My Sunshine (15 page)

“Hi,” was all she could think to say.

His blue eyes twinkled with laughter. “Sounds like your first night-shift started off with a bang. Or should I say with a bell?”

Forcing a smile, Laura pushed up the sleeves of her pink knit top. “I'm sorry you had to come in so late. I practiced setting the alarm with Val today, and I thought I could do it.”

He tucked the tips of his fingers into the front pockets of his jeans. “What's the problem, exactly? Maybe we can work around it.”

“I wish. But I don't think we can.” Her throat felt tight. “Numbers and letters are hard for me. Sixes can look like nines. Twos can look like fives.” She shrugged and attempted to laugh. “Now you know why I don't write checks.”

His eyes clouded with concern. “It's no big deal, you know. Practically everyone sets off the alarm at some point. We'll figure out a way to—”

“I'm quitting,” Laura inserted, cutting him off in midsentence.

A taut silence fell between them. Even the dogs seemed to sense the tension and stopped whining. Isaiah slowly lifted a hand. “Whoa.”

“It's what we agreed,” she reminded him. “I never wanted the job if I couldn't do the work.” She shrugged as if it were no big deal. “I can't, and that's the end of it.”

“Isn't that a little hasty?”

“You can't trust me to touch the alarm, Isaiah. That means I can't work nights. All the kennel
keepers have to work nights. It's part of the deal. I don't want special treatment.”

“I'm not offering you special treatment. I just think we can work around the problem.”

She lifted her hands in defeat. “I went over the code again and again. It's not a matter of needing more time. I see the numbers wrong at times, and no amount of practice will fix that.”

“How are you with eights?”

“Eights?” she echoed bewilderedly.

“Yeah, eights.” He traced one in the air. “Upside down, inside out, or sideways, they always look the same.”

That was true, but Laura couldn't see how it pertained. “What do eights have to do with it?”

He grinned and winked. “One nice feature of our security system is different authority levels. Just by pressing a few buttons, I can assign you your own user code. How does four eights sound?”

Laura could scarcely credit her ears. “All eights? You can do that?”

“If eights are easy for you, I not only can, but I will.”

Laura had been so certain she would have to quit the job that the suggestion threw her completely off balance. Tears stung her eyes again, and it was all she could do to keep her chin from quivering.

“That'd be great,” she said. “Only what about the password? I couldn't think of it, either. Right after the police left and I calmed down a little, it came to me. But I couldn't for the life of me remem-ber when the alarm person called.”

“Is there any one word you think you could
remember?” he asked. “One that always comes to mind when you get rattled and can't think clearly?”

Laura didn't need to think very long to answer that question. “Stupid.”

“Ah, honey.” Before Laura could guess what he meant to do, he hooked a hand over her shoulder and drew her against him. “You're not stupid. Don't even think that way.”

His breath stirred the tendrils of hair at her temple. For just an instant Laura allowed herself to relax in the circle of his arm.
Ah.
She let her eyes drift closed. He felt so big and strong and solid. He settled a hand on her hair, his touch so light and insubstantial that it might have been a whisper.

“Don't put yourself down,” he scolded softly, his lips feathering her hair. “You were an environmental scientist, for God's sake.”

“Was. Past tense.”

“It still means you had the brains to get a degree. Aphasia doesn't affect intelligence.” He ran a big, soothing hand over her back. “You're just as smart now as you were then.”

His sweatshirt rasped against her cheek. The scent of him—a wonderful blend of male muskiness, aftershave, and faint traces of soap—filled her senses. All the starch went out of Laura's spine.
Isaiah.
Oh, how she yearned to simply lean into him. But those warning bells were jangling again. This man could have any woman he wanted. She was mad to wish for things that would never happen.

Bracing the heels of her hands against his broad chest, Laura tried to lever herself away from him, only to come up short against the circle of his arm.
Heat rose to her cheeks when she met his gaze. His gaze searched hers questioningly—and perhaps wonderingly. His firm mouth, shimmering like polished silk in the fluorescent light, tipped into a slow, off-center grin. For just an instant she thought he might kiss her, and she felt sure her heart would stop beating if he did. Instead he curled his hands over her shoulders and gently set her away from him.

Retreating a step, he said, “As much as it gripes me, I guess ‘stupid' will work as a password. I'll call the security company and ask them to put it in our file as an alternate.”

“They'll do that?”

“Sure. As long as we don't get carried away, they don't care how many passwords we have. A lot of businesses have more than one. Some people can't remember a password unless it has a personal meaning for them.”

Laura followed him from the kennel into the storage room and watched as he programmed the system to accept her user code. After going over the steps with her several times, he went up front to call the security company. With a longing so intense it was almost an ache, Laura gazed after him.

Stupid.
In that moment, she was more certain than ever that the word suited her perfectly. She was falling in love with Isaiah Coulter. If that wasn't stupid, she didn't know what was.

 

After working nights only twice, Laura was counting the hours until she could go back to days. Little wonder all the kennel keepers hated working
the late shift. Being alone in such a huge building would have been spooky in broad daylight, but it was downright eerie at night. The rooms, which never appeared that large during the day, seemed cavernous without people in them. The dark hallways and shadowy alcoves made Laura's skin prickle. Just the sound of a door swinging closed behind her seemed deafening.

She had never been afraid of the dark or uncomfortable with solitude, but working the third shift alone was enough to make even her imagination run wild. Several times a night, she found herself looking over her shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching her. At certain times she could have sworn she heard movement in another part of the building as well—the stealthy whisper of footsteps or the muted click of a door swinging closed.

