Not Just The Girl Next Door. Stacy Connelly

blaze of lust, followed quickly by an equally scorching wave of guilt. Mollie wasn’t that little girl anymore. The dog dancing around them was Charlie, not Shadow, and Patrick was—

      Cutting off the thought, Zeke pushed to his feet. Charlie sat a few yards away, the ball at her feet, and if ever a canine could look smug, she did. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with that one,” he said, his tone sharper than he’d intended.

      Mollie frowned up at him as she slowly stood. She brushed at the blades of grass clinging to the back of her jeans, and Zeke had to force his gaze away. “It’s been too long since you’ve had a dog. You’ve forgotten how much energy a puppy has to burn.”

      “I haven’t forgotten.”

      Acting as though she hadn’t heard him, Mollie said, “I can think of a really easy way to remedy that.”

      They’d had this discussion plenty of times, and the familiarity of the argument helped settle his unease. “I don’t think so.”

      “I don’t understand why not. You know how much you loved Shadow.”

      “I did. She was the greatest. But you did the heavy lifting.” Mollie had been over at his parents’ house all of the time—willing to walk the dog, play fetch with her, keep her well groomed.

      “Taking care of someone you love is never work.”

      Zeke wasn’t sure why his eyes automatically went to the newly built stairs leading to Mollie’s back porch. That had been a lot of work, but he’d been more than willing to do it because...because...

      “It’s a responsibility,” he argued, not even realizing he’d said the words out loud until Mollie started talking again.

      “Owning any kind of pet is a responsibility.” She shot him a grin. “But you’ve always been a responsible guy.”

      He was a responsible guy, and by default, Mollie was his responsibility. Whether she liked it or not. He would never admit it, but a part of him was glad that Mollie had a stubborn tendency to resist his efforts. Any show of gratitude would only have added to his feelings of guilt—and Zeke already had plenty of that where the McFadden siblings were concerned.

      Years ago, Zeke had made his best friend a promise. Straight out of boot camp and ready for a tour that would take him overseas, Patrick McFadden had asked Zeke to look out for his little sister.

      Zeke had immediately agreed. He and Patrick had grown up as neighbors in an affluent, historic section of Spring Forest. Patrick had been the closest thing Zeke had to a brother. And just as Zeke and Patrick had always been best friends, meeting up after school, playing sports, exploring the woods around Spring Forest on the weekends, Mollie had always been the kid sister wanting to tag along. Looking out for her came as naturally as hanging out with Patrick.

      Both men knew Mollie had a big heart—maybe too big. She was always willing to think the best of people, to give anyone who asked a second, third, fourth chance. The last thing either of them wanted was for someone to take advantage of her giving, caring nature.

      With his friend answering the call of duty and willing to risk his life in service to his country, Zeke didn’t want Patrick to have to worry about his little sister back home. So Zeke had made his friend that promise.

      And then, two years ago, Mollie had shown up at his door, her bright eyes ravaged by tears, to tell him that Patrick was never coming home.

      His best friend was dead, and the promise Zeke had made—along with the reminder of Patrick’s final visit home—weighed on Zeke so heavily that the crushing pressure on his chest made it hard to breathe.

      He looked down, startled by the cold press of a nose against his hand followed by the familiar weight and warmth of a sturdy canine body leaning against his leg. Reaching down, he ran his palm over Charlie’s silky golden head, taking comfort in the easy, quiet companionship.

      “You need a new best friend.”

      His heart cramped a bit at the softly spoken words, and he looked up to find Mollie watching him, her gentle soul reflected in her blue-green eyes. Logic told him neither she nor the dog by his side could possibly know what he’d been thinking. But from his own experiences with Shadow and with the service dogs at the veterans’ support group where he volunteered, he knew how intuitive animals could be.

      And as for Mollie... Patrick was a tie that would always bind them together. Zeke didn’t need to tell her he was thinking about his friend. Not when Patrick was always there between the two of them.

      * * *

      The steps were perfect. The raw wood was sanded to a smooth finish awaiting the stain or paint of her choosing. Mollie had no doubt that each step and rise was strictly to code and not a single degree off.

      But that was Zeke. All straight lines and precise measurements. His massive toolbox lay open at the top of the stairs. Inside, each red plastic section held a specific size of nail, screw, nut or bolt. Everything properly labeled and carefully maintained, and nothing like her junk drawer, which held a random mishmash of items that may as well have escaped from the island of lost tools.

      “You could have waited for me, you know. I would have liked to see how you figured out how to cut the stringers...just in case.”

      “It’s not that hard.”

      She held up a hand as Zeke went on about maximum riser height and tread depth, cutting him off by saying, “I get it. You’re brilliant.”

      And he was. Zeke was the smartest person she knew, and not just book smart. If there was anything he wanted to learn—and Zeke tended to want to learn everything—he could pick up a how-to book or watch a few online videos and know all there was to know about cutting stringers, building a fence or replacing a faucet.

      “You don’t have to worry.” He stomped a booted foot against the lowest tread. “Trust me, these suckers are solid. They aren’t going anywhere.”

      “Well, no. Not unless I tear them out again.”

      “Tear them out? Why would you do that?”

      “Because they’re too perfect!” The old steps, though lacking in structural integrity, had made up for their rough, splintered surfaces with character. They’d had knots and dents and a weathered finish that matched up with the rest of her house. “I’m going to have to replace the deck, the door, the back half of the house to try to get everything to look half as good as your steps.”

      Zeke only grinned. “Sounds like I have my work cut out for me the next few weekends.”

      “No, Zeke. You don’t. It’s my house. My responsibility.”

      For a brief second, a shadow seemed to cross over his handsome features before he offered her a confident smile. “Of course it is, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help out around here, does it? How else am I going to pay you back for all the delicious meals you make me?”

      Mollie hardly considered herself any kind of gourmet chef, but she did like to eat. She also liked to cook, especially if it meant cooking for Zeke.

      Though if there was any truth to the old adage the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, Zeke would have fallen for her back when she was in the eighth grade and he ate all the cookies she’d made for a bake sale.

      “You can’t tell me you don’t have some mouth-watering meal already started.”

      “I may have thrown the ingredients for chili into the slow cooker before I left this morning.”

      His gaze narrowed. “What kind of chili?”

      Mollie rolled her eyes. “Tofu,” she said. “What do you think?”

      Crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “I think you’d better be lying.”

      “It’s ground sirloin.” Though she did occasionally like to switch things up with a white chicken