Maggie Moves On(5)

The work boots were scarred and not for fashion. Long legs seemed to go on forever under a pair of battered utility pants. Curves, subtle ones, revealed themselves through a dirt-streaked tank top. Hands in pink-trimmed work gloves tossed a long-sleeve flannel over the porch railing.

Silas was already in lust before he got to her face.

Categorizing as fast as he could, he took in the sight. Sun-kissed skin, leanly muscled arms, strong shoulders. There was a softness in the heart-shaped face beneath a fringe of bangs. Loose strands in the same chestnut copper shade had escaped a short ponytail at the back of her long, slim neck and framed sharp cheekbones and a straight nose. Her lips weren’t painted, but they were lifted in the kind of smile that hinted at secrets.

“Wow,” he said.

“You okay there, kid?” Jim asked.

Silas, like the rest of Kinship’s athletic population, had been “kid” to the man since he was seven years old. “Okay doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he admitted.

Jim rolled his eyes and then turned back to the goddess on the porch. “Real nice meeting you, Ms. Nichols,” he said.

“Maggie,” the goddess corrected. She had one of those throaty voices, just a little rough around the edges. Like the rasp that came from shooting whiskey too fast. “I’m looking forward to your estimate.”

“Have it to you Monday,” he promised. Jim paused to eyeball Silas like he’d just shown up on a job site in a prom dress.

To be fair, it had happened once. A bet was a bet.

He clapped him on the shoulder. “Later, Sy.”

“Later, Coach,” Silas said without taking his gaze off Maggie Nichols of the strong arms and sexy voice.

They eyed each other for a beat, and then she was shucking her work gloves. “Sy as in Silas Wright? Bitterroot Landscapes?” she asked.

“That’d be me,” he said, approaching the porch like a tractor beam had locked on and was dragging him forward. “And you definitely wouldn’t be Dean Jensen.”

They met on the steps. “Maggie Nichols,” she said, offering a hand. Ringless. Long fingers. Calloused.

Silas closed his hand around hers and enjoyed the invisible sparks that shot out from the contact. Her eyes were brown, warm, and golden. They made him think of topaz in the sun.

“That’s a long handshake you’ve got there, Mr. Wright,” she observed, giving their joined hands a pointed look.

He grinned. “I’d apologize, but I don’t want our relationship to start out on a fib because I’m not actually sorry at all.”

“Ah, a flirtatious landscaper,” she said lightly as she withdrew her hand.

Kevin let out a mournful whimper from the truck window.

“Pipe down, Kevin,” Silas said, without looking back.

The quirk of her lips was a full-blown smile now, and he felt his stomach dip like it was on the rolling hills of a coaster.

“You named your dog Kevin?” she asked.

In response to hearing his name, the dog let out another pathetic moan.

“He named himself,” Silas explained. “The shelter tried every normal dog name in the book before they started on the people names.”

“Aw,” she said. The softness in her eyes had him reluctantly dragging his attention away from her. He saw Kevin was doing his best depressed pet routine, with one jowl pitifully draped over the truck’s side mirror.

“Don’t fall for it,” Sy said. “He’s a diabolical attention whore.”

On cue, the dog let out a howl.

“You can let him out, you know,” Sy’s future wife said, falling into the dog’s trap.

“You say that now, but Kevin’s a little burly, and while he has a heart of gold, he can look a bit intimidating. Plus, he just ate an entire pack of thick-cut, hickory-smoked bacon, and I’ve got concerns about his ability to keep it down.”

“Better for him to lose his breakfast out here than in there,” she advised. “If it gets in the vents, you’ll never get it out.”

Sensing an ally, the dog perked up.

“I can tell this is the first of many times that you two will be ganging up against me,” Silas said as he left the steps and headed toward the truck. “I don’t want you to think I’ll always be this easy.”

“Oh, my,” Maggie said as eighty pounds of brindle pit bull celebrated his freedom with a zoom around the front yard.

The dog remembered that thanks were in order and plowed his way up the porch steps.

“No jumping,” Silas yelled, jogging after his wayward wrecking ball.

Maggie was braced for the impact, but Kevin skidded to a halt, plopping his big ass on the porch boards at her feet.

Disaster averted, Silas slowed his approach. Sometimes his fat dog’s brakes didn’t work so well.

“Well, aren’t you the handsomest boy in the whole world,” Maggie said as she gave the muscly dog a rubdown. Kevin swooned over onto his back to provide better access to his tummy.

“Stop horning in on my business, dog,” Silas complained.

Maggie straightened to her full height, putting her about a head shorter than his own six feet four inches. Good height for kissing without getting a crick in his neck, he noted.

“Business,” she said. “Let’s walk and talk.”