so sweaty. She’d taken forever to decide what to wear. Since when had she dithered about clothes? She’d tried a silk top with spaghetti straps and a white denim skirt, but decided the shirt was too clingy, the skirt too short. She didn’t want Dylan to think she was trying to look sexy.
She’d settled on purple silk slacks and a modest white linen blouse—business casual after she’d removed the gold hoop earrings, throwing on an amethyst pendant that didn’t look datelike.
Sheesh. Get a grip. It’s a chicken dinner, for God’s sake. A chicken with beer up its butt, no less. To talk about the investigation.
She’d gathered all the clues to share with him, including the conversation she’d had with Joseph that morning at the hospital when she’d asked for the insurance agent’s number, so she had a serious reason to get together with Dylan. Right? Ignoring the pounding of her heart and the squeak of the tequila bottle against her clammy hands, she rang the bell.
In a few seconds, Dylan opened the door. The sight of his face lifted her heart. His eyes held hers, sexual interest flaring, warming her everywhere, despite her determination to keep the meeting focused on business.
“Come in please.”
She stepped into the entry area, taking in his home—roomy, friendly, neat and full of personal touches. Nails clicked on the sand-colored tile floor and she looked down the hall to see a dog lumbering toward her.
“Oh, my God, is that...Duster?”
“It is.”
Tara had adored the golden retriever. She thought they’d had a special rapport. “He has to be so old now...”
“Fourteen. Yeah.”
“Damn.” Tara dropped to eye level with the dog. He’d put on weight, his muzzle was gray and his eyes cloudy, but it was unmistakably Duster. He rose on his back legs, put his front paws on her shoulder and dipped his nose to touch one of her cheeks, then the other, as she’d taught him. “He remembered European greeting.” She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“He’s deaf and almost blind, but he’d never forget you,” Dylan said softly, his expression full of tenderness.
“Good dog, Duster,” she said, scrubbing his ears the way he used to like, giving herself time to recover, breathing in the familiar doggy smell, while his tail thumped heavily against the floor.
She got to her feet. Being here with Dylan and his dog stirred up old feelings, like dust, making it hard to breathe or even see. It was ridiculous. They’d been teenagers, for God’s sake. You didn’t find your soul mate at seventeen, though she’d been so sure at the time. She’d been so sure about everything back then.
“I’m afraid to ask what you’re thinking,” Dylan said.
“You should be. The upshot is I thought I was smarter at seventeen than I think I am now.”
“Ah, but now you’re wiser. Wise beats smart every time.”
“I hope you’re right.” She didn’t feel very wise at the moment. She felt happy to be near him. She’d been back in Wharton for a week and, if anything, her reactions to him had grown stronger.
“You look sexy as hell. Damn.” He ran his gaze down her figure, making her feel nearly naked, business casual be damned. His compliments had always been sincere, never knee-jerk. He’d made her feel so attractive.
“You, too.” He wore dark jeans and a black-and-gray silk bowling shirt, and looked meltingly hot. This wasn’t a date, but she felt the same thrill—the delicious chance to be alone with him, anticipating brushes and touches and intense looks and maybe more. She held out the bottle of tequila. “For old times’ sake.”
He laughed. “Actually, I bought Mountain Dew and Grey Goose.”
“God. Dew-V-Dews! I forgot about them.”
“Remember Halloween when we had the water balloon fight on Hangman’s Hill?”
“Yeah. I wanted to sneak up on the couples hooking up in cars and you wouldn’t let me.”
“We would have scared the crap out of them. It was Halloween. They’d think they were being attacked by real zombies.”
“I know. That was the point at the time. It was mean of me.” She’d been too angry at everyone. Dylan’s love had softened her. She’d be forever grateful for that.
“So what’s your pleasure?” he asked.
You. Being here with you. “Let’s do the Dew-Vs.”
“You got it. Make yourself at home.” He left for the kitchen. Tara put the tequila bottle on the table and looked around. The great room was done in contemporary Southwest style, one wall painted coffee-brown, another mustard-yellow. The art on the wall included two stylized desert landscapes in vivid