When Somebody Loves You by Cindy Gerard Page B

before she realized she was no longer alone.
    She sat up, alert to the brittle snap of dry tree limbs and the crunch of running footsteps over fallen leaves and pine needles. Before she had a chance to register alarm or the presence of mind to rise to her feet, two huge, furry paws hit her full in the chest and shoved her to her back again.
    “Dammit, George! Come back here!”
    With a disjointed sense of relief, she recognized his voice. Michael was clearly irritated, and his curse rose above the deep-throated barking of what appeared to be one hundred pounds of dog in a teddy bear suit.
    Ignoring his master, the bushy critter pinned her to the ground and exuberantly washed every inch of her face with a huge pink tongue.
    “Get off her, you big oaf!”
    As quickly as her canine admirer had arrived, he was gone, not of his own volition, but because Michael had forcefully dragged him away. Still battling the excited dog, Michael knelt by her side.
    “January?” He had the audacity to look surprised when he realized it was her. “Oh, Lord, January. Are you all right?”
    “I’m fine.” She sat up slowly. “But as approaches go, I’ve got to tell you, this one lacks your usual finesse.”
    He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, well, what George lacks in finesse, he makes up for in sheer animal magnetism. Not that it’ll cut any weight right now, but you should feel honored that he attacked you. He only does that to people he truly likes.”
    “Likes?” Charmed but not wanting to be, she gave George a forgiving scratch under his chin. “As in affection, or as in for dinner?”
    Michael’s grin became a full-fledged smile. “As in affection. Our taste in ladies is very similar.”
    It struck January then that she didn’t want to be angry at Michael for invading her solitude. Once she accepted that, it was less difficult to admit that she was glad to see him. From the look in his eyes and the sudden quiet between them, it would seem he, too, sensed the change in her attitude.
    Apparently he didn’t quite know how to react to it either, because he busied himself with quick, absent pats to George’s back. “If you can behave,” he finally said, directing his comment to George, “I’ll let you go play.”
    George’s response was an enthusiastic attempt to peel the skin off Michael’s face with one huge, scraping stroke of his tongue.
    “Where’s the squirrel, George?” Michael asked in staged excitement. George bounced up and down like a little kid looking for Santa. “Go get him! Go get the squirrel.”
    George charged away, his nose to the ground, searching diligently for a scent.
    Michael grinned. “Works every time. It should keep him busy and out of your hair for a while.”
    Feeling suddenly like their chaperone had exited stage left, January tried to direct her attention toward the creek and away from Michael. Tried and failed. Without her permission, her gaze strayed back to his devastating smile.
    She looked at him uncertainly, telling herself there wasn’t a reason in the world for her to find him so attractive today. Gone were both the biker and the businessman. In their place was a reject from a soup kitchen.
    Knotted string and athletic tape held a pair of grungy jogging shoes together. His dingy gray sweatpants had holes in both knees, and the sweatshirt that used to boast the letters U.S.C. but now showed just an outline was frayed at the neck. The sleeves appeared to have been chewed off just above his elbows. A crimson sweatband held his unruly black hair away from his face and provided the only splash of color, except, of course, for the multifaceted diamond that glittered intriguingly in his left ear.
    Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of, she thought, and not exactly a threat either. “Nice outfit, Hayward. What’d you do, roll a bum on the way over and swipe his clothes?”
    He pretended to scowl. “This from a woman with leaves in her hair and paw prints on her . . . um,