Page 83 of The Love Shack

Attention shifting right back to Lark again, he doubled his frown. “Why were you two just staring at me and whispering?” While rubbing Hero’s neck, he looked beyond them, through the laundry room to the kitchen. “You two are alone?”

“Yes, definitely alone.” Confusion had Berkley frowning now, too. “Were you expecting to find someone?”

He shook his head. “I just have a bad feeling about this joker who was looking for you. He hasn’t contacted you again?”

“No.” More forthcoming than she’d been before, Berkley said, “Lawson and I talked about it, though, and I’m going to call Chad—when Lawson is with me—just to tell him to get lost.”

“Cut him off at the knees before he comes sniffing around?”

“Something like that.”

Crossing her arms, Lark showed her doubt. “So you came here, on a Sunday, just to check on Berkley?”

“What? No.” Oliver’s gaze never left her face when he said to Berkley, “I was going to see about visiting with Handsome. I know it’s an off day, so I’ll understand if you’d rather I not, but I have the rest of the day free, so—”

“Great idea. Lark, do you want to go with him? I can put away the rest of the mess.”

She’d already cleaned up her supplies while the color processed, so there really wasn’t that much except to ball up the shower curtain, pack it away and put the chairs back in place. “I can do it. You can get the dog for him.”

Nonplussed, Berkley stood there. Clearly, she’d hoped to put them together.

“Sorry.” Lark explained, “It’s a habit of mine to put everything away after I’ve done a client’s hair in her home. I’ll need to store my stuff in my car, too.”

“I’ll help you,” Oliver said. “Then we can walk Handsome together.” Almost like a lure, he added, “The dog likes you, and he can use all the attention he can get.” His dark eyes shifted to Berkley. “No offense. You’re doing a great job.”

“None taken, because I agree.” She looked down at Hero. “Stay, bud. I’ll be right back.” And then to Oliver, she said, “Get yourself a drink in the kitchen, if you’d like. I’ll have Handsome out in five minutes.” Using more haste than necessary, Berkley slipped away, leaving her alone with Oliver. For some reason, Lark couldn’t seem to move.

Hero’s astute gaze bounced from Lark, to Oliver, and then he sat down with a bored yawn.

Oliver grinned. “He’s so well-behaved. I wonder how protective he might be.”

It wasn’t jealousy she felt—no, absolutely not—but something spurred Lark’s irritation. “You seem more than a little interested in Berkley’s safety.”

“You aren’t?” He had no problem moving. With a pat to his thigh, Oliver called Hero to him and they went into the kitchen together.

Leaving her standing there in the laundry room alone.

Closing her eyes for two seconds, Lark struggled to suppress the disturbing emotions clamoring inside her. When she opened them again, it was to see that Oliver had turned back and was now watching her.

In mild query, he asked, “Ready?”

It was almost laughable. Oh, she was ready all right. For many things. The bigger question was, how far and how fast could she get him to go?

After some bookkeeping and inventory, Lawson headed out of his shop, pulling the back door shut behind him and securing the locks. He turned and nearly tripped at the sight of Kathleen. The mannequin had been moved from the front of the shop when he wasn’t looking, and now stood near his truck.

A note had been taped to her hand. Trying to spot any guilty faces, he glanced around, but Sunday in Cemetery was fairly quiet, especially on this small strip. Nearer to the restaurant and the lake, people still enjoyed the day, but here, at the back end of the shops, he didn’t see a single soul.

Annoyed, he strode up to the mannequin, trying not to look at her face and unseeing eyes, and pulled the note away to read it.

It’s no fun if you won’t take part. If you don’t want me here, put me somewhere else—where people will appreciate me.

Snorting, he crumpled the note and tossed it into the trash bin. Not a bad suggestion, though. He should have moved the mannequin a week ago.

Hands on his hips, he tried to decide what to do with her. Another furtive glance, and he came up with a plan. Quickly, because he didn’t want to be late seeing Berkley, he went back into his shop. After creating a sign with a bold black marker and a sheet of white cardboard, he located the shirt he wanted, along with a pair of shorts. Others might dress the mannequin in loose clothes, but what the hell—if he was going to do this, he might as well do it right.

He grabbed extra small shorts since Kathleen had almost no hips at all, but a small shirt—Kathleen had been made with a rack. For good measure, he grabbed a sweatband, too.

Cautiously, he looked outside, but he was still alone. Didn’t matter. He felt like a perv changing Kathleen’s clothes outside, so he moved with haste. The shorts were easy. He just put her in the truck bed and slid them up her long, narrow legs, then tightened the drawstring so they’d stay in place. The shirt, with her unbending arms, proved a little trickier. At one point, he almost took off her head, but finally he got it done.

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