“I know,” she murmured, and Owen frowned. Had he said that out loud?
He entered the living room as she smoothed her palm over Reggie’s head. The dog’s tail thumped once. She’d been talking to him. Nothing new. When they were kids she’d believed that dogs talked back.
Becca eyed the display atop the old table that someone had dragged in from the kitchen, which gave Owen a chance to move closer unobserved and take a seat on the arm of the water-stained couch. Reggie hurried over and sat, waiting for his beloved red ball.
Owen handed it over, and, enthralled, Reggie dropped it, chased it, chewed it. The dog would do anything for the red ball, which meant Owen kept the thing in his pocket 24/7—and carried a spare in his duffel.
“The chief had reports of three missing cats, a dog, and a rabbit,” she said. “There’s more than that here.”
“Some people must have figured their pets ran off or got plucked by a wolf.” Becca cast him a narrow glance, and Owen held up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say it was your wolf.”
“Not mine.”
“A wolf, coyote, fox, bear.” He paused. “Do bears eat meat?”
“Yes. Though they don’t digest it well. Which is why most of their diet is plants and berries.”
“They still might snatch a Pekinese that’s wandered into the woods.”
“No ‘might’ about it,” she agreed.
“But if an owner lives close to the forest and Fluffy disappears, most of them wouldn’t report it to the police. The cops aren’t going to arrest Yogi.”
“As Yogi is smarter than the average bear, he’d probably be above stealing then eating Fluffy, but I take your meaning.”
Owen smiled. Even before he’d fallen in love with her, he’d liked her so damn much. He still did.
Be honest, dumbass.
He still loved her. He always would.
Becca pulled out her cell phone, looked at the display, cursed, and put it back in the pocket of her track pants. “I need to call Chief Deb.”
“Chiefdub?”
“Deb. Debbie Waldentrout is the police chief now.”
“Debbie Waldentrout is three feet tall.” The idea of her in a police chief’s uniform was somewhat cartoonish.
“Is not.” Becca headed for the door.
As she went past, Owen took her elbow and she stilled. He should have let her go, especially when she shivered. Instead he rubbed his thumb over her ulna, and she shivered some more. Because he was sitting on the edge of the couch and she was standing, his gaze was level with her chest, which rose and fell so quickly he was captivated.
That scent of lemons overshadowed the scent of death, and Owen breathed in, out, and in again. From the moment he’d met her, she’d cleansed him, healed him, elevated him. He’d become so much more while he’d been with her. He’d become so much more because of her. She had loved him. She had saved him. He’d always wanted to tell her that, but he’d never been quite sure how.
What he saw in her gaze made Owen tighten his fingers—to push her away, or pull her closer. He never knew, because she leaned over—so quick he had time to do nothing but say her name. A whisper. A plea. A prayer. And then she was kissing him; he was kissing her.
The years fell away. It was their first kiss. Their last.
That first one had been tentative—soft, a little afraid, yet so full of hope. The last had been shocked, a little tearful, and full of despair. This one tasted of both. How strange. What did she hope for? What did she fear? Why did she despair?
Questions for another time, right now he delved, taking her mouth, tasting her teeth, wishing, hoping, praying for more, even though he knew it could never be. For so many reasons …
Suddenly she was gone. His mouth followed hers in retreat, seeking those lips he still dreamed of. His arms reached; his empty fingers closed on nothing. He started to stand. The pain sent him right back.
His breath hissed in. Reggie yipped and rushed over, shoving his precious ball into Owen’s hand, sharing what always made him feel better. Owen put the toy into his pocket, then pushed his fingers into Reggie’s fur to keep them from doing what they shouldn’t.
Rubbing his leg. Yanking her back. Making a fist and punching a wall.
“I don’t know why I did that,” she said. “It’s just—” She waved a hand toward the table, and he suddenly remembered what he had completely forgotten.
The travesty in his living room.
How could he have kissed her and dreamed of doing so much more, with that only a few feet away? Because, for him, a room that contained Becca Carstairs was devoid of anything else worth noticing.
“You always made everything better,” she blurted to the wall and not to him. “At least until—” Her breath rushed out.
“Until I made everything worse.”
After a few seconds of silence, during which Reggie glanced back and forth between the two of them, brow wrinkled, mouth open, she straightened. “I’m going up on the ridge to see if I can get a signal.”