Four bottles of bourbon were lined up on a shelf in his office. No reason to run out, he’d thought when he bought them, though it hit him now that except for the slug of the stuff he’d downed last night after he’d left Lissa’s bedroom, he hadn’t so much as thought about taking a drink since she’d come to the Triple G.
And it was going to stay that way.
Nick gathered the bottles in his arms and went down the hall to the kitchen, straight to the sink.
Quickly, he unscrewed all the bottle tops. An instant’s hesitation. Then, one by one, he dumped the whiskey down the drain and tossed the empty bottles into the trash.
“Woof,” Brutus said again.
Nick laughed. It was precisely the right comment to make.
Together, man and dog trotted up the stairs and to the bedroom. Nick opened the door carefully.
Lissa was still asleep.
The dog butted his big head against Nick’s leg.
“Only if you promise to keep quiet. And to sleep on the floor, like dogs are supposed to.”
The Newf wagged his tail and grinned. Nick sighed and shut the door after them.
“Down,” he said sternly.
Brutus did a perfect down at the foot of the bed. Nick shucked his jeans, climbed under the duvet and wrapped his arm around Lissa. She was warm and silken against him, and he drew her closer and shut his eyes.
He was almost asleep when he felt the mattress shift.
Brutus was stretched horizontally across the foot of the king-size bed, his muzzle resting on his front paws.
Nick smiled.
The big dog sometimes needed help getting up here. Not this time. Tonight, he’d made it on his own.
“Good boy,” Nick said softly.
And drifted into sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two weeks later, Nick sat at the kitchen table, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, watching Lissa as she made bread.
He loved watching her.
Well, yeah. But what he really loved was being with her. Seeing her smile. Knowing she was happy here.
He’d done everything he could to ensure that.
The one and only tough moment had been over money.
He’d known instinctively that handing a paycheck to the woman he was living with would not go over well, especially not with a woman as independent as Lissa. So he’d played it smart, or so he’d thought, lying through his teeth, telling her that he handled all the ranch’s finances through an online account.
No problem.
Marcia, the idiot agent who’d turned out to be an angel in disguise, had already provided him with Lissa’s Social Security number. All he’d needed was her bank account information, and Lissa gave it to him.
Problem solved, he’d thought, smugly complimenting himself on his brilliance…until the first morning he’d put through her week’s pay.