a-soft-place-to-fall by Rakhibul hasan (best ebook reader android txt) 📕

the door handle then jumped back when the dog's upper lip lifted just enough to reveal an impressive set of teeth.

She didn't need to be told twice that it was time to regroup. She leaned against the shopping cart and considered her options. She wasn't a risk-taker by nature. She had never jumped out of an airplane, kayaked the rapids, or tried to smuggle homemade popcorn into the Shelter Rock Cove Cinema. She could always call home and ask Susan to come rescue her. Susan had a houseful of dogs. She would know what to do. Dog people always struck Annie as being very practical and down-to-earth.

She glanced around the parking lot. A white Chevy Malibu was double-parked in front of the Kate's Laundromat next to the Yankee Shopper. The driver was a middle-aged woman named Marcy who Annie knew from the Annual Three Towns Firemen's Fair Bake Sale. Marcy was one of those skinny, nervous types who baked with applesauce instead of butter then swore she couldn't tell the difference. Marcy caught sight of Annie and waved a well-manicured hand in her direction.

Annie considered cupping her hands around her mouth and bellowing, "Did you lose a yellow Lab?" but thought better of it. Marcy wasn't the kind of woman who ever lost anything, including (or so her ex- husband said) her virginity. She waved instead. The two Coleman girls ran barefoot along the sidewalk, shrieking as they burst through the laundromat door which meant Sarah's washing machine was still out of service.

Near the pizza parlor, Fred Custis of Custis Hardware and Marvin Applegarth of Computer Solutions were engaged in conversation with Dave Small, owner of the diner up the road. They were the ones who had supported her successful bid for president of the Shelter Rock Cove Small Business Association. Their matching minivans were all parked facing north. She was sure they'd be glad to help her out of her current predicament.

"Hey guys," she called out. "Anybody lose a yellow Lab?"

They glanced her way, laughed when they saw the dog behind the wheel, then shook their heads and kept on yakking. That's it, guys? Nobody's going to come over here and take a closer look? Whatever happened to chivalry? When it came to things like spiders, stinging insects, and strange noises after midnight, Kevin had been her knight in shining armor. She would have liked to believe his chivalrous nature belonged to her alone but the truth was, Kevin had loved to ride in on his metaphorical white charger and make things right for everybody. He was the one you turned to if you ran out of gas on the back road or your car wouldn't start on one of those famously frigid Maine mornings. He was always happy to shovel your walk for you or help you dry-dock your boat in the fall.

It was only when it came to the bigger things, like keeping a roof over their heads or trouble away from their door, that her knight in shining armor revealed his tragic flaw: real life.

The dog leaned his big face out the window and looked straight at Annie.

Annie leaned against her shopping cart and looked straight back at the dog. "I can outwait you, pooch."

The dog, obviously unimpressed, yawned. Annie didn't.

She considered it a moral victory and settled down to wait.

#

The cashier, a pillowy white-haired woman with curious brown eyes, slid the container of milk across the scanner then pointed toward the fifty- pound bag of dog chow. "Read me the numbers under the bar code," she told him in a no nonsense tone of voice. "No reason for me to get myself a hernia for Yankee Shopper, is there?"

"None that I can think of," Sam said, wondering when New York attitude had made it up to Maine. He recited the string of numbers then waited for her to punch them in before he swung the bag to the end of the counter.

She scrutinized the two dozen eggs, pound of bacon, bag of blueberry muffins, and can of coffee like his order was the Rosetta Stone. "You're the one who's moving into the Bancroft place, aren't you?"

"Lucky guess," he asked, "or do you have a mug shot of me back there?"

"I know everyone in town," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "and I don't know you. If you were passing through on your way to Bar Harbor, you wouldn't be here buying fifty pounds of dog chow and two dozen eggs. It's too late for the summer season and the

only place up for rent was Bancroft's place and I heard it was going to a man from New York and with that accent where else could you be from?" She said it all without taking a breath.

"You're good." He was impressed, if a bit taken aback by this introduction to the intimacy of small town New England life.

He paid the bill then tucked the bag of dog chow under his right arm and gathered up his grocery bag in his left.

"We have a special tomorrow on ground beef," she called out as he headed for the exit. "You might want to stock up."

She probably kept a mental list of the dietary peculiarities of everyone in town. Buy an extra quart of milk and she'd suspect you of harboring a fugitive.

He stopped on the narrow strip of sidewalk outside the store and stared at the handful of vehicles in the parking lot. Where the hell was his BMW? All he saw were aging Chevys, a cluster of minivans, and two beat-up SUVs. No sign of his BMW anywhere. His blood ran cold for a second as he thought about his beloved car being stripped and sold for parts and then he remembered that it wasn't his beloved car any longer. He had quit the lease early, paid off the penalty, then turned around and bought this junker.

