Part 12 (2/2)

Brenna waited until he was out of sight. Sam had warned her, that day at Emily's, to stay clear of Parker. Now she knew why.

Or maybe not precisely why, but at least the flavor of it. The specifics were as much a mystery as anything else in her life right now. She didn't know what Parker was up to at the barn, and she didn't know what he'd meant by other means. He could get what he wanted from her simply by coming around when she wasn't here. What was the point of threatening beyond that point?

Because he could.

Brenna climbed the hill and sat under the oak until the sun was down and only the barest hint of twilight remained. Watching the pasturea”and wondering if Parker would be so bold as to come back that very night.

Wondering, too, what drew him to the spring so strongly in the first place. It wasn't his dog buried under those stones. Wasn't his family's land, the place where he'd grown up and the very hills where he'd found his first stray, trained his first dog, felt the first stirrings of an innate ability to interact with dogs on their own level. Those were all her claims to this spot.

All Parker had was one wild night of carousing, destruction, and a nostalgic memory of two dead friends.

Didn't seem like that was enough.

She stood, wiping off the seat of her jeans with a hand that was still sore and stiffening up from the day's work. She gave it the sweats.h.i.+rt to hold and carried the rifle in the other, double-checking that the safety was on for her walk in the new-moon darkness.

Not that she didn't know where she was going, or had any concern for getting there. She knew this land day or night, and as nights went, this one wasn't as black as some. She was more worried about Druid than about her navigation. Unlike Sunny, he wasn't used to roaming the property on his own, or even hanging around the house. She didn't even know if he had a good sense of direction. Some dogs that hadn't been out on their own didn't, and he'd already proven he was perfectly capable of losing his way. So it was Druid that her eyes strained to find as she returned to the housea”some glimpse of his white muzzle and blaze or the waving white tip of his tail and four st.u.r.dy, well-boned legs flas.h.i.+ng along in his trot.

What she found, as she slipped through the barn gate and rounded the corner of the barn to the driveway, was the pale hulk of Masera's SUV sitting in her driveway.

She stopped short, rapidly cycling through reactions. From s.h.i.+t! and annoyance through sudden, overwhelming fatigue and straight through to a resigned place where she didn't really care why he was there or what he wanted. She was ready for a bowl of popcorn and a few chapters of her book followed by plenty of sleep before another day of grooming.

Settled within herself, she came around the SUV and discovered Masera sitting on her porch, Druid at his side. She walked slowly up to the porch and stopped some feet away, just standing there, waiting. He was the one who'd shown up at her placea”againa”without invitation. Let him take the burden of any conversation.

He didn't, not at first. At first he simply looked at her, making her suddenly aware of herself from the outside in. The chill of the April air across the exposed strip of skin at her navel, the waterfall feel of her hair against her back and swirling behind her knees. Because, abruptly, she knew that's just what he was looking ata”staring at, his gaze as tangible as the cold breeze that brought gooseb.u.mps up on her arms.

He stood, and took a couple of swift steps to stop short only inches from her, close enough to block the breeze, for her to feel the warmth of his body replace it.

That was when her world swirled and she knew Sammi had been right, that day in the break room a month ago. Whatever Masera thought about grooming and groomers, whatever else he was up to . . . right now, he wanted. Enough to forget why he'd come here, to forget that she'd never welcomed him, to forget that they'd last parted ways on hard terms.

Not things Brenna could ignore. Nor could she ignore the tension between them, or the way his hand drifted up to her hair by her neck, hovering but not touching.

The way she could feel it anyway.

So she took control. She ended the moment, looking up and into his eyes as she lingered over a single word. ”Iban.”

It startled him just as much as she'd meant it to. Enough so his hand fell away and he stared at her with all his intensity fled. She waited for his anger.

He laughed.

A guffaw, reallya”short and genuine. And then he backed up and made himself at home on her front porch step. ”Brenna Lynn,” he said, but even in the darkness she caught the quirk of his mouth.

”Iban,” she said again, this time as an acknowledgment. And a demand, which he caught. How do you know what you know?

