Page 53 of Swept for Forever
AUTUMN
Lulu’s latest assault on breathable air had nearly killed me in my sleep, so when she whined at the door, I was on my feet, barely remembering my busted calf.
“Go,” I whispered, cracking the door open. “But be quick. And for the love of—don’t get caught.”
I paused just inside the doorway, my eyes drifting to Dom’s room.
I had no idea how long he’d stayed. Probably not long. But the fact that he had at all, that he hadn’t just walked away the moment I closed my eyes, made me wonder.
Maybe he wanted us to stick around a little longer.
Lulu, meanwhile, had decided this was a five-star sniffing experience.
I leaned on my crutch, letting my gaze slide out to the street and the dark behind it. Buffaloberry Hill was so much quieter than the places I’d lived. There was no city buzz and no car alarms, just trees and the occasional truck rumbling somewhere far off.
Peaceful.
Right up until the porch light snapped on.
“What in the good name of Teddy Roosevelt is that?” A voice cut through the night.
Oh no.
I turned, my heart dropping. The motel owner stood a few feet away in a flannel robe, a pissed-off glare on her face. Lulu, utterly shameless and clearly intrigued by her new captor, sat at her feet with her tail wagging like the woman was handing out bacon treats.
“Uh.” I scrambled for a halfway believable lie. “She’s a service dog?”
“For what?”
“Support?” I nodded toward my crutch.
Right then, Lulu lunged at a few moths near the porch light, ignoring my call.
Okay, yeah. That wasn’t going to work.
“Out,” she said, pointing toward the road. “I don’t allow dogs. And I definitely don’t allow liars.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
Where the hell was I even supposed to go?
And then, from nowhere, a whiskey-warm “Ma’am” landed between us.
DominicSomeone, Esquire.
Standing slightly to the side, respectful and non-imposing yet impossible to ignore, he had the composure of a man who’d just rolled out of bed and straight into a negotiation. One hand rested lightly on his hip while the other smoothed down his plush robe. Meanwhile, I was standing there like I’d been scraped off the pavement.
“Ms. O’Donnell,” he greeted smoothly, his charm dialed up just enough to be effective but not over the top. “Dominic Powell.”
Oh, so it was Powell.
Dominic Powell, Esquire. That had a nice ring to it.
“I remember who you are,” Ms. O’Donnell said flatly.
“I sincerely apologize for waking you at this hour,” Dom said, all reason and grace. “I completely understand your policy, and I respect it. But given the circumstances, I’d love to find a solution that works for both of us.”
The motel owner folded her arms. “That so?”
