Wife On His Doorstep. Alice Sharpe

speculative glance, then moseyed over to the woven rug that sat in front of the huge stone fireplace.

      Why had he brought her here? From the moment the offer had left his lips, he’d known it was a mistake. It was just that for a second he’d been overcome by a protective streak he couldn’t explain, one he didn’t even like. Rescuing women was a fool’s errand—he’d done it once with Betsy and he wasn’t going to do it again. He glanced back at Megan and the memory of holding her swamped him, the soft, yielding quality of her body, the smell of her hair. She was so beautiful. Was that it?

      “This room is huge,” she said, taking a step toward him.

      “I like my space,” he said with a little too much emphasis on the second and last words.

      She nodded curtly as though the message he had inadvertently delivered was received and noted. Then she smiled at him, bit her bottom lip and bowed her head, staring down at the floor. It was a cunning gesture that told him very clearly she was sensing his unease and found it amusing.

      Egads, he realized with a start. It wasn’t just her current vulnerability that attracted him. It wasn’t just her big blue eyes or her body, either. Those things were distractions, sure, but distractions that were relatively easy to dismiss. After all, there were lots of pretty and needy women in the world.

      What Megan possessed was far more dangerous. There was a light in her eyes, a directness about her he found compelling, a sense of play and wonder that surfaced even when she was distressed. And there was that tenacious streak he’d witnessed, too. If it wasn’t such a cliché, he’d be damned tempted to say the woman had spunk!

      She had moved toward the sofa and was standing beside Lily. The two eyed each other with mutual distrust. Megan said, “I don’t think your dog likes me.”

      “She’s never been overly fond of women.”

      “The jealous type, huh?”

      He shrugged.

      Megan hugged herself as though she was cold. “You really love your animals, don’t you?”

      He made himself stop looking at her, stop thinking about her. For a time after Betsy had left, he’d wondered if he’d ever want to get involved with a woman again and now he was discovering the answer was a resounding yes. But this one? She didn’t seem a very good prospect. He vowed to stop thinking about her.

      He glanced at his dog and said, “Lily is family. I used to own a dozen tugboats and she was like a mascot. I can’t take her on the stern-wheeler because she has a bad habit of chasing cats and Foggy Dew has squatter’s rights.” He chanced another look at Megan and added, “Shall I start a fire? Do you want something to eat or drink?”