Taken By Storm. Heather Macallister

later, he heard her say, “Excuse me,” and felt her hand on his arm. He was sure it was her hand because at the touch, his skin burned beneath the leather jacket...and beneath the navy cashmere pullover his mom had given him for Christmas and beneath the shirt he wore under that. Yeah. He reacted that strongly to her touch.

      Gus’s words echoed in his mind, One day, you see a female and you blow your top, just like that batch of summer ale the first year. It’s why men make poor decisions with the wrong women, or they let the right one get away ’cause they’ve got no finesse and scare her off.

      Cam turned then and gave her a questioning look. Finesse. Think finesse.

      “Um, thanks. Again.” She smiled uncertainly. “I appreciate you watching my stuff.”

      “No problem,” he murmured. There. Finesse. His voice hadn’t cracked or anything. He was especially pleased that he hadn’t grabbed her and planted his mouth on her lips, lips that were clearly made for kissing. Generous. Wide. Not too pillowy.

      “I’ve got to ask you another favor,” she burst out.

      “Okay.” He tried to avoid appearing overeager.

      “I—” She stopped and exhaled. “Casper won’t get in his crate and I’ve got to go to the restroom. Would you please watch him for me?”

      “Sure.” Cam allowed himself a smile and glanced down at the dog. I owe you, buddy.

      “Oh, thank you!” She shoved the leash at him. “I’ll be just a minute!” And she hurried toward the restrooms.

      Cam watched her go, her hair rippling. She had great hair—straight, long and glossy. He wanted to run his fingers through it. He wanted to feel it against his bare skin. He wanted to lie back in bed and have it curtain their faces as she leaned down to kiss him.

      He heard a frustrated sound, and at first he thought it had escaped him. But then he realized it had come from the dog, who was staring down its long nose at him, as though he could read Cam’s mind.

      “Hey, Casper,” he said. “How’s it going, buddy?”

      With a tiny whine, Casper sat down.

      “I hear ya.” Cam looked in the direction of the restrooms. As was typical, the women’s had a line and Ryka, or whatever her name was, hadn’t made it around the corner yet.

      “What say we walk over to your crate?” Cam said. The backpack was still lying on the floor next to it.

      He started walking and the dog followed him, which was good because he didn’t want to have to drag the animal across the floor.

      Once they got to the crate, Cam sat on the floor again, and the dog flopped beside him, head on his paws. Another little whine escaped.

      Cam reached out to pat him. “Hey, this thing she’s got you wearing is all wet.”

      She couldn’t want her dog to stay in wet clothes. He took off the blue bonnet. “Oh, buddy. I thought the hat was bad.”

      Casper’s fur was white, as Cam might have guessed from his name. But the hair on his head and ears was gathered in blue elastic holders. Probably to keep it out of the way. Cam scratched Casper all over his head, and if the dog had been a cat, he would have purred.

      Another glance toward the women’s restroom revealed that Ryka had only just made it to the corner beneath the sign.

      “Okay, buddy. Let’s get this off you.” Slowly, Cam reached around the dog’s stomach, seeking the straps. Casper obligingly rolled onto his side. Cam unhooked the clasps and peeled off the wet coat, releasing the aroma of wet dog and something sweet—doggy shampoo?

      Casper panted.

      The rest of his hair was also bunched with blue bands, but Cam could see there was a lot of hair and it was all white. And damp. Unfortunately, the baggage terminal floor wasn’t very clean, with people tracking in the wet sludge from outside. Occasionally, the maintenance crew came by with mops, and earlier they’d placed black rubber mats by the exit, along with yellow tented caution signs.

      Cam draped Casper’s outfit over the crate to dry out and gently petted him, scratching between the ponytail bunches.

      “Does that feel good, boy?”

      Casper licked his mouth and resumed panting.

      “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Cam liked dogs, although he didn’t own one. If he did, he’d never pick this breed. Too much hair.

      Casper twitched and rolled over onto his back, curving himself into an S shape.

      “You want a tummy rub.” Cam used both hands. “This must mean you’ve warmed up to me. Now let’s see if we can get your owner to warm up to me, too.”