Then she threw caution to the wind and decided to enjoy the view instead, at least while he didn’t know she was staring at him.

Hungrily.

She realized it with a little jolt that took her back again to that first day she’d laid eyes on him, when she’d nearly glared at her father for his stunning omission of his new partner’s looks. Hardly important to him in a partner, but she would have appreciated a little warning. Then again, her father had set so little store by looks he probably hadn’t even noticed.

But she had. Instantly. And Adam Kirk hadn’t gotten any less attractive since that day.

It was in that moment that she belatedly realized he’d been throwing the ball with his left hand. Well enough, she thought, and wondered if maybe that was something he practiced. They had dogs on the ranch, he’d mentioned.

Even as she thought it, he switched the ball to his right hand. For a moment he just looked at it, while Cutter sat at his feet, politely waiting, with his lolling tongue the only sign he’d been running full tilt for a good quarter of an hour. Adam tightened his fingers around the ball, flexed his arm slightly as his face took on a very tight expression.

Then, with a motion that was as much push as it was throw, he tossed the ball again. It didn’t go as far, and went somewhat sideways, steered awry by the elbow that wouldn’t allow a natural motion. She thought about what Hayley had said, that Quinn thought there was something more than just being tired of surgery behind his decision not to go for the joint replacement.

And suddenly, as she watched Cutter—who hadn’t cared a whit that the throw had gone sideways—bring the ball back and Adam reach out to take it with his left hand again, as she thought about what it must be like to live with that constant, physical reminder of that grim day, it struck her what that something more was.

He was punishing himself.

Chapter 26

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Adam’s head came up from the file he’d been pretending to read yet again. Amanda had said it softly, gently, and he expected to see Cutter leaning against her as he often did to both of them. The effect the dog had was uncanny, and—

She was looking at him. Cutter was five feet away, curled up on the rug in front of the fireplace where Adam had earlier built a fire to ward off the damp as much as the chill, since the rain had returned. The dog had his chin resting on his paws, his amber-flecked eyes watching them alertly, his gaze flicking from where she sat on the couch to the chair he was ensconced in.