Read Just for the Summer for Free Online Page A

scoffed. “Why not? Mothers ditch their babies all
     the time. Sam’s biological mother cared more about herself than her son and wouldn’t
     even agree to an open adoption. So unloading a dog? Some people wouldn’t think twice
     about it.”
    Dani looked at the ground. She didn’t respond.
    …
    While Dani was in town having her taillight fixed, she posted a few flyers about the
     lost dog on light poles along the main boulevard. When Matt and Sam’s quest to find
     the owner had failed, she’d agreed to keep the sweet boy with her, and truth be known,
     she hoped nobody would come forward and claim him. Even stopping at the store for
     dog food, bowls, and a leash alleviated the sense of loneliness that had been her
     companion.
    Late in the afternoon, she pulled up next to her cottage. Sam sat on her stoop, the
     dog at his side.
    “I’ve been keeping him company while you were gone. I think he likes me.” Sam beamed.
    Dani winked at him. “No doubt. What’s not to like?” She unlocked the door. Before
     she could step inside, the dog dashed past her, followed by Sam. Dani hung by the
     door, uncertain. Should she let him stay? She desperately wanted to, wanted to talk
     to him and be near him, but this wasn’t smart. It was ill advised and could only lead
     to heartache. “Are you allowed in the cottage? Doesn’t your dad need to know where
     you are?”
    “He won’t mind, since he knows you.”
    Big laugh there . If Matt had any idea who she was, he wouldn’t let Sam anywhere near her.
    “Besides, my dad’s up there.” Sam pointed to the ceiling and retreated farther inside.
    Dani stepped out into the grass, backing up until the bungalow’s roof came into view.
     A shirtless Matt was perched on the slightly sloped roof. His muscles flexed and bulged
     as he pulled off a dark gray shingle and tossed it over the side of the cottage. It
     landed with a slap in an industrial-sized metal garbage bin on the ground. Good thing she wasn’t the
     one on the roof. Seeing the sheriff bare from the waist up would have sent her over
     the side with the shingles.
    As if he sensed a hormone-crazed woman staring at him, Matt looked down and gifted
     her with a smile. He gathered up some tools, walked to the far end of the roof, and
     disappeared over the side to what Dani hoped was a ladder. A minute later, he came
     around the corner, his T-shirt slung over his shoulder, and stopped a few feet away
     from her. Trying to focus on something other than his chest, she clasped her purse
     tight. The leather handles creaked in response.
    The man was gorgeous fully clothed. Fully naked would no doubt put her in a coma.
     As it was, his current half-dressed state, with his hard muscles and the perfect amount
     of chest hair, might give her a stroke.
    He moved his hand to his zipper. “Why don’t I just strip right here? It’ll probably
     answer all the questions bouncing around in your head.”
    Dani shoved her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose, peering at him through the polarized
     lenses, hoping he’d think her red face was sunburn. “I was just wondering…”
    “Boxer briefs.”
    She glanced at the black waistband that peeked over the waist of his jeans, cursed
     herself for looking, and cleared her throat. “I was wondering what time you were heading
     to the cookout.”
    His smile told her he knew she was full of crap. He took a step closer, lowered his
     voice to just above a whisper. “But I’m sure you figured that out already.”
    A fleeting image of Matt wearing nothing but tight-fitting black underwear warmed
     her from her toes to the tip of her head, and she felt like she might keel over. If
     she didn’t keep in mind who he was—who she was—and why she was in Lake Bliss, she was going to get hurt. Worse, Sam could get
     hurt. “I have no interest in discussing your underwear, Sheriff.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her and half smiled. “You’d better stick to baking because
     you can’t