughing. “Okay guys, let’s get back to work!”

She trains the dogs for another hour. They continue to listen to her like apt little pupils. I’m shocked at how well they are behaving. Brooke is a real miracle worker. Her stock just rose to record gains levels.

***

Over the next two weeks, Brooke comes to my home on Mondays and Thursdays, and I realize I can’t wait for those days to arrive.

The dogs are doing better, and so am I. Except…it’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands to myself.

While she trains them, I busy myself building that damn fence, but I’m not a carpenter by trade and the going is slow. It’s especially slow since I can’t keep my eyes on my project. I only have eyes for her.

At the end of the hour, Brooke beams at the beasts. “They’re doing really well.”

I smile and wipe at the sweat building on my forehead. “Yeah, I’ve been seeing a difference.”

She lifts a brow. “No more hair licking?”

I laugh. “I didn’t say that.”

She grins, her eyes more blue than green today for some reason. “Next week, I want you to spend the full hour with us so they can adapt to your commands.”

A full hour next to Brooke? “Sure thing.”

Her grin grows wider, and it takes everything inside me not to reach out and caress her cheek with my fingers. The smile fades, and her breathing grows heavier. I think she’s feeling it too. I thinks she’s as affected by me as I am by her.

“Can I offer you some coffee or tea?” I ask, my voice thick.

She licks her lips, and my mind goes to that dirty place again. “Tea sounds really good.”

We make our way into the kitchen, the dogs leading the way. I follow behind Brooke, taking another glance at her cute heart-shaped butt. I quickly look away. I don’t want her to notice me staring, but I can’t help it. She’s perfect from head to toe, and that fact is not lost on me.