Chapter 2

They crossed the busy street and entered the green belt. She chuckled at the dog’s antics. Otis was three years old, but even though he’d grown from a tiny pup that fit in the palm of her hand to over a hundred pounds of shedding fur and slobber, he still acted like a puppy.

The siren call of alcohol faded as she strolled along the wide gravel path past budding green ash and trembling aspen trees. She inhaled the rich scents of rain-washed earth, growing plants, and spring. Unhooking Otis’s leash, she freed his squirming body.

He bolted to the base of a tree and barked.

A squirrel scampered up the thick trunk and chittered noisily, taunting the dog from the safety atop a branch.

If she let him, Otis would happily spend hours waiting at the base of the tree in hopes the squirrel would forget the dog was watching and return to the ground. She called him and strode down the path.

Nose to the ground, tail wagging, Otis followed.

The trees deadened the sounds of traffic, and she could almost forget she was in the middle of a busy, modern city. Birds flitted through the trees, and the afternoon sun filtered through the branches and shone warm on her shoulders. The fresh scents of rising birch sap, melting snow, and…dog dung?…hung in the warm spring air. She lifted her foot and grimaced. The sole of her sneaker was coated in brown, foul-smelling dog feces. Muttering under her breath, she scraped her shoe on the grass.

Otis blasted ahead, chasing a new intriguing scent.

She didn’t worry about him running loose. The trails were usually deserted at this time of day. The young urban mothers wearing the latest yoga gear, pushing their strollers filled with squalling babies and followed by a gaggle of straggling toddlers, didn’t make an appearance until the afternoon. Runners and power walkers waited until after work to get their exercise.

She used to be part of that after-work crowd. Before her world fell apart, three times a week, she’d switch from her high-heeled pumps and power suit to a T-shirt, leggings, and sneakers, grab Otis, and together they’d run along the park’s kilometers of paths.

That was before—before her heavy drinking made doing anything more than sinking on the couch with a bottle of wine or a glass of vodka too much of an effort. But since she’d been home on leave, she’d been doing well, getting out and walking Otis almost every day.

Until today.

Until the letter showed up in her mail. Her good intentions had gone south after that. She searched her coat pocket. Damn. She’d left her cell phone at home. Two missed calls from work could be explained. Three…not so much. She wasn’t independently wealthy. She needed her job, needed her boss to know she was trying her hardest and had every intention of getting healthy and back to work. Even if her actions today proved that was a lie.

Loud, frantic baying jolted her out of her dark thoughts. Her heart stuttered as the barking ramped up another decibel. Definitely not Otis’s I saw a squirrel! bark. Something had the dog nervous. A bear? Not likely, not this close to the city. “Otis, come!”

The high-pitched barking increased in volume.

She hurried down the trail. Please don’t let it be a skunk. Otis’s unforgettable encounter last spring with a skunk flashed before her. He’d come running back to her, his tail between his legs, whimpering and stinking to high heaven. She’d hauled him home, wrestled him into the bathtub, poured six large cans of tomato juice over him, and hosed him down. Even then, he’d stunk for weeks.

She sped around a bend in the path and skidded to a stop.

Otis ran to her, whining and racing in frenzied circles around her legs, threatening to trip her.

She grabbed his collar and held him close. “What is it, boy? What’s wrong?”

He whimpered and licked her hand, straining to break free.

A muttered curse sliced through his anxious whining, and she looked over his head.

A man was sprawled in the middle of the path, a bicycle lying on the ground beside him.

Releasing Otis, she hurried over to the injured cyclist. “Are you okay?”

“I…I think so.” He sat up, undid the chin strap, and removed his bike helmet, revealing thick, dark curls cropped close to his head. Grimacing, he rubbed his right shoulder. “Is that your dog?”

“My dog? Why would you—” Oh no. Her heart sank. “What happened? Did he cause your crash?” Dogs were supposed to be leashed and under the control of their owners. It was the park regulation. “I’m so sorry.” Was the man injured? Was he angry? Oh Lord. Would he sue? She slid a glance at his bike.

The front wheel of the expensive-looking, high-end road bike was bent.

She bit the skin on the inside of her cheek. How much would the wheel cost to repair?

The cyclist rose to his feet and brushed clumps of grass and mud off his form-fitting, black spandex bike shorts. His broad shoulders and muscled forearms stretched the tight fabric of his black, long-sleeved shirt, revealing the dips and swells of well-toned muscles. His muscular, tanned calves, sprinkled with dark hair, extended beneath his shorts, and his feet were encased in red and black cycling shoes.

She gulped and looked up…way up.

Sweet Jesus.

Mid-thirties, maybe? His rugged face was tanned as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. Thick black eyebrows arched over honey-brown eyes rimmed by long dark eyelashes. Instead of the anger she expected, he smiled. Tiny laugh lines bracketed his generous mouth. His white teeth gleamed.

“Is this your dog?”

She gulped. “I’m…I’m sorry. Did he run in front of you? Is that why you crashed?”