”Roger's not careful with his files,” Masera said, and now his subtle inflections made sense to her; they fit onto Eztebe's like a shadow template. ”I was hunting for something else, I ran across yours, I peeked.”

Brenna crossed her arms, silent. Not quite a demand, but certainly expectant. It sounded too much like just enough truth to get by.

He got the point, shrugged, and said, ”I was hunting for something else. But I didn't know it wasn't in your file until I looked there.” Fessing up, yes. Looking guilty, no. He'd been checking her out. And had he been checking her out, somehow, that day he'd come to the tub room to wash the Westie?

”Oh, I do feel better,” Brenna said, suddenly sure of it. ”Not only do you sneak around behind my back, you sneak around behind Roger's. That certainly makes it all right.”

He winced. ”Brennaa””

”I could say I never even asked you to call me that, but Ms. Fallon doesn't suit me as well so you might as well.”

”Do you suppose you could put that rifle up?” he asked, and that made her smile, because they both knew he was in no danger whatsoever. From the rifle.

”If I want to hit youa””

”a”again,” he quickly interposed.

”If I want to hit you again,” though she recalled it as more of a shove, ”I wouldn't use my grandfather's .22.”

”No, you'd do fine with your own two fists,” he said. ”Or more likely your wits. Roger really has no idea what he's up against.”

Brenna pumped the chamber open and left it that way, empty, and reached beyond him to lean the rifle in a temporary resting spot on the porch. She snorted at the thought of her manager and said, ”I think he knows well enough by now. He just tolerates me because I run a good grooming room, and it's hard to find anyone with that much experience who doesn't already have their own shop. I'm sure you saw plenty of remarks in my file.”

”I saw enough to know that the reason you run a good grooming room is that you won't back down to him.” He watched as she knelt to hug Druid; the dog's tail wagged wildly, and he rubbed his cheek on her leg. Claiming her, and ”purring” as only a dog can purr, with deep breathing patterns verging on happy groans. He waited until she'd finished murmuring to him before adding, ”I don't understand why you don't have your owna””

As if she wanted to talk about that. ”It doesn't matter. It's not why you're here, is it?” She gave Druid an abrupt final pat and stood, aware that the dog continued to lean against her leg in a sprawling sit, watching Masera just as much as she did. ”To talk about my work?”

Silence. A long silence.

”No,” he said. ”It's not. I came for myself, I suppose. To try to understand what's going on herea”and there is something. With the spring, the lane . . . maybe even your dog. Not this one, though there's no particular reason to leave him out, not with the way he acts.”

”You were only here for one night,” Brenna said. ”What do you know about what's going on here?”

”What I observed in that one night. And morning.”

”Hard to believe you could observe anything in the morning,” she said pointedly.

”You'd be surprised.”

Druid s.h.i.+fted against her and did a whisker inspection of her leg. Up as far as he could reach, down all the way to where her ankle met sneaker. He never kissed or licked, but the frequency of his whisker inspections was high. And this time, as often, he whined softly under his breath. Talking to himself.

”No,” Masera said, watching Druid inspect and whine, ”there's definitely no reason to leave him out.”

”I have to wonder if you're really here because you want to pump me for information about Rob Parker, and you think I won't notice.”

After a moment of looking away from her, Masera said, ”Rob Parker is another conversation.”

”Maybe.” Brenna shrugged, found that her hair was no longer enough to keep her warm, and drew her sweats.h.i.+rt on, tugging the sleeves up to leave her hands free. They fell down again a moment later, of course. One of Russell's hand-me-downs, this one was. If she wanted to, she could withdraw her hands inside the sleeves altogether and let them flop around at the ends of her arms.

Sometimes, entertaining Sunny, she'd done that. This time, she shoved the sleeves back up again. ”Maybe,” she said again. ”Though considering how interested Parker is in my spring, maybe not.”

”Is he?” Masera said, surprised. He rubbed his index finger against the bridge of his nose, thena”carefullya”his eyes. ”Extended-wear contacts,” he said wearily. ”Don't mess with 'em.”

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