Wilder Hearts. Karen Rose Smith

me about the house,” she said.

      “It’s the old Dennison place. I’m not sure if you remember, but three or four weeks ago, Ethel Dennison fell and broke her hip. Leif and I got the call and transported her to the E.R. I think you were on duty that night, but you were working with someone else at the time.”

      Simone remembered the elderly woman who’d come in that night. “Ethel is a nice lady. I felt badly that she’d gotten hurt and that she would probably have to go into a convalescent home while she recuperated.”

      “Her only child, a daughter, lives in Ohio and insisted that it was time Ethel moved in with her.”

      “It’s too bad she had to give up her home, but it’s nice that she gets to be with her family.”

      “Yes, it is,” he said. “Being with loved ones beats the heck out of going into a long-term-care facility.”

      Yes, it did. But just thinking about Mrs. Dennison and her plight brought a question to mind.

      If something happened to Simone’s mother, would she invite the woman to move in with her?

      Sheesh. How far did one’s obligation go to a biological relative who acted more like a stranger?

      Did it go beyond those occasional phone calls and Christmas dinners eaten in silence?

      The only thing that made her feel slightly better about envisioning the scenario was the fact that even if Simone were to make an offer like that, her mom probably wouldn’t want to live with her.

      “If they accept my price, Karen is going to ask them if I can rent the house from them until the close of escrow. And if they agree, Wags and I will be out of your hair in no time at all.” Mike tossed her a boyish grin. “So you see? Now you have good reason to celebrate, too.”

      How could she say no to that?

      Yet, for some reason, she didn’t feel particularly relieved about having her home to herself again.

      “So,” Mike said, “now that I’m here, I’ll take the dogs for a walk. I thought maybe Woofer would show Wags how it’s done.”

      “That would be nice.”

      “You can walk with us, if you like. Or if you have any errands to run, go ahead. I’ll take them by myself.”

      Actually, Simone had an appointment for a pedicure later this afternoon. And she wanted to pick up a new pair of nursing shoes, too. She also needed to replace her iron. Yesterday, before work, she’d been pressing a pair of scrubs when Wags got his head stuck behind the lamp table. She’d rushed to help him, tripped over the cord and knocked the iron onto the floor, breaking off the little spout that provided steam.

      “Are you sure you don’t mind going alone?” she asked.

      “Not at all. Take the day off, go shopping, have lunch with a friend. Whatever.”

      His grin caused her heart to flip-flop, and for the briefest moment, she had the urge to tell him no, that she’d rather stick close to home and hang out with him and the dogs.

      But how lame was that?

      Taking a walk and spending the day with Mike might be counterproductive to everything she’d been trying to tell him.

      That he couldn’t expect anything other than friendship from her.

      It was late in the afternoon when Simone returned from her errands, but she didn’t find Mike or the dogs inside the house.

      She did see signs in the kitchen that he’d started dinner. A covered pot sat on the stove, and a bottle of red wine rested on the counter, uncorked and breathing.

      She heard a noise outside, made her way to the back door and glanced out the small window. She spotted him standing on the patio and firing up the grill, the dog and the puppy sitting on their haunches beside him.

      Rather than let him know she was home, she stood there a moment, enjoying the sight of man and beast and nature.

      Or rather, just the man.

      Mike’s efforts at the barbecue had caused a hank of raven-black hair to fall across his brow. The intensity in his expression as he stoked the fire was enough to captivate her, to make her think of a Scottish laird on a windswept moor.

      If Simone believed in miracles, if she believed that he might be right about…

      But she couldn’t. Her mother had slowly whittled away at her self-esteem and her ability to trust anyone with her true emotions.

      Instead, she tore her attention away from Mike, fearing that, if he caught her eye, the attraction she just couldn’t seem to kick would be too obvious. And if that happened, she could end up encouraging him to think the two of them could live happily ever after, rather than convince him they wouldn’t.

      After putting away the items she’d purchased while shopping—a pair of scrubs to go along with the nursing shoes, as well as an iron and a few other household cleaning products—she went into the kitchen and announced, “Hey, I’m back.”

      For a moment, her words had a honey-I’m-home ring to them, and she almost forgot that, when it came to love, she was a nonbeliever. At least, when it came to her and that particular emotion, she was.

      Maybe she’d be better off coming clean with Mike about her past. About her irreparable scars. Then, when she finally leveled with him about the baby, he’d be more inclined to understand why she felt the way she did.

      The door swung open, and Mike strode inside, as charming and hunky as ever. “Hey, beautiful. How was your day?”

      Darn him. She almost felt pretty when she was with him. Even in a pair of jeans and a plain white cotton blouse.

      She conjured a smile and lifted her right foot, which was wearing bright pink nail polish and a turquoise flip-flop. “It was great. I had a pedicure. See?”

      His mouth quirked in a boyish grin that nearly buckled her knees. “Your toes look great. So does the rest of you.”

      Oh, yeah. She’d gotten a haircut while she was at the salon. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for noticing. She usually wore it pulled back, out of her face.

      “I like it down and curled under like that.”

      Yeah. Well…“Thanks.” She combed her fingers through the strands, feeling them sluice along her hands, and struggled to find something else to say to that.

      A change of topic would be good about now.

      “What’s for dinner?” she asked.

      “Barbecued chicken, seasoned red potatoes and a salad that’ll have you begging for the secret recipe of my vinaigrette dressing. But I’ll warn you right now. It’ll be virtually impossible to get me to crack. No one has been able to pry it from my lips.”

      Her gaze drifted to his mouth, her thoughts to his kisses.

      No, no, no, she told herself. Not there. Not now.

      “I like vinaigrette dressing,” she said instead. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

      He winked, and those kissable lips quirked up in a crooked grin.

      She felt herself weakening, her thoughts flirting dangerously with memories of the past, of the night they’d made love until nearly dawn.

      And that couldn’t be good.

      She struggled to find some generic words, something that would get their conversation and her thoughts back on track.

      “What can I do to help?” she asked.

      “I’ve got it all covered. So just come outside and watch me grill.”

      Okay. That was easy enough.

      Once outdoors, he pulled up a patio chair, and she took a seat. All the while, Woofer