My hand slipped over without conscious thought, coming to rest on the dog closest to me. His fur was soft and warm under my palm, and he leaned into the touch with a contented sigh.
“Which one is this again?” I asked. “I still can’t tell them apart.”
Clayton glanced over, and something softened in his expression. “That’s Nuts. Looks like he’s fond of you.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He doesn’t usually drool for the enemy.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “I’m the enemy?”
“Yes, ma’am.” But there was a playful warmth in his voice that made my stomach flip. “Public enemy number one. You do know that claims adjusters are like the Darth Vader of this world, right?”
“No, we’re not. Our job is just to make sure things are done therightway.”
But it shook me. Even though he had that cute little smile on his lips, and his eyes were sparkling with mirth, I had to wonder if that’s what he really thought of me?
There were parts of my job that I didn’t like. But I’d always pushed that aside. Everyone had to do things they didn’t want to do. Managers had to put employees on probation. HR had to fire them sometimes.
Hell, even customer service reps had to say no to the customers when they asked for something outside of policy. Just like Shelly had the other night.
We all had rules to follow. That didn’t make us bad, right?
A tiny doubt lodged itself in my heart, and I didn’t like that.
No, I didn’t like that one bit.
The first property was a small cabin with obvious roof damage, shingles scattered across the muddy yard. I climbed out of the truck and immediately felt my heels sink into the soft ground.
Clayton was beside me before I’d taken three steps, his presence solid and warm despite the cold drizzle.
The place evidently belonged to one of his friends, Winslow Harrison.
“Watch your step,” he said as he handed me an umbrella. “Ground’s slick.”
“Thanks, but I’ve done this before.” I pulled out my tablet and started documenting, picking my way carefully around the property while the homeowner, Winslow Harrison, a mountain man around Clayton’s age, hovered nearby.
Did they grow all the men hot around here?
Ridiculous.
Until I’d set foot on this mountain, I hadn’t known I had a thing for older men. Clayton was probably five or ten years my senior, and there was something about his warm steadiness that made me want to sink into his arms and let him take care of me for the rest of my life.
The roof damage at Winslow’s place was legitimate. I could see that immediately. There were the distinctive pockmarks of hail impact, coupled with cracked and missing shingles and dented gutters. I made notes, took photographs, and asked my standard questions while Clayton stood off to the side with his arms crossed, watching me work.
While I was climbing down from a small rise near the back of the property, my heel hit a patch of wet leaves and my feet went out from under me.
Strong hands caught my waist before I could fall, fingers gripping firmly through my blazer as Clayton steadied me against his chest.
“You shouldn’t wear those heels out here,” he growled near my ear. “You’re going to break your neck. Don’t you have any sense in you, woman?”
I should have pulled away, or maybe just explained why I was wearing high heels in the mud.
Instead, I stood there, acutely aware of the heat of his palms on me, willing him to let them wander.
His hands stayed on my waist a second longer than necessary. Then two seconds. Three.
My breath caught, and I felt the slight tightening of his fingers before he released me and stepped back.
“Careful,” was all he said, but his voice had gone rough.
Real trouble didn’t start until we were at the third property, Angela Patterson’s place.
