Page 63 of Driven Daddy

I rolled onto my back, and Bruce inched over to lay his head on my middle. His huge, soulful dark eyes were trained on me—always. I went back to stroking his soft ears idly as my mind wandered to a few ideas I had for the workshop.

I was no teacher, nor had I any desire to become one. Colette, in her infinite wisdom, had collected email addresses with the raffle ticket numbers at the register when people checked out. She definitely had the chops to expand her business to a full-fledged bookstore.

She was clever and her marketing wisdom was wasted on a small town. At least, I would have thought that last month. Now that the slow pace of Crescent Cove was smoothing out the rest of my nerves, I saw the appeal of her location. And the crush of people that had shown out the week before for the signing was proof that people would travel if they wanted to see the authors—or artists—enough.

Add in her obvious prowess on socials, and I had every confidence she’d be right up there with the shops in New York City.

Because she wanted it.

I remembered that fire.

Slowly, I sat up and Bruce harrumphed his displeasure until he realized I was heading for the kitchen. He happily followed, hoping for a treat. As was our ritual, I made breakfast and shared with the beast of a dog. Blueberries and bacon were his particular favorite—and mine too. The local orchard sold some flash frozen fruit as they were unloading the last of their harvest to make room for the apples.

Have phone, will order for pickup.

Pickup was the norm here in Crescent Cove over delivery.

In fact, as I checked my phone, my grocery order was ready for pickup. Bruce sat in front of me, his head resting on my middle as always. It helped that he was so dang tall. I wasbeginning to learn his tells—this one meant it was time for a potty break.

I crossed to the back door, shoving my feet in my Crocs as I opened the slider. Instead of letting him roam on his own, I followed him out for a bit of sunshine. The Black-Eyed Susans were on their last legs, but I was able to pick out a few for the vase I kept by my computer at the kitchen table.

I laughed as he romped through the flowers to the wide stretch of grass on the hill by the lookout to the lake. Suddenly, he barked like a lunatic and galloped toward the road and up the lane.

“Bruce, wait!” There wasn’t much traffic on the street, but I still worried about him.

“Hey, buddy.” A male voice floated down from on the hill where a larger lake house was. There hadn’t been anyone up there since I arrived. Maybe the owner was finally home.

With my flowers clutched in my hand, I climbed the winding lane after the dog. When I cleared the overgrown bushes, I spotted a pair of boots and jeans, and not much else as Bruce was laying on top of the man. “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry.” Flowers floating down, forgotten, around my feet, I rushed forward.

“Get off me, you cow!” Penn swiped his cheek with his forearm against the shower of drool. But he was laughing, and he didn’t sound upset. He peered around Bruce’s massive body and copious amount of fur. “Rita?”

I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly very cognizant of the fact that I’d run after Bruce in only my yoga gear. The black racerback tank was low-cut, showing off my lime green sports bra which matched my yoga pants. And while it was a lovely fall day, I’d been sweating and now all sorts of things were…tight.

Penn pushed the horse-sized dog off, who immediately thought he was playing and pounced again, this time nailing him in the balls.

I couldn’t stop the laugh from bursting free as he rolled into a fetal position.

Bruce, undeterred, shoved his big nose into the space between Penn’s neck and shoulder, snuffling and biting playfully.

“Off! What is it with dogs and my balls?” Penn muttered, but he was laughing even as he rolled further into his shrimp status.

Not sure what that meant, I took mercy on him and dug through Bruce’s dense fur for his collar to haul him off. “Nice shot, Bruce.”

“Gee, thanks.” Penn’s sunglasses had flown off during the tackle, and his dark eyes were narrowed against the sun. He held up a hand since the sun was behind me. “Nice outfit, Rita.”

Annoyed that I’d forgotten again what I was wearing, I shifted the shirt up to cover. Not that the sports bra was showing off much, but it was the lifting kind instead of the straight boob smush. However, it did accentuate my less than stellar breast size.

As if it matters, he already had his mouth on your breasts last week.

Shoving that thought aside, I staggered a little when Bruce gave me the hard hug lean. “Good job, buddy. That man needed a good…” I trailed off as Penn rolled easily to his feet. He was also dressed for the lovely day with a tight black T-shirt that had probably seen a thousand washes. The neckline was stretched out and his beard had grown exponentially since I’d last seen him. He wore a flannel shirt, tied around his waist, leaves stuck to the fabric.

I noticed the dark bags under his eyes before he shoved his sunglasses back on.

For the first time, guilt crept into me. I wasn’t a shitty sort of person, but something about this man brought it out in me. Not only for the shot against my writing—I was used to that. Being a romance author was not for the faint of heart.

We might be at the top of the food chain when it came to sales, but some of the other authors out there looked down their nose at our books. Penn was no different, but it cut harder that he’d said it right after we’d been so intimate.

Intimate in ways I had never been.

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