She might not have felt quite so uneasy if only the dogs had stayed awake to keep her company, but even their inner clocks seemed to be set for the daylight hours. They barely stirred when she entered their cages to collect the soiled bedding and wash their dishes. She missed their insistent nudging for pats and scratches, the excited barking when she walked up the center aisle, and the sense of purpose that interacting with them always gave her.

She also sorely missed the camaraderie with her coworkers. At night she couldn't look forward to coffee breaks with Lena, Jeri, and Tina. Sally wasn't there to tell her funny jokes. James never sneaked
into the kennels to slip the dogs a treat. In short, night shift was downright boring.

Boredom in the wee hours of the morning made each minute seem like a small eternity. Laura was bleary-eyed, exhausted, and ready to go home by midnight. The last two hours of the shift seemed to last forever.

By Wednesday Laura missed everyone at the clinic so much that she decided to drop in for a visit. After sleeping in late that morning, she grabbed a quick shower, threw on some old grubbies, bagged a bunch of frozen cookies left over from Halloween, and drove to her workplace. Before exiting the car, she allowed herself only one brief glance in the visor mirror to check her appearance. No makeup, she realized, and almost dug in her purse for a lipstick.
But no.
Isaiah was probably finished making his ranch calls by now, and she'd undoubtedly see him, but that didn't mean she should primp. They were friends, nothing more. She had to keep that foremost in her mind.

The women at the front desk were delighted when they saw that Laura had brought them treats.

“Oh, yum!” Jennifer exclaimed. Hair caught at the crown of her head with a green clasp to match her tinted contacts, the redhead bounced up from her chair. “I think they should put you on days full-time. No one else brings goodies in to work.”

As much as Laura would have loved working only the day shift, she knew that would be unfair to the other kennel keepers.

“Sugar cookies?” Debbie, normally the reserved
and quiet one, smiled impishly and grabbed a cookie before Jennifer could beat her to the draw. “Mm, and they're frosted! Thanks, Laura.”

Tucker and his crew were equally pleased to receive cookies. Tucker had just finished a surgery and was rummaging through the north-wing refrigerator for something to eat when Laura appeared. His blue eyes, so very like Isaiah's, twinkled with interest when he saw the bags in her hands.

“Food?”

Laura laughed. Unlike Isaiah, Tucker never forgot to eat.

“Just some cookies left over from Hallo-ween.” She extended a bag to him. “Enjoy.”

He'd taken a bite of cookie and was already chewing when he said, “What are you doing here? You're working nights this week.”

“Just stopping in for a visit.”

“Any more trouble with the alarm?”

“No, thank goodness.”

“That's good.” He looked at the partially eaten cookie in his hand. “Wow, these are good. You missed your calling, Laura. You should open a bakery.”

“There's a thought.”

“Speaking of callings.” He held up a finger to keep her from leaving. “There's something I need to talk with you about. On Monday night you got your wires a little crossed when you fed the dogs. It wouldn't have been any big deal, but the golden retriever in kennel four was on a special diet. Eating the wrong food made him a little sick.”

Laura knew the dog. A raid of a neighbor's garbage can had thrown him into acute gastric and intestinal distress, necessitating intravenous feedings the first twenty four hours and temporary hospitalization. The animal had a hypothyroid disorder of long standing that required medication and a bland, low-fat diet to keep it under control. He'd be going back home soon.

“I gave him the wrong food?” she echoed incredulously.

Tucker shrugged. “It was your first time working nights alone, and with the alarm going off and everything, I know it was a tough shift. Fortunately Susan caught the mistake when she got here at six, so the mixup was corrected before too much damage was done. It's just . . .” He smiled kindly. “Last night you did everything perfectly. I'm sure you will from now on. Just don't become too relaxed again. All right? Other mistakes might not be so easily fixed.”

Laura's stomach felt as if it had dropped to her knees. She couldn't believe she'd gotten the cages confused. She was always so careful. A person like her had to be. That being the case, how on earth had she managed to get the food mixed up?

“I'm sorry,” she said thinly. “It won't happen again.”

Tucker nodded. “Good.” His smile faded. “Because we can't let it happen again. You understand?”

Laura swallowed and bobbed her head. Oh, yes, she understood. As nicely as possible, he was telling her that she'd be fired the next time.

Laura was frowning as she made her way along the short connecting hall to Isaiah's surgery. A second later, when she entered the large chamber and saw all the familiar faces, it was like coming home after a long absence.

Trish, standing at the sink and washing her hands, began wailing like a siren the moment she spotted Laura. Shaking off the sense of impending doom brought on by Tucker's reprimand, Laura laughed and rolled her eyes. “So you heard about that.”

Trish grinned broadly. “When I first came here, I tripped the alarm, too. It's a tradition around here, a rite of passage, if you will.” Drying her hands, she turned from the counter. “What brings you in so early?”

“I miss my babies,” Laura confessed. “The stinkers sleep all night. I'd like to spend a little time with them while their eyes are open.”

“Ah.”

“Hi, Laura.” Belinda closed a cupboard door and smiled over her shoulder. “We've missed you around here. The yogurt's all gone, we're down to one kind of pop, the sandwich stuff's all gone, and the soup's running low.”

Laura grinned and held up the remaining bag of cookies. “Emer-gency rations.”

“Ooh!” Belinda grabbed the package, opened the seal, and sank her teeth into a sugar cookie frosted with orange. “Chewy ones. I love them this way.”

“Don't eat them all.” Trish tossed the paper towel into the trash. “I want my share.”