Otis padded to the man, sat on his haunches, and lifted one monstrous paw and waved it in the air. He cocked his ears, put on his adorable puppy face, and whined piteously as if begging forgiveness.

The man crouched and petted Otis’s velvety head.

A sucker for attention, the dog flopped on his back and exposed his hairy stomach.

The cyclist chuckled and scratched the dog’s belly.

Otis wriggled ecstatically.

“It’s not his fault.” The hunk looked up and met her gaze. “I was going too fast. I should have been paying more attention.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting this handsome fellow to chase a squirrel across the path in front of me. So, I guess we should blame the squirrel.” He patted Otis. “Isn’t that right, boy? It was that big, bad squirrel’s fault.”

Otis’s tail beat a rhapsody.

“I’m so sorry. I should have had him on a leash, but he loves to run, and…” Under the heated power of his golden eyes, she lost track of what she was saying.

“Don’t worry. I’m fine.” He grimaced and jerked his thumb at his damaged bike. “Can’t say the same about my ride.”

“I’ll…I’ll pay to have your bike fixed.” She fumbled for her purse and fished out her wallet. Removing several small bills, she held them out. Her face heated at the paltry amount. “This is all I have with me, but I can—”

“Keep your money. The bike’s a rental. I paid extra for insurance, and that should cover the damage.” Rubbing his hip, he limped to his bike and crouched. His shorts tightened across a toned butt and muscular thighs.

She swallowed, her mouth bone dry. “Are you sure?”

“The wheel’s not bent too bad.” His grin widened. “The bike shop should be able to repair it.”

Otis, his swishing tail raising a small dust cloud, sat at the cyclist’s feet, adoration shining in his expressive dark eyes.

The man rubbed behind the dog’s ear. “What’s his name?”

“Otis.”

“Otis, huh?” He ruffled Otis’s hair under his chin. “How are you doing, Otis?”

Otis’s entire back end wagged. More dust rose in the air.

The intriguing stranger laughed, and a dimple popped out on his lean cheek. “He’s a handsome dude. What breed is he?”

She shrugged, struggling to think under the power of that devastating indentation. “I…I don’t know. Heinz fifty-seven, I guess. I found him as a stray when he was a puppy. No one claimed him, so he moved in with me. That was two-and-a-half years ago. We’ve been roommates ever since.”

One dark brow arched. “He’s your only roommate? No husband or boyfriend?”

“No…ah…there’s no one else.” Butterflies danced in her belly. He was one fine-looking man. No doubt about that. No doubt at all.

He stood and stepped closer, holding out his hand. “I’m Russ.”

She stared at his hand. Long, tanned fingers, large knuckles, a sprinkling of dark hair. Her heart sped up a notch. No ring. There was a God. “My…my name’s Athena.”

His callused palm and fingers tingled against her skin. A whiff of the light, lemony tang of his aftershave filled the air.

His eyes were the color of rich, melting taffy. Sparks of gold ringed the outer irises. “Athena? You’re named after the ancient Greek goddess.” He grinned, and his dimple popped out. “The name suits you.”

She swooned. She honestly swooned. “I…” Giving up trying to speak in coherent sentences, she contented herself with drinking in his every jaw-dropping, curl-your-toes inch.

He waved his free hand at the surrounding forest. “This is my first time here. The park is sure pretty.” His gaze wasn’t on the trees and wildflowers. He was staring at her, his meaning obvious.

His shameless flirting amped the heat searing her cheeks to a raging inferno. “You…you don’t live near here?”

“No. I’m in town for business. I live in West Vancouver.” He shrugged, and his shirt tightened across his broad shoulders. “It’s such a beautiful day, and after being locked inside for meetings these past few days, I wanted some fresh air and exercise. The concierge at my hotel told me about this park. I rented a bike and—” He grinned boyishly. “—the rest is history.”

She chuckled, actually laughed out loud. Amazing. A weight lifted off her shoulders. How long had it been since she’d laughed? “Beaton Park is pretty special.”

The steel guitar twang of an old-time country-and-western song split the air as a cell phone rang.

His cell phone, though for the life of her she couldn’t see where he kept it. His cycling clothes were so tight the bulge of even a small phone would be visible.

Releasing her hand, he slid a cell phone out of a hidden pocket on his upper sleeve. He glanced at the screen, and his mouth tightened. “Sorry. I have to get this.” Turning away, he spoke into the phone. “What’s up? Tell me you found her.”

A trill of unease tickled down her spine, and she eyed the attractive stranger. Was their meeting an accident? Or had he somehow arranged it? Was he connected with the letter she’d received? Even though she knew that was impossible—she hadn’t known she was going to be in the park that morning—her good mood vanished, replaced by her usual wariness.

Grabbing Otis’s collar, she attached the leash and dragged his resisting body away from the all-too-handsome stranger. The sound of Russ’s deep, resonant voice faded as she and the dog hurried down the path.