Your ideal woman sounds boring, his little voice dared to say.
Maybe so, he admitted, but there was nothing wrong with “boring”. Perhaps if his parents had relegated their dream of becoming a superstar country music duo to the past where it had belonged, they wouldn’t have driven that lonely stretch of highway halfway between here and Nashville at four a.m. They’d have been safe in bed, living long enough to see their children grow to adulthood.
As for tonight, he hadn’t been able to coax the reason for their gathering from his sister-in-law or his brother, but it had to be important. After the last dinner-party fiasco between the four of them, only a compelling reason would have convinced Gail to repeat the experience.
Gail had been immensely disappointed that he and Christy hadn’t clicked together like two cogs, but, as he’d later told her, Christy was everything he wasn’t looking for in a romantic partnership. After all the upheavals in his life—his parents’ deaths, school, work, college studies, raising siblings—he wanted someone who wasn’t in search of the next spine-tingling, hair-raising adventure; someone stable, calm, and content. While it wasn’t a bad thing that Christy’s friendliness and sunny disposition attracted people like sugar called to ants, he wasn’t interested in being one of a crowd of admirers.
Tonight he’d sit through dinner, learn what scheme Gail was up to now, spend the rest of the evening in Ty’s den watching whatever sports event was currently televised, then drive Christy home. Dinner with Ty’s family wasn’t a red-letter occasion, but hanging with them was better than spending time alone.
He leaned on Christy’s doorbell, but before the melodic chime barely began, he heard a deep-throated woof followed by thundering paws. Gail had never mentioned her friend owned a dog, so it was entirely possible he’d come to the wrong apartment.
His sister-in-law had told him apartment 4619, but given that the nine was missing from the house number above the porch light, he may have made an error in guessing his prize lay behind this particular door. However, the whimsical fairy stake poked into the pot of impatiens seemed to be the sort of yard ornament Christy would own.
As the footsteps—both human and canine—grew louder, he was already framing an apology for the intrusion when Christy flung open the door with one hand tucked under the black rhinestone-studded collar of a beautiful cream-colored Labrador.
He’d definitely come to the right place.
“Hi,” he said inanely, aware he was out of practice when it came to picking up a date.
“Hi, yourself.” Christy tugged the dog out of the way. “Come in, please.”
He stepped inside and wasn’t quite sure if he should look at her or the dog. He wasn’t worried about Christy biting a hole in his thigh, though, so he focused on the animal and held out his hand for sniffing purposes. “Who is this lovely lady?”
“Her name is Ria,” she said. “She’s very protective of me, but she’s really a sweetheart.”
As expected, Ria sniffed his hand, then licked it, making Linc feel as if he’d passed doggy muster. “I can see that,” he said.
She eyed her pet as Ria nudged Linc with her nose. “It appears you two are friends already.”
“Dogs usually like me,” he said. “Why, I’m not sure.” His fondest memories involved pets, but after their family’s golden retriever had died of old age when Linc had been sixteen, they’d never replaced him. As it had turned out, a few years later, his hands had been full trying to raising his younger siblings and attend college, without adding the responsibility of a canine.
“Animals are a far better judge of character than we are,” she said. “However, Ria doesn’t usually give her seal of approval so soon after meeting someone.”
“Then I’m flattered.” Then, because time was marching on, he asked, “Shall we go?”
Pink suddenly tinged her face. “I’m sorry, but I need a few more minutes.”
He couldn’t imagine why. She wore a red and white polka-dotted sundress with a matching short-sleeved jacket. Her bare legs were long and tanned and her toenails were painted a matching shade of red and one little toe had a silver ring encircling it.
Wisps of her short reddish-blonde hair framed her face most attractively and seemed to highlight her fine bone structure. From the freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose, she either didn’t need makeup to create that warm glow or she only wore just enough to enhance her natural skin tone. He also caught a delightful whiff of citrus and spice that tempted him to lean into her neck and inhale deeply.
Certain she sensed his intense, and appreciative perusal, he met her gaze, hardly able to believe the nonhospital version of the dark-eyed Christy Michaels was so … gorgeous. As far as he was concerned, a few more minutes couldn’t improve on the vision in front of him. The idea that he would spend his evening seated across from such delightful eye candy instead of poking inside someone’s abdomen suddenly made him anticipate the hours ahead.
“You look great to me,” he commented.
Apparently hearing the appreciation in his voice, she smiled. “Thanks, but Ria has carried off my sandals. She does that when she doesn’t want me to leave, and now I’m trying to locate where she’s stashed them. Would you mind checking around the living room while I go through my bedroom again?”
Ever practical and conscious of the time, he suggested, “You could wear a different pair.”
“No can do,” she said, plainly impervious to his suggestion. “They match this dress perfectly and nothing else I own will look quite right.”
He wanted to argue that it was just the four of them and no one would notice much less care if her sandals coordinated with her dress, but she’d already disappeared down the hallway, leaving him to obey.
“Okay, Ria,” he said to the Lab, “where’s your favorite hiding place?”
Ria stared at him with a dopey grin on her face.
“No help from you, I see.” Linc raised his voice. “Where does she normally hide her treasures?”
“Under the furniture,” she called back, “or in her toy box.”
Linc glanced around the great room and decided that Christy lived a relatively spartan existence. She didn’t own a lot of furniture and other than a few silk flower arrangements scattered around, the surfaces were free of what he called dust-collectors, although none would pass the white-glove treatment.
Spartan or not, however, the room had that cluttered, lived-in feel. Decorative pillows were thrown haphazardly, a fuzzy Southwestern print afghan was tossed carelessly over one armchair, and women’s magazines were gathered in untidy heaps on the floor.
Dutifully, he peeked under the floral-print sofa and found a few mismatched but brightly colored socks. Some were knee-length and others were just footies, but each one sported varying sizes of chew holes. Next, he moved to the matching side chair where he unearthed two pairs of silk panties—one black and one fire-engine-red—that couldn’t claim more than a dollar’s worth of fabric between them.
After adding the lingerie to his pile, he pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself to forget what he’d just seen and touched. Knowing her tastes ran along those kinds of lines, when he saw her on duty again, he’d have a difficult time keeping his mind off what might be underneath her scrub suit.
Shoot, why wait until then? His imagination was already running wild over what color underwear