A Better Father (Harlequin Super Romance) (27 page)

He could hear footsteps inside the house. He braced himself for
more rudeness. Mackenzie opened the door and stared at first him, then the
dachshund.

“Why do you have my dog?” she asked, a frown furrowing her
brow.

“Because he was in my yard. Twice. The fence between our
properties is riddled with holes.”

She crouched, one hand reaching for the door frame for
balance.

“Mr. Smith, what have you been up to? Have you been out making
new friends?” Her tone was warm, even a little indulgent.

She knelt, rubbing the dog beneath his chin. Oliver stared at
her down-turned head, noticing something through her dark, clipped hair. A
white, shiny line sliced across her scalp along the side of her skull, then
curled toward the front just inside her hairline.

A scar.

A pretty wicked, serious one by the looks of it.

She glanced at him. “Thanks for bringing him back.”

She wasn’t wearing a scrap of makeup. Her skin was very fair
and her long, dark eyelashes stood out in dramatic contrast to her piercing blue
eyes.

She unclipped the leash, then straightened. Maybe he was
looking for it after seeing the scar, but it seemed to him the move wasn’t
anywhere near as easy and casual as she’d like him to think. He reminded himself
of the reason he was here—and it wasn’t to ferret out her secrets.

“We need to do something about the fence,” he said.

“There’s never been a problem before. Mr. Smith isn’t much of a
roamer.”

“I think he’s more interested in Strudel than exploring the
terrain.”

“That’s never been a problem before, either.”

His back came up. Admittedly, he’d come here primed to be
annoyed because she’d been so dismissive earlier, but there was a definite tone
to her words. As though somehow he and Strudel were responsible for her dog’s
behavior.

“I guess times have changed. We should probably do a temporary
fix and then get some quotes to have it repaired.”

The phone rang inside her house and she glanced over her
shoulder. The move drew his attention to her breasts—small but perky. He gave
himself a mental shake. As if he cared what her breasts looked like. They were
attached to the rest of her, which was toned within an inch of its life and way
too scrawny for his tastes.

“I need to get that,” she said as she refocused on him.

“Fine. But we need to deal with this fence or Mr. Smith is
going to come visiting again.”

“I’m sorry, but I really need to take this call. I’ll get back
to you.” There was a distracted urgency beneath her words as she reached for the
knob.

He opened his mouth to protest—as the door swung shut in his
face for the second time that day.

“You cannot be serious,” he told the shiny black wood.

But she was. She was also the rudest person he’d ever had the
misfortune to meet. He was tempted to knock again and force her to deal with
him, but he had an image of himself knocking till the cows came home and her
ignoring him as she dealt with her vitally important, utterly life-transforming
phone call.

He’d been de-balled quite enough by his wife’s staggering
infidelity, thank you very much. He had no intention of hanging around to play
the part of supplicant.

He remembered an old saying as he returned to his aunt’s house:
no good turn goes unpunished.

Indeed.

ISBN: 9781460310601

Copyright © 2013 by Christine Fletcher

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