Thirty-five and he was losing it already. One of those beat-up black SUVs belonged to him, the one with the big yellow Lab sitting behind the wheel. But wait a second. The truck with the dog had Maine plates while the dogless truck boasted tags from the Empire State.

Near the trucks a girl was leaning over a shopping cart piled high with potato chips, pretzels, and cases of soda. She wore a pair of faded and patched jeans, high-top sneakers, a denim shirt big enough to cover the cast of Friends, both male and female, but not so big that he couldn't see the dip of her waist or the sweet curve of her hips. Her hair, soft and curly and chestnut brown, was pulled back into a ponytail that danced between her shoulder blades. Sexy, artless, and off-limits because she couldn't be more than seventeen.

"Your truck?" he asked.

She nodded her head then turned slightly and looked up at him. "Your dog?"

She wasn't seventeen after all and the realization brought him up short.Her dark blue eyes crinkled a bit at the outer corners and there were faint worry lines between her brows. She wore no makeup. Her skin was fair and the slightest shadow of freckles dusted her straight nose. She looked exhausted and more than a little bemused and he found himself imagining a husband and horde of hungry kids waiting for her at home.

Definitely off-limits.

"I didn't know Max could pick locks," he said for lack of anything better.

"He didn't have to," she said, gesturing toward his vehicle. "He used the window.". "Impossible," he said, looking back at Max who seemed to be having the time of his

life. "Max only moves when there's food involved." She groaned. "Oh, no! I have three pizzas in there."

"Not anymore you don't." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out two twenties. "It's the least I can do," he said, handing them to her.

"That's not necessary." "My dog ate your pizzas."

"I should've kept my windows closed."

"I should've watched kept a closer eye on Max."

Her serious expression softened and he felt something shift slightly deep inside his chest. A small shift, but significant, as if time had stopped for an instant then started again when she smiled at him. Her mouth was full and he saw the faintest memory of smile lines at either side. He had never been the kind of man who read deeper meanings into every gesture a woman made but somehow he knew she hadn't been smiling a lot lately.

Not your problem, Butler. Don't you have enough of your own these days? Married women had married problems and it was the wise single man who kept his distance. Especially if the single man found himself wondering how the married woman would look with that beautiful hair cascading over her bare shoulders . . .

She pushed away his money with a firm but friendly gesture. "I don't know how such a big dog managed to get through such a small opening."

"I have newfound respect for him."

Her gaze drifted discreetly to the watch on his left wrist. "I tried to lure him out but I haven't had much luck." She gave him another one of those sideways looks that exerted an almost gravitational pull on his erotic imagination. "I think he showed his teeth."

"All six of them?" Who's waiting at home for you? Do they know how lucky they are?

"I don't know how many there were but the ones I saw were pretty big." "Max wouldn't bite you."

"You don't sound very sure." The frown lines between her brows deepened. "He is your dog, isn't he?"

"As of two weeks ago. We're still getting to know each other."

Another quick glance at her watch. "I don't mean to be rude, but do you think you could continue the process in your truck? If I don't get home soon, they'll come out looking for me."

Her family. The ones who were waiting for the sound of her truck in the driveway. Funny how those words acted like a metaphorical cold shower. He knew without being told that she had three freckle-faced kids and a husband who wore plaid flannel shirts and a gold wedding band that matched the one on her left hand.

He dumped his packages on the ground and swung open the driver's door. "C'mon, Max," he said. "You've had enough fun for one day. Let's go."

Max rested his noble head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. Pizza sauce was clearly visible on his greying muzzle. It was clear the dog wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

They didn't call them man's best friend for nothing.

#

The moment the man turned his back, Annie frantically tried to smooth her hair, her work shirt, and her hormones back into place. Unfortunately she failed on all fronts. Her hair was determined to spring free of any and all attempts to tame it. Her work shirt refused to morph into her favorite red sweater, the one with the sexy zipper up the front. And her hormones? They were careening through her veins like bumper cars gone amok.

The fates had themselves one strange sense of humor. Why else would they send a woman out looking like an unmade bed when that poor unsuspecting woman was on a collision course with a man so hot he could boil water just by looking at it. It wasn't simply unfair, it was downright sadistic. She never went out of the house looking like this. She always wore a little lipstick, a pair of earrings, a dab of perfume. Even on her worst days she managed to be presentable.

But not today. Today she had to go out looking like an unemployed lumberjack who ate like one. Even the contents of her shopping cart embarrassed her. He must think she was a sexless, middle-aged woman whose hobby was drinking beer and eating nachos in front of the television.

Which, all things considered, wasn't that far off the mark. No wonder he had