Breaking Emily's Rules. Heatherly Bell

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СКАЧАТЬ give me that look. I swear I’ll find you a new owner if you don’t stop jumping on me. The licking is bad enough. This is not going well.”

      Within seconds, Winston had followed Stone into the kitchen, his food bowl in his jowls. Whoever said dogs weren’t smart had never owned a Winston.

      “Yeah, yeah.” Stone fed him and watched Winston go to town. “With manners like that, you’ll never get a girl.”

      Unfortunately, that made him picture the way Emily had moved in his arms and the curves she had in all the right places. It was possible that if he stepped back into that country music–infested den, he might see her again. Why that mattered he didn’t know, but if he didn’t get his mind off her, he might wind up making another trip to the Silver Whip, or the Silver Saddle, or whatever the hell they called it.

      Stone stripped in his bedroom, took a shower, toweled off and didn’t bother with the boxers. Instead, he plopped on the California king, rolled into the covers and let sleep take him away.

      * * *

      DAMN, THIS GIRL can kiss. Emily straddled him and kissed him long and deep. She moaned, which ripped out a groan from him as his hands lifted the skirt of her dress, searching for heaven and finding nothing but silk. Soft. Smooth. Curves. Skin. Yeah.

      Suddenly, she licked his face. This is strange, but if she’s into it, I’ll learn to like it.

      The bark was what finally woke him. Winston on his bed. Again. The beast’s paws on Stone’s chest as he lapped at his face.

      “Off!” Stone growled and opened one eye against the ray of light breaking through the window blinds. He pushed Winston off, rubbed his aching jaw and glanced at the clock. Crap, eight already. Time to get up.

      He’d have to cut his workout short this morning. Usually he ran five miles before work and hit the punching bag in the garage for an hour. Couldn’t afford to get too soft. He might be out of the air force, but the air force would never be out of him.

      Last night he’d dreamed of the girl who made him forget he was a short-timer in this town. No need to start rescuing people. Served him right, even though it had been a cheap shot. His own fault for paying too much attention to the girl and not enough to the other man’s fists. All right. Get over it, Chump.

      Winston stayed next to the bed and stared at Stone, panting, brown eyes questioning. He cocked his head and barked.

      “I told you, this is my bed and over there is yours.” Stone pointed to the cushion that sat in the corner of the bedroom.

      Winston barked again. Stone loved dogs as much as the next person, but Winston was less of a dog than an inconsiderate roommate. A hairy one who demanded his meals on time and whose only contribution to household chores was creating more of them. Another treasure he’d inherited from Dad. Everything he’d handed down seemed to come with complications. And commitments.

      Dad had loved this dog and swore it could read his thoughts. Right now, Stone wondered if Winston could read his, too, because they were less than charitable.

      “You interrupted a great dream, monster.” The first decent dream in months.

      Stone pulled on a pair of jeans and headed to the kitchen, Winston following close behind. True to form, he performed his shameless circling dance as Stone scooped out the dry dog food and placed it in his bowl.

      “Wish I could be that happy to have breakfast,” Stone mumbled, placing the bowl on the cold terracotta kitchen floor. “Do you realize all you do is eat and sleep?”

      He’d not only inherited Winston, the flight school and his father’s ramshackle ranch house, but pretty much James Mcallister’s life. And if he often felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room, it was probably because too many people, dogs and inanimate objects depended on him.

      He’d arrived in town with one large duffel bag and everything he owned in it. He was always ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

      The doorbell rang, and Winston ran out of the room like a scared schoolgirl. Doorbells. Winston was afraid of them. Then again, Dad’s doorbell played a haunting rendition of “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Stone kept meaning to disconnect the thing.

      Stone peered through the peephole. Staff Sergeant Matt Conner, wearing his civilian clothes, held a couple of cups. “Let me in, asshole. These are hot. Coffee.”

      Stone swung open the door and accepted a cup from The Drip (Rise and Shine and Have a Drip, the annoying cup said) as Matt walked inside.

      “Is he—?” Matt asked, eyebrows raised.

      Stone nodded. “Put the cup down now if you know what’s good for you.”

      Matt set the cup on the short key table by the door and squatted like a wrestler. Yeah, he knew the drill. Like he’d heard his name called, Winston flew around the corner and tackled Matt.

      Fortunately, Matt was a dog person, not to mention the size of a linebacker. “Hey, I love you, too, you big lug.”

      “Don’t encourage him.” Stone walked into the kitchen, taking a gulp of the coffee he had become addicted to. He’d never been there himself, but coffee from The Drip was first-rate; although, he’d never get used to saying that name. “Want something to eat?”

      “You have food?” Matt followed.

      Stone didn’t answer. All right, so he was stalling.

      “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Let’s get to it. Where do we begin?” Matt threw him a look.

      “Yeah.” Stone knew that look. It was a get your shit together, airman look. If he’d given it once, he’d given it a hundred times to the newbs. And it had been more than a few years since he’d been on this side of it. It didn’t sit well with him.

      Sure, he’d helped pack up the barracks bags of airmen who were never going home again, but this was different.

      My father’s house. Where to begin? No matter how he sliced it, it didn’t feel right to get rid of Dad’s things. Like maybe he’d be back later, pissed Stone couldn’t see the sense in hanging on to ten old fishing rods. Crazy.

      “Yeah’s not an answer, dude.” Matt threw him a pity look, the kind bestowed upon the widows and orphans of the men who weren’t coming back.

      “Where do you suggest, moron?”

      “The clothes.” Matt met Stone’s gaze.

      They were still in the closet. Pretty pathetic. Clothes were always the first thing to go. It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly start wearing plaid shirts and polyester pants.

      “Right this way.”

      Winston followed them in the bedroom and lay like a rug near Dad’s bed. Stone made himself shove shirts and pants, even an old suit he’d never seen before, into a plastic garbage bag.

      Matt worked faster, bagging up two to every one of Stone’s. “I’ll take all these to Goodwill Industries.”

      “Sure.” Stone didn’t look at Matt. They were just clothes. СКАЧАТЬ