The Ashtons: Cole, Abigail and Megan. Maureen Child

that Dixie didn’t know what she was doing at all times. He wouldn’t have, of course, but he could have.

      Dixie eyebrows flew up. “It’s shorts weather to me. I’ve gotten used to a more rugged climate.”

      “Rugged.” Cole nodded. “Yeah, that’s the first word I think of when I think of you. I like the Tshirt.”

      “I noticed that you’d become a slow reader.”

      Since the letters were stretched across a pair of lovely breasts, he just grinned.

      While they were talking, Hulk was infiltrating. Nonchalant as only a cat can be, he’d wandered closer. Tilly kept retreating until she was behind Eli. Hulk, triumphant, stropped himself against Cole’s leg, purring.

      “Yeah, I can see how innocent you are,” Cole said, bending to pick the cat up. He promptly went limp, purring manically. Automatically Cole stroked him.

      Dixie smirked. “He likes to be rubbed behind the ears.”

      “That’s a dog thing.”

      “Tell him, not me.”

      “Okay, I get it.” Eli nodded. “See you two later.”

      Cole glanced at him. “What are you talking about?”

      “Going back to work. You remember about work? It’s something some of us like to do at this hour on a weekday.”

      “Good idea.” Cole looked back at Dixie. “Take Tilly with you.”

      “Forget it. You deserve a few handicaps. Nice to see you without that camera, Dixie,” he said, then headed off.

      Dixie watched Eli leave, looking vexed. “I like your brother.”

      “So do I, at times.” Especially when Eli had the good sense to go away. “Why does that bug you?”

      She huffed out a breath. “I wasn’t paying attention, I guess. Of course, he’s very closed up, even worse than you. Hard to read. But I was not trying to play the two of you off each other.”

      “I didn’t think you were. You can’t help flirting—that’s like breathing for you. A process I enjoyed watching, by the way, while reading your T-shirt, but never mind that for now. You don’t play men off each other. That would be calculated, and there’s nothing calculating about you.”

      “That came perilously close to a compliment on something other than my breasts. Backhanded, but averaging more positive than negative.”

      “Don’t let it go to your head. Here.” He held out twenty pounds of limp feline. “Take your monster. Tilly’s having a breakdown trying to figure out how to hide behind me when I’m holding her enemy.”

      She draped the beast over her shoulder and started at an easy pace for the carriage house. Cole fell into step beside her.

      Dixie slid him a sideways glance. “You think Tilly has some kind of canine PTSD?”

      “I’m putting it down to poor parenting. Her former owner must have mistreated her.”

      “She was previously owned by a cat?”

      His lips twitched. “I’d say her fears generalized.”

      She smiled, but fleetingly, and didn’t respond. For a few minutes they walked together in silence, with Tilly on Cole’s other side.

      Funny, he thought. He’d once found it irksome to walk with Dixie. They’d matched up great in bed, but he hadn’t liked matching his steps to hers. She strolled. He wanted to get where he was going as efficiently as possible.

      She’d said she didn’t see the appeal in sweating. He didn’t see the point in taking twenty minutes to get somewhere if you could do it in ten. But it was okay to slow down occasionally, he decided. It gave him a chance to notice the subtle scent she wore…slightly spicy, more herbal than floral, hard to pin down.

      Like her. “What did you think of New York?”

      “I loved it,” she said promptly. “Even during my homesick period, when I was in this horrible little apartment and didn’t know anyone, I loved it. There’s so much to see and do, and the energy is incredible.”

      “You liked that? I never could picture you there, part of that lickety-split New York energy.”

      “You always saw me as a lazy flake,” she said philosophically.

      “No, I didn’t.” When she looked at him, all skepticism, he conceded, “An artistic flake, maybe. Not the same thing. You saw me as a dull business grunt.”

      “Never dull,” she murmured. “Driven.”

      “A word that conjures the echoes of a few of our better arguments.”

      “Your definition for better being…?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You never wanted to move away, try a new place, did you?”

      “My goals, my family, my life—they were all here. They still are. Why did you leave?” As soon as the words were out, Cole wanted to call them back. They’d come out too abruptly, sounding too much like why did you leave me?

      He knew why. Eventually he’d understood and even agreed with her. Understanding wasn’t the same as forgiving.

      Either she didn’t hear the unspoken question or she didn’t want to go there, either. “Itchy feet,” she said lightly. “You know what they say about New York—‘if you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.’ I wanted to see if I could make it.”

      “You succeeded.” They’d reached the carriage house. He opened the door and held it.

      “Women and monsters first.”

      “Just the monster. I’ve got to get back to work. What?” she demanded. “What’s so funny?”

      “You’re in a hurry to get back to work and I’m not.”

      “Okay, that is weird. Be ready to close the door fast.” She dumped Hulk onto the floor, stepped back and Cole closed the door—fast, as ordered, with Hulk on the other side and complaining about it. “The deadline for the first painting is pretty tight, and I haven’t got it settled yet in my mind. Eli’s the subject, but I don’t have the right angle on him.”

      “You pay attention to deadlines?” he asked politely.

      “Very funny. I’m not that bad.”

      “If you tell me you’re always on time now, I’ll have to ask for ID. Or maybe consult an exorcist.”

      She grinned. “At least you admit it’s demonic to be compulsively punctual.”

      Her grin was too familiar. It tugged at places inside him that he preferred to keep private. Cole put a hand on the door, keeping her where she was, and leaned in closer. “These are new,” he observed, touching his thumb to the corner of one eye, where a faint smile line showed.

      She jerked her head away. “You used to be better with compliments. Back off, Cole.”

      “I’m not going to kiss you. Not right this minute, anyway.” He’d forgotten the flecks of gold in her eyes, and how they turned plain brown to a rich caramel.

      Her eyebrows lifted in haughty offense over those caramel eyes—but her tongue darted out to moisten her lip. “I see. You suddenly felt weak and couldn’t stand up on your own.”

      “You’re nervous. I like that.”

      “You’re obnoxious. I don’t like that.” He chuckled and straightened. “How long will you be here at The Vines, Dixie?”

      She regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”

      “I need to know what my deadline is.”

      “If I ask why again, and you tell me, am