“Looks like someone had fun today.”
“We went to the outdoor rink behind the Barn. It’s muddy.”
“I can see that.” He grins as he looks at his dogs and opens the door. “Hey, guys. Did you give April trouble?”
Usually, this is when I unclip their leashes, but still attached, all three dogs surge in confused circles to enter the house where they know treats wait, while also greeting their dog dad. Suddenly I’m being pulled off balance. I try tocompensate, but Scout zigs when I expect him to zag, and my foot catches on Moose’s leash.
I’m going down.
But then Clark’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me against his chest. We’re close—close enough that I can see the little scar on his chin. Close enough to see the flecks of amber in his green eyes. Close enough that my brain melts down and forgets how to function.
“Careful,” he murmurs, and his low voice makes my stomach flutter.
It’s nothing. Just a flutter. A harmless, recurring flutter … caused by buffalo rather than butterflies. No big deal.
The dogs, oblivious to the moment they’re ruining/creating, continue to tangle their leashes around our legs. Clark chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest, and carefully starts extricating us from the web of nylon cord and dog.
“Let’s get inside before we create a traffic hazard.”
He unclips their leashes and ushers everyone in. After lapping up a gallon of water, the dogs immediately scatter to their favorite spots—Moose to the couch, Scout to the window, and Buster to his bed near the kitchen.
“I should get them cleaned up better,” I say, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. “They’re tracking mud everywhere.”
“In a minute.” Clark, alarmed, looks at my arm. “You’re bleeding.”
I glance down and see a shallow scratch running along my forearm. I must have caught it on something during the great leash tangle. “Oh. It’s nothing.”
“It’s something. Come here.”
He guides me to the kitchen sink with a hand on my lower back—a casual touch that he probably doesn’t think twice about, but that sends lightning bolts racing up my spine. He runs my arm under cool water, his fingers gentle,while he reaches for the first aid kit I insisted he keep in the cabinet along with all of his supplements.
“Did you take your vitamins today?”
He chuckles. “Sure did and I tried that new protein powder you said had better quality ingredients than the other one. You’re always looking out for me.”
And this is where Jess, Ella, and Whit would have something to say about me being smitten.
“You take better care of me than I take care of myself,” Clark says, carefully cleaning the scratch.
“Someone has to. You’d forget to eat if I didn’t remind you.”
“Says the woman with the diet of a toddler.”
I pout. “Goldfish and apple slices are nutritious.”
“Don’t forget the juice boxes.”
“They’re portable,” I retort to his teasing.
“Just admit that I’m a better cook and I’ll make you dinner tonight.”
We both know this is a fact since the extent of my cooking abilities ends at reading the directions on the back of a can of SpaghettiOs.
This is also where I should remind him that he has a date tonight, but I’m not that good of a friend. I have my limits!
He applies antibiotic ointment, his touch feather-light. He exhales through his nose and gazes up at me with puppy dog eyes. “You’re good to me, April.”
I feel all warm and squishy and squirmy inside. “We’re friends. That’s what friends do.”
