Caleb didn’t comment. He knew what it looked like when a guy was raking himself over the coals. Ted Miller wasn’t the least bit feeble, and Caleb suspected Ted’s lapse had nothing to do with memory loss and everything to do with his recent cancer diagnosis. Even if it was a very curable cancer, your own mortality was a scary thing to face.
“These things happen,” Caleb soothed. “It’ll be all right. How many dogs got out?”
Rubbing a hand over his thinning pate, Ted’s voice filled with panic. “All five of them.”
Face flushed, the older man leaned over and braced his palms against his knees to catch his breath.
“Dad?” Ava rushed over. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Ted panted and waved away his daughter’s concern. “Just got a little winded.”
Caleb shifted his gaze to Marjorie. She was almost as breathless as her husband and despite the cold air, perspiration dewed her brow.
“Let me.” Caleb reached for the five leashes Ted clutched in one hand.
Ted relinquished them without argument.
Caleb raised his head and his gaze landed on Ava.
She nodded.
He didn’t bother to run his idea by her. The look she’d given him told Caleb they agreed. “Ava and I will round up the dogs. This shouldn’t take us long.”
“C’mon, you old coot,” Marjorie teased and took her husband’s hand. “Let the young’uns do their thing.”
“I’m not that old,” Ted grumbled, but he followed his wife into the shelter’s office.
“I’m guessing that none of your parents’ pets respond to a whistle?” Caleb asked Ava.
“Probably not.” Ava offered a wry smile. “They raised their dogs the way they raise their daughter, with a gentle hand.”
“That’s nice,” he said. “The world could use more gentle hands.”
“I probably could have used more discipline and structure,” she mused, holding his gaze for a second too long.
Was there some significance in her statement? Was she confessing something to him? Was there an apology in there somewhere? Caleb held his breath, but she didn’t continue that thread of conversation.
Instead, Ava stuck the fingers of both hands into her mouth and let loose with a long, loud, ear-splitting whistle.
Caleb jumped. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Ava grinned. “A chocolatier in the Swiss Alps. I was photographing h—”
He held up a palm. “Wait, wait. I don’t need to hear about your sexual adventures with another man.”
“Her…” Ava said pointedly.
“You had sexual adventures with a woman?” he asked, surprised but intrigued.
“Don’t be such a guy. My sexual adventures have all been pretty tame. Anyway, the chocolatier’s name is Astrid Aubry and I was filming her for a Sprüngli shoot.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
“Sprüngli is a famous Swiss chocolatier and they needed new content for their updated website.”
“That’s the kind of photography you were doing? For websites.”
“Sure.” She canted her head and studied him. “What did you think I was doing?”
“I dunno.” Caleb felt sheepish. “Photojournalism, I guess.”
“That’s what I’d intended when I left Kringle,” Ava said. “But my career took a different path and I’m a much better photographer than I am a writer.”
“You could have stayed local if all you wanted to do was generate content for websites. I thought…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry that sounded passive aggressive.”
Instead of responding, Ava whistled for the dogs again.
Feeling shamefaced, Caleb decided that apologizing had made a bigger deal of his pettiness than it deserved. “Hang on, I’ll go home and get my ATV.”
“Give them time to respond to my whistles.”
He moved closer to her, still clutching the leashes. “Who do you think will appear first?”
“Most likely Stephen King,” she said. “He can’t stay away from Mom too long.”
Another whistle from Ava and finally a black Labrador retriever came charging through the coastal fields on Caleb’s property. He shimmied right under the fence and wandered over, looking relaxed and happy.
“Hey, boy.” Caleb crouched and gently patted the ground in front of him at the same time he opened the clasp on one leash.
“Hey there, Stephen King,” Ava murmured.
“Named after your dad’s favorite author?”
Ava grinned. “You’ve got it.”
Stealthily, in case Stephen King bolted, Caleb slipped the leash clap around the ring on the dog’s collar.
“One down,” he said to Ava. “Four to go.”
She flashed him a genuine smile. “You haven’t lost your touch with animals, that’s for sure. I never met a dog who didn’t adore you.”
He shrugged. It hadn’t been a big deal.
“What should we do now?” she asked.
“Go over to my place and get the ATV we use for herding cattle. We can cover more ground.” He didn’t mention the donkeys. He didn’t want to freak her out.
“Thank you.”
He’d been heading toward his truck, but at her gratitude, he turned and glanced at her. The same old pull he always felt whenever he looked at Ava tugged at his solar plexus. It bothered him that he was still so attracted to her. Man, he had the common sense of a rock.
“It’s not a problem,” he said and passed the Lab’s leash to her. “Why don’t you take Stephen King inside, and then we’ll hit my place for the ATV and make quick work of this.”
Ava nodded, and then out of the blue she said, “You know I’m sorry, right? I never meant to hurt you.”
Now wasn’t the time to discuss that topic. Heck, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to discuss the past with her.
“Let’s focus on the dogs,” he said. Because of the mixed-up feelings churning inside him, it was all he could manage.
Chapter 4
After dropping Stephen King off with her parents in the shelter, Ava jumped into Caleb’s truck and they took off down the rural road back to his place.
The minute she settled into the seat she was acutely aware of him and the tension stretching between them thick as pulled taffy.
For a farm truck, the vehicle was surprisingly clean, but then again, Caleb had always been tidy. There was a bit of dirt on the floorboard, the smell of livestock feed in the air, and a thin layer of dust on the dashboard, but it wasn’t junky with supplies or empty containers or product wrappers like her dad’s work pickup. She noticed the interior because it was easier than noticing the man.
Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to study Caleb’s handsome profile—masculine nose, firm chin, sharp cheekbones. He wore a black felt cowboy hat pulled low on his forehead, and it hid the lush fall of dark hair she knew was beneath it. He wore faded Wranglers, plain brown Justin boots, and a red flannel work shirt underneath a shearling jacket.
He looked like what he was. A dyed-in-the-wool cowboy.