Darcy and the Single Dad. Stacy Connelly

Not any of his business at all.

      “I’ll need a blanket, too,” he said abruptly, turning back to the dog and away from Darcy’s smile.

      He felt the question in her glance as she slowly rose to her feet, but he refused to look her way. He didn’t care who Darcy Dawson dated, he told himself as she quickly hurried up the back porch stairs. Her footsteps were light and quick on the creaky porch floorboards, and he wondered how she did that. How she could make something as simple as walking seem like a graceful, rhythmic dance.

      Reaching out, Nick grabbed the lattice work with both hands and tugged hard enough to break free more of the weathered wood from the rusty nail heads. The masculine show of force did little to lessen the irritation building inside him. The last thing he needed was to wind up on Darcy Dawson’s To Do list. And yeah, okay, the trip wasn’t a total goose chase. Darcy really was worried about the dog.

      But she’d also really had problems with her wiring and plumbing. That was how things started. Where they ended—Well, Nick didn’t let himself think about that. He’d probably tear down the whole porch with his bare hands if he spent too much time imagining Darcy in the arms of those other men.

      He needed to concentrate on the job at hand, and after he’d done what he could to help the dog, he’d turn his attention back to his plan for the future. Finding the right kind of woman.

      A woman who was responsible and down-to-earth. A woman who walked with her feet firmly on the ground. If she was pretty, he’d consider it a bonus, but certainly not a requirement, Nick decided. He’d allowed his hormones to overrule his head before and, except for Maddie, the results had been disastrous. He didn’t need to feel that skip in his heartbeat, that quickening of his pulse, the low throb of desire that hummed beneath the mundane sounds of everyday life.

      He knew what he wanted and—

      “I’ve got it.”

      Darcy’s husky voice broke into his thoughts, and Nick could only stare at her. She stood beneath the porch light, so he could see her more clearly now. Even with her thick hair pulled back into a damp ponytail and her makeup mostly washed away by the rain, she was beautiful. Tall and graceful, she definitely had it. She was—She was everything he did not want in a mother for his child. Everything he didn’t want in a wife.

      “The flashlight and blanket?” she said, lifting the objects in her arms, her voice hesitant when his silence went on too long.

      “Right,” he said abruptly. “That’s—what I need.”

      He reached out for the items, careful not to brush his hands against any part of Darcy. Grateful to escape, even though it meant crawling into a muddy hole, Nick ducked beneath the porch and through the space he’d made larger. He half crawled, half slid across the muddy ground.

      “Do you need—”

      “Just stay back,” Nick answered when Darcy’s voice followed him into the damp, cramped space. Last thing he needed was for her to try to squeeze in behind him. He’d never been particularly claustrophobic, but the idea of being trapped in such close proximity with the woman had sweat breaking out on his forehead. “I need as much room as I can get in here.”

      In the glare from the flashlight, the dog eyed him warily. He could see now that she was some kind of heeler mix with a solid, medium-sized build, alert ears and intelligent gaze. He’d always had a soft spot for working-class dogs, admiring their bravery, their intense watchfulness … their loyalty.

      And after only a quick examination, he was relieved to discover the reason the dog had sought out some privacy and shelter. “Come on, girl. Let’s find you a more comfortable spot.”

      He’d asked for the blanket in case she snapped at him or started to squirm when he moved her. Judging from her quiet, crouched demeanor, she was clearly afraid, but Nick didn’t sense that fear turning into aggression. He kept the blanket away from her head as he wrapped her up and scooted his way back from under the porch.

      “What do you think? Is she okay? Are you going to take her to your clinic?” Darcy’s rapid-fire questions were filled with anxiety, and the dog seemed to shake in time with each word.

      Keeping his voice monotonous and low, Nick wasn’t sure which female he was trying to calm. “She’s going to be fine. All she needs is a clean, dry place to let nature take its course.”

      “Nature?” Darcy blinked up at him as he rose to his feet, and Nick regretted his choice of words. A little too much nature was already coursing through his body for him to be saying anything even slightly suggestive.

      “She’s pregnant,” he said.

      “Pregnant?” Darcy echoed as she followed him up the back porch steps. “I didn’t—How—”

      “That’s what happens when owners don’t have their dogs fixed.”

      “I know that’s how. But, see the thing is—She’s really not my dog.”

      A high-pitched squeal interrupted, and they both looked down at the squeaky rubber toy Nick had stepped on. From there, Darcy followed his gaze to the bed she’d set up in the corner of the porch, along with the food and water bowls with their paw-print design, and an array of colorful balls and rawhide bones.

      “Okay, so maybe I went a little overboard on my trip to the grocery store, but really, she’s not—”

      “Not your dog,” Nick echoed. “Right.”

      He’d heard the excuse from owners before. Unwilling to deal with the problems their lack of responsibility caused, they dropped off pregnant dogs and newborn kittens at shelters as “strays.”

      He tried to help out where he could, working with a shelter in the next town over and volunteering his time with a mobile spay and neuter program. But he’d long ago acknowledged and reluctantly accepted that there were people whose minds he could not change.

      Or at least he thought he had. Maybe it was the day he’d had, seeing the horse left to starve by the people entrusted with its care, but he was hit by a wave of disappointment that Darcy was—

      What? Not who he thought she was? Not the kind of woman he wanted her to be?

      Nick shook off the ridiculous idea. He didn’t know Darcy and he didn’t want to get to know her. She was a city girl who’d quickly tire of playing small-town dress-up and move on when she realized she didn’t belong. But for Nick, Clearville was in his blood.

      “There’s a shelter the next town over.” Even in the dim light from the back porch, Nick could see Darcy flinch. A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience for making her feel bad, but he ignored it. He was simply explaining the reality of the situation. “They might have a foster available to take the dog and her pups until they’re old enough to be adopted.”

      Darcy shook her head even as she caught herself raising her left arm over her chest, reaching for the reminders of the old injury. She stayed the motion when she saw Nick watching her closely. “No. I won’t take her to a shelter.” Crossing her arms instead, she said, “I—I’ll keep her.”

      The vet arched an eyebrow, his doubt as obvious in the faint lighting as his disbelief had been moments earlier. She could have tried harder to convince him the dog wasn’t hers, she supposed. But words could be meaningless, empty things. If he hadn’t believed her the first time, why would he the second or third? Darcy refused to argue her innocence with someone who’d predetermined her guilt.

      He’d judged her and found her lacking. Well, so what? She had nothing to prove to him. She had nothing to prove to anyone but herself.

      Nick Pirelli could believe what he wanted. She didn’t care. Or at least she wouldn’t … as soon as she convinced herself that was true.

      “You really think you can handle this?”

      With the dog cradled in his arms, Nick never raised his voice above that low murmur she’d heard