And yet, she had blown his mind a few nights ago by simply walking into the shower with him. She had been all satin skin and smooth places and sweet curves and warm, wet dark places he could not get enough of. She’d been that brave. And he’d said nothing. He’d been a goddamn coward, pretending that because they called one another Noel and Sam, he couldn’t confess then and there that he wanted her back.
Even as he shifted through these thoughts, Scott knew they were correct. In so many ways, large and small, he hadn’t been giving her a chance to want him back. Nor had he been trying to learn the new woman she had become. He’d been so busy trying to go slow and be cool, he hadn’t even dared ask for her cell phone number. Something he didn’t realize until she was headed back to Harmonie Kennels and he needed to talk with her. In trying not to crowd her, he was pushing her away.
So, again, he was the problem.
The sting of that accusation felt familiar. His father had been his usual self just before Scott had left this morning. Why couldn’t Scott take time off to look after his mother until his father was on his feet again? Why wouldn’t he simply demand the time off? Didn’t he want to help out? And why had Nicole left so quickly? Couldn’t his son keep up his end of a relationship long enough to get his wife back for more than a day?
All that disapproval, and his parents had no clue that the trashing of their home was more than likely his fault, too.
Scott dropped the panties back in the drawer and turned toward the door.
He would bet money that X, with or without the Pagans’ direct involvement, had frightened his parents to send him a message. The hog’s head couldn’t be coincidence. X had figured out who he was, knew he’d been an undercover narc, and was going to make life hell for people he cared about until he provoked a confrontation.
The New Brunswick police had promised to keep an eye on his parents, after he explained the “pig” reference. But they didn’t have an official obligation to do so. This was simply a courtesy extended to a fellow law enforcement officer. He couldn’t tell them more without jeopardizing both his new and old U/C operations.
Scott ran a hand down his face. Even after a few hours’ sleep he was still exhausted and hungry, and tired of thinking about things that tied him up in razor wire. He knew—gut level—that everything that was wrong in his life was his own damn fault.
His responsibility. His mess to clean up. He was going to have to do something about X. He just didn’t know what yet.
As for Cole, he guessed it was time he fessed up about how he felt about her, and took the consequences. However painful that might be.
“Come, Izzy.” He grabbed a bag of dog food and headed out for Harmonie’s cafeteria where there’d be coffee and sweet rolls and, with luck, Cole.
*
“Handlers are permitted to talk, praise, encourage, clap, pat their legs, and use verbal means of encouragement. Multiple commands and/or hand and arm signals are allowed. Handlers must not touch the dog or make any other physical corrections. If during the performance, loud or harsh commands or intimidating signals are used, the handler will be penalized.”
Cole listened to the rules being read by the judge, along with the dozens of other handlers competing in Agility at the open-air competition. At nine A.M. the sun was making itself felt through the canopy of park trees. She’d been given all her team’s paperwork and a sheet of the course. Hugo was listed as Open Standard, an intermediate class designation that meant that Hugo had already earned the Novice Agility title, thanks to Lattimore’s machinations. At the moment, she was more worried about showing the judges that she and Hugo belonged in competition.
When the announcements were finished, Cole looked around for Yardley. This was her doing, a surprise announcement at six A.M. that Yardley had entered them in an Open Agility competition in a suburb of Richmond, Virginia. Cole hadn’t had time to do more than gulp her coffee, prepare a show bag containing treats, toys, leads, water bowls, water, and pooper scooper, and set off.
She had thought two seconds about waking Scott, but he was stretched on his bed in only a snug pair of knit shorts, dead to the world.
The fact that he looked amazingly vulnerable and cuddly in that prone position did nothing to encourage her to wake him. She was mad at him. Well, hurt was a better word. And annoyed. But she also had world-class reserves of self-preservation stored up. Going anywhere near him was just asking for the kind of trouble she could not afford now that he had redrawn the personal space lines.
Cole adjusted her sunglasses and refocused. Scott was a problem that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. At the moment, she had bigger issues. This was her first official dog competition in a decade. She was as nervous as the first time, a fourteen-year-old with sweaty palms and a pulse in overdrive.