Its cold nose against her neck shocked a giggle out of her. “Oh, all right. You got moves, dog.”
“She does,” said a deep voice from above.
Uma’s head snapped back in surprise, sounding a dullthunkagainst the clapboard. Oh God. Where hadhecome from?
“She’s a barnacle.”
Uma nodded dully, throat clogged with fear.Stop it, she berated herself.You’ve got to stop freaking out at every guy who says two words to you.She tried for a friendly smile. It felt like a grimace.
The man just stood there, a few feet away, looking at her. She waited. He waited. He looked like a big, creepy yard worker or something. Tall. Really,reallytall.
“Gorilla,” he said.
“What?”
“My dog, Squeak. She’s a guerrilla fighter. Thought about callin’ her Shock ’n’ Awe.”
“Squeak?” She stared up at him, craning her neck with the effort. She was wrong before. To say he was tall was an understatement. The man blocked out the sun. With the light behind him, it was hard to see much, aside from the big, black beard covering half his face and the shaggy mane around it. His voice was deep, gravelly.Burly.It went with the hair and the lumberjack shirt. You didn’t see guys like him where she came from.
“Wasn’t her name originally. She earned it.” When he talked, the words emerged as if they hurt, purling out one slow syllable at a time. As if being sociable was an effort. Yet, for some reason—for her—he was trying.
He waited, probably for her to say something in response, but she’d been running too long to be any good at repartee. She’d turned into more of a watch-and-wait kind of girl.
The man finally continued, tilting his chin toward the house she was leaning on. “You her next victim?”
Uma winced, embarrassed. “Guess so.”
He lifted his brows in semi-surprise before turning to the side and stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of jeans that had seen better days. They were stained and ratty and littered with what looked like burn holes.
Backlit by the sun, his profile was interesting, despite the bushy lower half of his face. Or maybe because of it. He looked like something you’d see stamped into an ancient coin—hard and noble. The scene came easily into focus: clad in something stained and torn, wading into the thick of battle with his men, sword in hand, face smeared with enemy blood, and teeth bared in a primal war cry. Her hands came to life, itching for a camera.
She blinked and emerged to see him as he was: a filthy redneck with a rug on his face. He was intimidating, to say the least. Not the kind of guy she’d choose to work inheryard—not looking all roughed up like he did.
But this new phase of life was about taking back what Joey had stolen. It was aboutcourage, and because this guy was so intimidating, Uma decided to face him head-on. Show no fear. Another rule for this new self that she was constantly reinventing: no more letting men intimidate her.
“Help me up?” she asked.
After a brief hesitation, he complied. His grasp was rough and solid, ridged with calluses in places and polished smooth in others. For a moment, after pulling her up to stand, he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he turned it over and eyed the crescent her teeth had left behind.
She fought the urge to snatch it away.
He raised his brows but finally let her go without a word. Burning with the need to put some distance between them, she took a hurried step back.
“Thanks,” she said as he squatted down to scratch Squeak roughly under the chin. The dog’s eyes closed in ecstasy.
Forcing herself to steady her nerves, Uma caught his gaze and held it. He was even scarier without the sun behind him, skin marred by a shiny, white scar along his hairline and a dark bruise on a cheek already peppered with errant beard hairs. His nose was crooked and thick, no doubt broken in a barroom brawl or something equally disreputable. She envisioned him in a smoky basement, duking it out for some seedy underground boxing title. Carved squint lines surrounded eyes that were a cool blue.
Or…oh. No. She realized with a start that his left eye was blue and the right was dark gold. She was instantly thrown off-kilter. Which one was she supposed to focus on? She blinked and turned aside, uncomfortable with the way he so effortlessly unsettled her.
“I’ve…” he rumbled, coming up out of the squat to tower over her again. She waited for him to continue.
“You’ve…?” she finally asked after the silence had stretched too long. She wondered if she was as off-putting to him as he was to her.
“Ive. It’s my name. Short for Ivan.”
“Oh. I’m Uma.” She gave him her real name without thinking. “You mow the lawn here?”
“You could say that.” His eyes crinkled. What little she could see of his mouth turned up into a surprisingly warm smile. “Figure I might as well mow her lawn while I’m doin’ mine.”
