It's in His Touch Read Free

that ascended the wooden front porch, the autumn breeze kicked up, shifting a small pile of leaves. Underneath, an envelope lay on the ground. He picked it up and read the return address. His eyes scanned the expensive stationery, and every muscle in his six-foot frame went rigid.
    Riggs, Castillo & Marone, Attorneys at Law—the same law firm representing the new bank owners. Henchmen tasked to drive out Red River’s lifeblood of small enterprise so they could build a corporate-owned resort complete with high-rise condos that would be marketed to the rich and famous. Huh. And it was addressed to one Angelique Barbetta, Attorney at Law.
    His head shot up, and he stared at the cabin in front of him. Surely not.
    Clutching the small animal under one arm, he climbed the steps and lifted the letter-carrying hand to rap a knuckle against the door. Before he connected, the door swung open and a tall, black-eyed, curler-laden beauty charged out, bumping smack into him and the dog.
    The dog whined and wiggled, obviously familiar with the woman who had her silky hair wound around soda can–sized rollers. Her eyes widened as she looked up.
    “Whoa,” Blake said, catching her by the arm as she staggered backward. “You okay?”
    Stunned, she blinked, and his eyes locked onto hers. Like fine cut glass, her onyx eyes shimmered and held his, refused to let go. A slender, toned arm warmed his palm, and his brain forgot how to form words. Grasping at the front of her rather inviting Asian-style robe, her other arm anchored across her chest.
    He released her and took a step back.
    “I . . .” he mumbled. Like an idiot. “He yours?” Blake finally managed, giving the dog a gentle boost.
    Something flickered in her big inky eyes before she turned them on the dog. Her hand pulled away from her neckline a fraction and hovered there. Her uncertain stare darted to Blake, then back to the pup. Finally she wagged a long, slender finger in front of the dog’s nose, and Blake took note of the lack of wedding ring on that elegant hand.
    “Bad boy, Sergeant Schnitzel,” she scolded.
    Sarge whined and buried his snout under Blake’s arm.
    An assertive female voice called from inside the house. “Did you find that ornery dog? He’s probably just hiding in the bushes.” The other thirtyish woman appeared in the doorway wearing an ensemble that even Blake knew was a fashion faux pas.
    Blake suppressed a grimace. “Hi,” he said.
    “Hi, yourself. Who are you?” The spiky-haired blonde leaned against the doorframe.
    “I live next door,” he said. “Just bringing your dog home.”
    “We’ve never seen that dog before,” the blonde challenged just before she narrowed her eyes at the canine. Sarge squirmed in Blake’s arms and strained toward his master.
    “Stop it, Kimberly,” Sarge’s apparent owner told her friend as she scooped him up.
    Sunlight gleamed off her ebony hair, and several loose locks cascaded in a messy network around her long, slender neck. The strands of jet-black against her natural, tan skin caught him off guard. His mouth went dry, and his eyes anchored to the hollow of her neck.
    The leopard-clad woman sighed and pushed herself off the doorframe. “Fine. I’ll go check on dinner.” She disappeared into the house.
    The dog sneezed.
    “There’s poison oak all over the place.” Blake gave Sarge a scratch behind the ears. “He may have gotten into it, but it doesn’t have the same effect on canines. He’ll probably just sneeze for a while, then he’ll be fine.”
    “Thanks,” said the dog’s gorgeous owner. “He has a habit of running off. Sorry if he bothered you.” She launched a string of admonitions at the dog, whose ears folded back in shame. Then she pecked his nose with a kiss and cuddled him tight against her chest.
    He’d never envied a dog before now.
    Blake shook his head, trying not to focus on the fluttering hem of her robe as a feathery breeze breathed life into the delicate silk.