Beth Andrews - What Happens Between Friends

“Sherlock Holmes has nothing on your deductive powers.”

“You got a dog?” he asked, sounding as shocked as if she’d hog-tied good old Sherlock and painted his toenails bright pink.

The strap of her bag slung over her shoulder, she shut the rear passenger-side door. “Sort of.”

“Is that like when you sort of had a job as Bill Gates’s personal assistant?”

“I told you, Bill and I had a real moment at that restaurant. We clicked.” She linked her hands together to show her and Bill’s connection. “He probably misplaced my number, that’s all.”

James’s snort made her think he didn’t believe her.

“I never pictured you with a pet, especially one that big.”

“He’s not technically mine. I found him.”

“What do you mean, you found him?”

“I’m not sure how to make that statement clearer. He was in the middle of the road, I swerved to avoid hitting him, hit that stupid sign then went back and found him on the side of the road.”

“You went back to rescue a stray dog? By yourself?” James asked, incredulous. Worried. Well, it was one of the things he did best. “What if he was rabid?”

She and Elvis exchanged an amused look—okay, so it was definitely amused on her end. As if he’d understood every word they’d said, Elvis hung his head and slunk over to James, where he sat and lifted his paw quite adorably.

“Yes,” she said, her tone all sorts of wry, “clearly he’s the next Cujo.”

But James didn’t hear her, he was too busy shaking Elvis’s paw with one hand, petting him with the other as he murmured to the dog about what a good boy he was, how smart.

“Aww...there’s nothing quite as heartwarming as a boy and his dog,” Sadie said.

“No.”

She blinked innocently at him. No one did innocent like she did—even if she had to say so herself. “What?”

“I’m not taking him off your hands. I already have a dog.” He straightened. “Unlike this one, she’s never pissed on anyone’s tire and she doesn’t stink. And don’t try to tell me you got him for me for my birthday.”

Shoot. That had been her next tactic.

See? That was the problem with someone knowing you so well. No sense of surprise. “So you won’t take him in, raise him as one of your own,” she said.

“That about sums it up.”

“But you will help me find out if someone is searching for him?”

He kept silent, as if he was thinking that one over. Silly man. Didn’t he realize she knew him just as well as he knew her?

Which was how she knew he was going to agree even before he nodded.

Grinning, she linked her arm with his, hugged it close to her side. “I knew I could count on you.” Always. Forever. “Come on. Let’s go see about that cake.”

* * *

JAMES GLANCED AT his phone. By his calculations, Sadie had been back in his life for approximately twenty minutes and he’d already agreed to help her with her latest problem. Which meant he’d be taking on the responsibility of finding the damn dog’s owners. Twenty minutes. Must be some sort of record. Leo was right. He was a sucker.

He never could refuse Sadie anything.

It was his cross to bear, his greatest weakness.

She was his greatest weakness.

He stopped just inside the doorway to his parents’ room, flipped on the four recessed lights in the vaulted ceiling, casting the room in a soft glow. The walls, a deep olive green, were offset by low-pile beige carpet and white trim. Filmy, tan curtains with splashes of darker brown hung open, leaving a clear view of the crescent moon trying to break through the clouds, the hills a dark shadow in the distance.

Sadie pressed against his back. “You sure your mom doesn’t mind me hopping in the shower?” she asked, her breath washing over the sensitive skin at the side of his neck.

He made the mistake of glancing at her. Damn it, she wasn’t beautiful, not classically so, anyway—her chin was too narrow, her cheeks too wide, her nose on the thin side. But if you put all the elements together—her mouth with its sharp cupid’s bow, her milky-white complexion and ice-blue eyes—she was more than lovely. More than just another pretty blonde.

She was stunning. Effervescent and sparkling, like the finest champagne.

And like champagne, if you weren’t careful, you could get drunk on her.

His hands fisted. Need for her was like an itch between his shoulder blades. One he couldn’t reach, couldn’t rid himself of no matter how hard he tried.

Story of his goddamn life.

He forced his fingers open and stepped forward. “It’s fine.”

Hesitating at the door, looking unsure and vulnerable—neither of which suited her—she rolled her eyes. “It didn’t seem fine.”

True. His mother had been less than welcoming and gracious—both of which were unlike her. “She’s probably just tired. Plus she’s stressed about her classes starting next week.”

“Classes?”

He crossed to the antique, marble-topped table his mom used as a nightstand and turned on the lamp. Better, but the room still seemed too cozy. Too intimate.

He blamed the king-size bed.

“Mom’s going to attend Seton Hill part-time.”

The Catholic university was one of a dozen or so colleges located in Pittsburgh, a forty-minute drive from Shady Grove.

Sadie finally stepped into the room. “Yeah? That’s great. You must be really proud of her.”

He was. Of course he was. If his mom wanted to get a college degree, to pursue a career in social work, then he was all for it. But it would mean changes. Adjustments. Not to their family life as much as to Montesano Construction. From the time Frank had started the company, Rose had managed the office. She planned on continuing in that capacity while she earned her degree part-time, but eventually, she’d leave to follow her newly formed dream.

It just proved you were never too old to change course.

Though James was too firmly entrenched—in his life, his father’s business, his place in his family—to even think about changing his.

Why would he? he thought, flipping on the light on the tall dresser, then the one on the round table in the seating area. He was right where he was meant to be, working a job he was good at and enjoyed, surrounded by family and friends he loved.

He was content.

And how many people could truly say that?

“Shower’s this way,” he said, walking into the large bathroom, Sadie following.

“Oh, dear, sweet Lord,” Sadie breathed. She turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide as she took in the room. Dark woodwork, free-standing sinks on Italian marble, a separate area for the toilet, large whirlpool tub and walk-in shower. Not to mention the heated tiles beneath their feet and a closet the size of most bedrooms.

James grinned. It was one hell of a room, one of Montesano’s best. They’d redone his parents’ master suite five or so years ago, completely gutting what had been a utilitarian bathroom and turning it into what his mother deemed her oasis.

Women and bathrooms. He may not completely understand why they went so crazy over them, but he could appreciate their enthusiasm over a well-designed room.

He leaned against the vanity as Sadie opened the door leading to the closet and peeked in at his parents’ clothes. She’d slipped off her sandals downstairs, had mud splattered across her bare, narrow feet and up her calves. Her bright orange top—one of those wide-necked ones with flowing sleeves that reminded him of something a gypsy would wear—was wrinkled, her yellow pants ruined.

She was a mess. A walking disaster.

She’d grown her hair out from the short bob it’d been three years ago. It reached past her shoulders, the wheat-colored strands streaked with thin stripes of pale blond. But even with it frizzing to twice its normal size, and mascara smudged under her eyes, she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.