the tug was undeniably there.
Then he remembered something that had struck him as strange. When she’d been petting the dog, she’d said something about how someone could’ve hit the dog and left him. Josh had assumed that she was the one who’d hit the dog. What had he really had to base that on? Having seen her with the animal, her anguish apparent, it was likely he’d misjudged her.
She’d also offered to take the dog. Evidently, there was more to her than what met the eye.
He smiled as he walked back to his recovery room to check on his patient. It occurred to him that he was in a distinctly better mood than he had been before he’d ventured out that evening.
EMMA’S NIGHTMARES WERE MUDDLED. Richard, with his arm around an attractive brunette in a sundress, as Emma stood transfixed on the opposite side of a busy NYC street. The two of them laughing at her stupidity for believing he’d ever loved her...thought herself worthy of his love. The star-speckled evening gave way to a raging storm. A dog was lying injured and helpless at the side of the road, looking at her, imploring her to save him. As Emma’s anxiety and desperation became nearly unbearable, a tall, dark-haired man materialized through the sheets of rain, dry and unruffled, to save the dog—and to save her. When he touched her shoulder, then ran a hand along the length of her drenched hair and whispered that everything would be fine, she jerked awake, disoriented and breathless.
Sitting up, she reached for the bottle of water she habitually kept on her nightstand. After taking a long drink, she let out a heavy sigh and rested her forehead in the palm of her hand.
Max, her Alaskan malamute, was immediately beside her. His solicitousness dragged her out of the lingering daze of the nightmare. She gave him a hug and, noticing her bedside clock, rolled her eyes. It was only ten after five.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. It would be hopeless trying to fall back to sleep. Looking out the window, she was pleased to see the sky had cleared.
“How about we have breakfast and go for a long run?” she asked Max.
Recognizing the words breakfast and run, two of his favorite things, Max danced with excitement until Emma got dressed and they headed downstairs.
The sun had gilded the sky an intense pink and gold by the time they ventured outside. The air was cool, and she welcomed the bite of it against her skin.
A flagstone walkway, flanked by gardens, made a sweeping arc around the southerly perimeter of the cottage from the back deck to the front porch and toward the parking area. Butterflies flitted and bees buzzed from bloom to bloom. The sights, the sounds and the sweet and spicy aroma of the flowers lifted Emma’s spirits.
A large and fit dog, Max loped easily by her side as she jogged up the driveway to where it crested before it sloped down again to join Otter Creek Road. She stopped and turned back. Her view was mostly unobstructed to the cottage, and where the property dropped off steeply to the small lake beyond it.
With the stillness of the air, the deep blue surface of the water was as smooth as glass and mirrored the wispy white clouds scattered across the sky. The vista from here never failed to take her breath away. It reinforced for her how right her decision to leave the city and move to her cottage in Sanctuary Cove had been.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the earthy smells of wet soil and recently trimmed grass, before she and Max sprinted away.
It was past nine thirty by the time they returned to the cottage. After showering, Emma called the veterinary clinic. She was told by the woman who answered the phone that Josh was finishing with a patient and would take the call in a minute, if she wanted to hold.
When he came on the line, Emma immediately asked about the dog.
“He’s doing well.” Josh’s voice sounded pleasant. Even friendly. “Were you able to dry out from all the rain?” he asked.
Emma thought of the wet clothes she’d peeled off when she’d gotten back to the cottage the evening before and had yet to toss in the wash. “More or less,” she said. “Is it all right if I visit the dog?”
There was a brief hesitation. “I’d prefer if you’d leave it for today. I want him to get as much rest as he can to regain his strength and help the healing process.”
Emma gazed out the window at the bright sunshine and tried not to feel disappointed. Had she been counting that much on seeing the dog? Or...? No, it couldn’t have anything to do with the veterinarian.
“Are you still there, Emma?”
“Oh...yes, of course.”
“How about a counterproposal? If you don’t have plans, have lunch with me and I’ll update you on how our boy’s doing.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. His offer flustered her. “Ah, thanks...but I’m sure you’re busy and—and I have a number of things to do today.”
“Maybe some other time, then?”
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally.
After hanging up the phone, Emma leaned back in her chair. To her astonishment, she’d been tempted to say yes.
And what had kept her from agreeing? She’d avoided people since she’d arrived at her cottage nearly two months ago. All she’d been focused on was healing her wounds, and her work. What there was of it anyway.
She couldn’t keep living like a recluse indefinitely.
Josh was being friendly, that’s all. But even if he had been asking her out, where was the harm in it? With their house sold and the papers on their way back to Richard, that last connection to her ex-fiancé was gone. Thinking of Richard reminded her why she wasn’t interested.
Feeling her old insecurities bubble up, Emma was in no mood to concentrate on the brand proposal she’d been contracted to do. After she’d been let go from her job with communications giant Tyson, Myers and Smith, one of her former colleagues had put her in touch with the owner of a small but growing media relations company. In-house resources at Pinnacle Communications were at full capacity and they needed help. She’d agreed to freelance for them, but now she questioned the wisdom of doing so. Yes, the money had been a contributing factor to her decision. She couldn’t live on her savings and the proceeds from the sale of the house indefinitely.
But she didn’t know if she had the confidence in herself anymore to be able to do even the basic work that was expected of her. The brand proposal was a perfect example. A year ago—make that three months ago, even—she would have polished off the assignment in a day or two. Fast forward to the present, and she’d been struggling with it for a couple of weeks, and her deadline was looming.
And thinking of Tyson, Myers and Smith, where she’d worked for the majority of her career, most recently as a senior executive, brought her thoughts full circle to Richard, reporter Daniel Leighton and the assignment for Senator Alan Morgan that had resulted in her losing her job.
Emma brewed a pot of tea, poured a mug and settled in an armchair in the great room.
Senator Morgan was arguably one of the most high-profile politicians in the country next to the president, and it was a well-known fact that he had his sights set on the White House. Richard, a criminal defense attorney, had been working with the New York senator to address allegations of corruption that had been made against the senator regarding the award of a substantial armaments contract to American Freedom Munitions, a midsize contractor. As questions arose regarding the company’s qualifications, one reporter in particular, Daniel Leighton of the New York Advocate, began an investigation into how the company had been able to win the contract in the first place. In view of the persistent media interest, Richard had convinced the senator that he needed outside communications expertise.
On Richard’s recommendation,