Page 70 of Protecting What's Mine

“You could ask,” Brody suggested. “Seein’ as how you two are spending time slow dancing at Remo’s and all.”

Linc smirked. His friend knew how to time the delivery of good gossip.

“I could. But that doesn’t mean she’d answer.” He’d put money on that.

“The strong, silent type,” his friend sighed. He eased the tanker around a corner, waved to a pack of kids, home from school and desperate to play, in a front yard.

“On the money.”

“You could look her up. Run a background.”

“And ruin the fun of playing getting-to-know-you?” Linc hated to admit that he’d had the same thought. But he dismissed it after envisioning her righteously pissed-off response to the invasion of privacy.

It was better to be patient. To earn her confidence.

“Haven’t heard of you hitting the singles’ nights anywhere lately,” Brody mused, making a wide turn into the service station and tooting the horn.

“Haven’t been interested lately.”

Brody’s grin was broad. “It’s about damn time. The doc might need some convincing.”

“I’m a persuasive guy,” Linc said confidently.

“HONEY,I’M HOME,”Linc called through the no longer squeaky screen door of Mack’s house. It was what could be dubbed an autumn night. The air was cooler, with an edge of crispness to it. Every cottage window was wide open, inviting the evening breeze inside.

Sunshine ran a celebratory lap around the living room before launching herself at the door.

“Don’t take it too seriously,” Mack said, limping over to open it for him. “She did the same thing after I came back from the bathroom.”

“How’s my beautiful girl?” he asked, ruffling Sunshine’s fur with one hand.

“I’d be better if people stopped showing up at my house,” Mack answered with a quirk of her lips.

“Long day of socializing?” he asked, noting that despite the complaint, she seemed happier than she’d been this morning.

She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the coffee table where three gift bags and a fruit platter waited. “You have no idea.”

“I grew up here,” he countered. “I can imagine.”

“You’d think I cured cancer with one arm tied behind my back,” she said, gimping out of his way as he came inside. “I was just doing my job.”

“And they’re grateful for that, Dreamy. So am I.” He produced the riotous bouquet of wildflowers from behind his back with a flourish.

She sighed, and he knew he’d hit on a weakness. There wasn’t much about Mackenzie O’Neil that said soft and romantic. But the woman appreciated flowers.

“You’re giving our neighbors the wrong idea,” she complained.

“I’m hoping I’m giving you the right idea. Besides, I figured the ones from your first day at work had to be potpourri by now.”

She rolled her eyes but buried her face in the blooms.

“That’s both thoughtful and unnecessary. Just like you sending a team of firefighters to handle my yard maintenance.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a wicked grin.

“Thank you,” she said dryly.

He sniffed the air. “Someone’s been playing Betty Crocker.”