Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [36]
“Angus! Angus! Come, sweetie!” Not surprisingly, my dog failed to obey. Grumbling at my dog, I walked across my front yard to 36 Maple. The last thing I needed was another confrontation with the ex-con next door, but with Angus snapping and snarling at him, I didn’t have much choice. “Sorry,” I called. “He’s afraid of men.”
Callahan hopped off the porch, cut me a cynical glance. “Yes. Terrified.” At those words, Angus launched himself onto Callahan’s work boot, sinking his teeth into the leather and growling adorably. Hrrrrr. Hrrrrr. Callahan shook his foot, which detached Angus momentarily, only to have my little dog spring upon the shoe with renewed vigor.
“Angus, no! You’re being very naughty. Sorry, Mr. O’Shea.”
Callahan O’Shea said nothing. I bent over, grabbed my wriggling little pet by the collar and tugged, but he didn’t let go of the boot. Please, Angus, listen. “Come on, Angus,” I ground out. “Time to go inside. Bedtime. Cookie time.” I tugged again, but Angus’s bottom teeth were crooked and adorable, and I didn’t want to dislodge any.
However, I was hunched over, my head about level with Mr. O’Shea’s groin, and you know, I was starting to feel a bit warm. “Angus, release. Release, boy.”
Angus wagged his tail and shook his head, the laces of the work boot clenched in his crooked little teeth. Hrrrrr. Hrrrrr. “I’m sorry,” I said. “He’s not usually so—” I straightened up and bang! The top of my head cracked into something hard. Callahan O’Shea’s chin. His teeth snapped together with an audible clack, his head jerked back. “Jesus, woman!” he exclaimed, rubbing his chin.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. The top of my head stung from the impact.
With a glare, he reached down and grabbed Angus by the scruff of his neck, lifted him—there was a small snap as the laces were tugged out of Angus’s mouth—and handed him to me.
“You’re not supposed to lift him like that,” I said, petting Angus’s poor neck as my dog nibbled my chin.
“He’s not supposed to bite me, either,” Callahan said, not smiling.
“Right.” I glanced down at my dog, kissed his head. “Sorry about your, um… chin.”
“Of all the injuries you’ve given me so far, this one hurt the least.”
“Oh. That’s good, then.” My face actually hurt from blushing. “So. Are you going to live here, or is this an investment or what?”
He paused, obviously wondering whether I was worth the effort of an answer. “I’m flipping it.”
“Oh,” I answered, relieved. Angus spotted a leaf blowing across my lawn and convulsed to be put down. After a second’s hesitation, I complied, relieved when he ran off to give chase. “Well. Good luck with the house. It’s very cute.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night.”
“’Night.”
I took a few steps toward my house, then stopped. “By the way,” I added, turning back to my neighbor, “I did Google you and saw that you’re an embezzler.”
Callahan O’Shea said nothing.
“I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. Hannibal Lecter, at least he’s interesting.”
Callahan smiled at that, an abrupt, wicked smile that crinkled his eyes and lightened his face, and something twisted hard and hot in my stomach and seemed to surge toward my burly neighbor. That smile promised all kinds of wickedness, all sorts of heat, and I found that I was breathing rather heavily through my mouth.
And then I heard the noise, and so did Callahan O’Shea. A little pattering noise. We both looked down. Angus was back, leg lifted, peeing on the boot he’d tried to eat a few moments before.
Callahan O’Shea’s smile was gone. He raised his eyes to me. “I don’t know which one of you is worse,” he said, then turned and headed for his house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THIRTEEN MONTHS, TWO WEEKS and four days after Andrew called off our wedding, I thought I was doing fairly well. The summer after had been pretty rough without the daily presence of my students, but I threw myself into the house and became a gardener. When I was antsy, I tramped through the state forest behind my house, following the Farmington River