Not much of a puppy about him now, unless you count the way he smiles, ducking his head while the tip of his tongue works to wet his lip.

"Reckon you could handle me yourself."

Tossed back out, easy as could be, like a card flipped off the top of a deck from a dealer with the worst poker face known to God and man.

And any other insinuations or, heaven help us, flirtations, Kate?

Well, they're just obviously accidental, at most.