Free The Promise He Made Her by Tara Taylor Quinn Page B

beans.
    When she’d been unable to do so, she’d reluctantly changed her recipe. On a whim, she checked the cupboard where she’d seen some canned vegetables the night before. Found two cans of French style green beans and opened one.
    She had a feeling Sam Larson wouldn’t complain. If he was even planning to eat with her.
    Either way, meat loaf sounded good to her all of a sudden.
    In less than an hour, her ex-husband would be processed and in the car that would transfer him back into society.
    A free man.
    Â 

CHAPTER EIGHT
    H E ’ D PLANNED ON keeping Lucy outside. After being cooped up in one room all day, being out in the fresh air would be good for her. She wasn’t too bad as a watch dog, either. Not that Randolph, the officer watching the property, wasn’t perfectly competent.
    He’d been inside less than five minutes and was already antsy. He’d had to stop himself from automatically reaching above the stove for the bottle of scotch he knew would be there, thinking one shot with water might be just the ticket to get him through the hours ahead.
    Sam was a loner by choice. And his home had been a sanctuary to him.
    Pausing now and then to talk to him, Bloom was busy putting various ingredients in the big plastic bowl he used for popcorn. It held three microwave bags’ worth, which was just about what it took to get him and Lucy through a movie.
    â€œThey got anything stronger to drink in this place?” he asked when she lifted a bottle of water to her lips.
    She looked good in the kitchen. Damned good. Not as good as she’d looked coming out of her office toward him that afternoon, focusing on him so intently he’d embarrassed himself and had had to close his jacket.
    Not one to be so instantly affected by a woman, the circumstance didn’t sit well with him. Nor was it going to get in his way.
    The job came first. Always.
    â€œThere’s a selection of things above the stove,” she told him, pointing. “It looks like they’ve been opened, but I guess, since they’re here, they’re free for the using, right? Which reminds me, I want to buy my own groceries. There’s no way the county needs to pay to feed me while I’m here. I’d be buying my own stuff if I were home.”
    â€œFine.” There were some points that just made sense. He poured some scotch and asked her if she wanted any. It didn’t surprise him when she shook her head. He didn’t suppose she’d purposely cloud her mind with artificial substances after being unknowingly drugged for years.
    She was chopping onions. With a knife. He wanted to tell her where the handheld chopper was. But stopped himself.
    He’d taken a couple of sips when he heard Lucy’s first whine. A warning. She stood at the door, her back paws on the concrete and her front paws up as high as she could reach. She was peering in the window at him.
    He turned away and took another sip, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to leave her out there.
    â€œYou can bring her in,” Bloom said. “When I was little we had a golden Lab.” She was grinning. “I remember running out to the apple tree with her. First one there got the ones on the ground.”
    â€œWhy would you want apples that had fallen on the ground?”
    â€œMy dad and I used to have gushing contests.”
    â€œGushing contests?” Lucy’s whine startled him. He’d actually forgotten that he’d been about to let her in.
    â€œYou put the apples on the concrete and then jump on them to see who could make the gushes go the farthest.”
    Turning his head slightly, he studied her from a different angle. He was pretty sure she was pulling his leg, but...
    â€œYour father taught you that game?” It didn’t hurt to play along. Worst that could happen was that she’d laugh out loud.
    â€œUh-huh.” She was taking off her rings and placing them on the