Bo huffed out a tired breath when she was finished. She needed to shower, too, and even though she hoped she wouldn’t be on display, she wasn’t betting the farm on it, no matter how much the kids reassured her. That meant makeup and something dressier than her usual work garb: not a dress, because she’d be climbing on and off the flatbed, but nice pants and shoes, and a pretty blouse. Part of her looked forward to dressing up a little, but being in a parade had never been on her bucket list. Tricks and the kids, though, would have a ball; if Tricks had a bucket list, being queen of a parade would definitely be on it.
She let Tricks out of the bedroom so the dog could visit with Morgan while she herself returned to the shower to begin getting herself ready. She dried her long dark hair into a sleek fall that reached the middle of her back. She put on earrings and makeup. As she dusted blush on her cheeks, she wondered if Morgan would notice—then she mentally kicked herself for wondering. Whether he noticed or not shouldn’t matter to her. She couldn’t let it matter. Damn it . . . it mattered. She wanted him to find her attractive. She wanted to be pretty for him.
She was as bad as Tricks. But while Tricks was supremely confident that she was the prettiest dog in the world, Bo had no such illusion. She wouldn’t break any mirrors, but neither was she a beauty queen. She liked that she had nice thick hair and big eyes, but her figure was nonexistent. If she let herself be self-conscious about anything it would be her lack of boobs; the only cleavage she’d ever have was butt cleavage, and—and Morgan had said she had a sweet little ass.
A wave of heat engulfed her, and her legs were suddenly so weak she had to lean against the bathroom sink. Remembering what he’d said, and the laser focus of his eyes when he said it, leached the strength from her muscles so that all she wanted to do was lie down—preferably with him.
She pressed her palms over her eyes. She was in so much trouble. The only hope she had of coming out of this devil’s arrangement unscathed was for Axel to call today, so Morgan could leave immediately. The temptation to simply forget about her well-founded reservations was growing every day. And even if he left today, would she be unscathed? Would she be able to promptly forget about him? The answer was no. She might never completely forget him; he might linger for the rest of her life in the area of her heart and soul reserved for regrets.
Before she got so bogged down in what ifs and maybes that she couldn’t function, she shook herself out of the doldrums and finished dressing. It was going to be a long day, and she didn’t have time to dawdle.
Long or not, the day should be interesting and could possibly be downright fun, once the parade was over. After the parade there would be a huge picnic in the town park; some vendors had already set up their booths to sell soft drinks, cotton candy, popcorn, and other treats. Every year, something happened that gave the townsfolk something to talk about for months, such as Mayor Buddy falling in the pond, or one of the kids thinking it was a good idea to tie his daddy’s car keys to a helium balloon and let go of it. The kid had thought the keys would weigh the balloon down so it would drag across the ground. The balloon had been a big one, and he had been wrong.
Since becoming chief, she’d spent all day at every Heritage event, as did Mayor Buddy, all the town council members, and at least one patrolman. Things usually ran fairly smoothly with only minor bumps, though year before last there had been some excitement when a barbecue grill had caught on fire and also caught the tree shading it on fire. That had caused a rule to be put in place that no grills could be positioned under trees or close to structures of any kind. She was only surprised the town had gone that long without a grill catching something on fire.
She left her bedroom to find the downstairs empty; through the wall of windows she could see Morgan strolling around the yard with Tricks. He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt, and a pair of brown Vasque multisport shoes instead of his usual boots. As she watched, he squatted down in front of Tricks to say something to her and scratch behind both her ears. Tricks lifted one paw and laid it on his arm, her expression blissful as she listened to whatever he was saying.
Stopping in her tracks, Bo simply watched him for a moment. The way he moved was powerful and lithe, as graceful as a ballet dancer but in a completely different way, as if his balance and strength were so intertwined that he could attack from either left or right without losing anything in speed. His bare arms were roped with sinewy muscle, his skin tanned from all the time he’d been spending outdoors. He’d been with her just a month and his recovery was nothing short of spectacular, especially when she considered how weak he’d been when he got here.
He was completely able to care for himself now. Heck, he was even caring for her. He was doing the lion’s share of the housework: laundry, most of the cleaning, some of the cooking. If it weren’t for the situation he was in, he would likely already be gone.
She had always treasured having her house to herself, her sanctuary where she could shut out the world and be alone, just her and Tricks. But now, when he left, there would be an empty place that she hadn’t noticed before, that he’d filled with his grouchiness and humor and guyness. The house even smelled different now: a man lived here, and it was obvious. She felt as if she should bring in fresh flowers to offset the musky scent of man, sweat, the leather of his shoes, the oil he used to clean both her pistol and his, plus sometimes the sharpness of gunpowder that told her he’d been practicing while she was gone. She’d never noticed anything like this before, during her marriage, but now all of her senses seemed to be acutely attuned to Morgan in ways she’d never thought possible.