She laughed at him.He didn’t like that either.She saw something a lot like temper flare in his blue gaze.“Well, Tennessee, if that’s the worst nightmare you have going—three adorable puppies who might kiss you to death in the night—I think you’re doing pretty well.”
She was over to the front door now, where he had a neat little area set aside for the inevitable wet and muddy boots and snow gear, because of course he did.It only took a moment or two to stamp her feet back into her boots.And to place the other three cans of food she was carrying on the rough-hewn bench against the wall.
“Matilda,” Tennessee said, in a warning sort of voice.
“Besides, look at that,” she replied, as if he hadn’t spoken.Much less said her name like that, allgrowly.She jutted her chin at the little trio, all curled up in a ball now.They were already fast asleep—two seconds later—full of food and blissed out on the heat from the fire.“How can I possibly disturb them?”
“Matilda.”
“Thank you, Tennessee,” she said, making her gaze solemn and intense.Or more so than usual.“You really are everyone’s favorite hometown hero.”
And then, because a storm was gathering on his face and she expected it to burst free at any moment, she turned and let herself back out into the snowy night.
Then found herself grinning like a fool, all the way home.
Chapter Three
Tennessee did notappreciate disruptions to the strict way he ordered his life—not because, as had been suggested by his siblings on numerous occasions, he was a control freak.But because an ordered life worked like clockwork, and he preferred it that way.
His childhood had been a tightrope of anxiety and spontaneous combustion, to his mind, and he saw no reason to live that way now that he was an adult and could arrange things the way he liked.The diner opened early every weekday and closed in the afternoon.He only kept it open all day and into the evening on the weekends.
And his entire life revolved around the diner.He liked it that way.
The diner was a known entity.The same regulars showed up every morning.He cooked the same things from the same menu that he had no intention of changing.He kept the same schedule that they could all set their watches to, and he never varied it, unless it was summer—when they all were so busy soaking in all of that daylight that all bets were off.
His life was a smooth, well-oiled machine.Some called it a rut, but he didn’t care what his brother and sister thought.He was the one who remembered their childhood the clearest andhecalled it a relief.
Tennessee did not sleep much at all that night, which was definitely neither smooth nor well-oiled.And he blamed Matilda Stark as every wide-awake minute of the night ticked past.
It wasn’t as if the puppies weren’t adorable.Of course they were.That was their job.
He considered rounding them up and locking them away in a bathroom to see if he could get an hour or two of uninterrupted rest that way, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.They weren’t much more than babies and he couldn’t bring himself to let them feel scared.He knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore it if they cried.
So instead, he stretched out with the three of them beside the fire, and soon enough, all three of the warm, snuggly little puppies were sound asleep.On him.
But Tennessee stayed awake, as amped as if he’d downed a pot of his own jet-fuel-like coffee, glaring at the ceiling.
He might not have had a puppy in a long while, not since he was more of a puppy himself, but it stood to reason that if he didn’t take them out pretty much every hour on the hour, they would relieve themselves inside the house.One of them rolled off him, yawned adorably, and then popped a squat right there beside him.
Tennessee hadn’t actually known he could move that fast, jackknifing up to his feet and scooping the little girl dog up off the floor.And then there was no pretending there was going to be any sleep, because there he was, shepherding three furry little babies into the cold at hourly intervals, cursing Matilda Stark’s name all the while.
He was still cursing her name later that morning when she came breezing into the diner as if she hadn’t consigned him to a miserable night.Against his will.
The row of locals who warmed the stools in front of his counter from opening to about 9:30 AM every morning went quiet—a rarity—and then started up again.
They had all been pretty chatty since they’d seen the makeshift pen that Tennessee had made for the puppies back by the cash register, since he couldn’t leave them alone in his house.It was an oversized cardboard box with towels on the bottom, but the puppies kept jumping up on their hind legs and sticking their cute little noses over the side.
Even Shane Johnson, the cantankerous owner and chief bartender of the Copper Mine, went a little soft every time they did it.
“We already have homes for these puppies, by the way,” Tennessee told Matilda curtly as she came up to the counter and stood there, one hip jutted out against the Formica in a manner that he… should not have noticed at all.“Just waiting on that vet check you mentioned.”
“That’s amazing news,” Matilda said happily, as if she couldn’t hear the temper that he knew was laced through his voice.When he could hear it his own damn self just fine.
He had half a mind to tell her what the old men, his regulars, had said when he told them exactly where the puppies came from and why they were in his possession.
A pretty girl doesn’t show up at a man’s house in the middle of the night and leave him something unless she plans to swing back around again to pick it up,old Carter Redmond said.Because he was filled with advice on his town days, when he was dropped off around 5:45 AM and stayed until his grumpy horse rancher grandson, Colton Dean, swung by again to pick him up and take him back to Lost River Ranch, out there in the far hills.I think Matilda Stark has her eye on you, son.
All of his cronies had agreed, with a lot of gruff nods.
