Still startled, Jefferson looked down into a smiling dog face, complete with sharp black eyes and a tongue the size of a flag lolling out the side of its mouth.
The dog’s huge head was waist high on Jefferson, and the dog had to weigh at least a hundred pounds.
“It is a pony,” he said, remembering Harry’s comment.
“Irish wolfhound,” Maura told him, then added, “He meant no harm. He was only greeting you, as he’s a baby yet and a poor judge of character.”
He ground his back teeth together and shifted a look at her. “His name’s King? You named him after me?”
Her mouth twisted into a brief sneer. “Aye, I did as he’s a son of a bitch, as well.”
Jefferson wasn’t amused. He looked into her dark blue eyes and saw a river of emotions shining out at him. They were shifting, changing even as he watched, so that he wasn’t sure if she was going to throw something at him or rush into his arms, however belatedly. A moment later, he had his answer.
“Why’re you here?”
The music of her accent didn’t soften her words any. She faced him down as the wind lifted her long black hair into a dance about her head. She was beautiful and stubborn and the most fascinating woman he’d ever known.
Because of her, he’d hopped a plane and flown thousands of miles only to be treated like a leper by people he’d considered friends.
“You mean, why am I standing in the rain in front of a hardheaded woman who isn’t honoring the contract she signed?” He snapped the words out and noticed she didn’t so much as flinch. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”
“Your people are littering the street in front of my house at this very moment,” she challenged, “so I’m thinking I’m honoring what was between us a good deal more than you have.”
“You know,” he said, shoving the monstrously huge dog off his legs so that he could stalk toward the porch. And her. “I’ve been back in Ireland about an hour and in that short amount of time, I’ve been rained on, had a flat tire, got mud in my shoes and been insulted by everyone I’ve spoken to. So I’m not in the mood to listen to more obscure references to what a bastard I am. If you’ve got a problem with me,” he added, stopping just short of the porch, “then tell me what it is so I can fix it.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. She crossed her arms over her chest, lifted her chin and said, “I’m pregnant. Fix that.”
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