Three
Sunday early, Twyla Lawrence sat behind her office desk, her broken leg elevated on a footstool. Stevie admired her aunt. She defied age, looking more fifty than sixty with her silver-blond hair, clear hazel eyes behind teal reading glasses, and a smile that felt like a hug.
Sunshine spirited through the bay window of her office, trying to warm up the sixty-degree morning. Two red pottery mugs and matching plates offered up breakfast. A strong Colombia brew laced with cream, and slices of cinnamon-raisin toast.
“Ruler,” her aunt requested of Stevie. It lay inches beyond her reach. Stevie passed it to her. Her aunt hiked up one side of her baggy sweatpants, revealing her plaster cast, which stretched from knee to ankle. “Itchy,” she muttered, carefully sliding the plastic ruler inside. She scratched, then soon sighed her relief.
Setting the ruler aside, Twyla shifted her weight, straightened. She then flipped open her daily planner and scanned her appointments. “Interview with Joe Zooker and his Rottweiler, Turbo, at eight,” she noted. “Lori mentioned you’ve met the Rogue. I’d like you to sit in on our meeting.”
Stevie inwardly cringed. She wished Lori hadn’t shared about their encounters. She wanted to decline, but she couldn’t deny her aunt’s request. Twyla was family. A triplet. Stevie’s mother was her younger sister by sixty seconds. DJ’s mom, third youngest by two minutes. All close-knit.
She took a sip of coffee, evaded. “You’re certain?” Hoping her aunt might change her mind. She and Joe had crossed paths three times on Saturday. Twice on the boardwalk and once at the hospital. She wasn’t ready to see him again today. Too soon.
“I want your input, sweetie,” Twyla assured her. “You’re managing Unleashed during my recovery. We can take up to twenty dogs at the day care, and we presently have four openings. You’ll make the final decision. I want you to be comfortable with the dogs we choose.”
Comfortable? Joe made her crazy. He was too rugged, sexual, raw. Should she accept his application, she’d be facing him at both the morning drop-off and the evening pickup. Twice a day was twice too much. Chances were good that he’d also board his dog when the team went on the road. Turbo would be a four-footed reminder of the man even when he was gone.
She had yet to confide in her aunt that her cousin disliked Joe. It would serve no purpose—it was just a guy thing. She and Lori resided in two of the four bedrooms on the second floor of the old Florida Victorian. Twyla had occupied the master suite until her fall. Since navigating the stairs on crutches had become daunting, she’d temporarily moved to the guesthouse, located behind the garage at the back of the property. It was quiet and convenient for her healing. She’d discussed renting out the third bedroom, but she hadn’t advertised or acted on it. It would take a special person to live at a dog care.
Having Joe’s dog on the premises would irritate DJ. Big-time. Her cousin dropped by often. DJ was focused on his future, and a possible transition in his career. A huge advancement that would require skill and a lot of luck. He didn’t need any distractions. Or a confrontation with Joe. She would try to find a reason for rejection in Turbo’s paperwork, a nice way to politely decline him for the day care. To keep peace within the family.
“More coffee?” Stevie offered her aunt.
Twyla held up her mug. “Top it off, please.” Stevie poured from the Mr. Coffee. Her aunt glanced at her watch, went on to suggest, “Why not set out a cup for Joe? He’ll be arriving shortly.”
Twyla had stacked guest mugs on a bookshelf. Stevie added a third. Less than a minute later, a sleek convertible Jaguar XKE turned down the circular driveway. Navy, classic, phallic. The driver parked, opened his door, and his dog climbed over him, beating him out of the sports car. Stevie and her aunt watched through the window as Joe Zooker attempted to bring Turbo under control. There was tugging, chewing on the leash, then more tugging.
“A muscle dog,” Twyla murmured.
Stevie checked out Joe and the tensing and flex of his body as he brought the Rottweiler to heel. “A handful.”
Her aunt’s eyes twinkled. “The man or his dog?”
Heat crept up Stevie’s neck. “Turbo, of course.”
“That’s who I thought you meant.”
The two crossed the wraparound porch and soon faced the door. A thumb-punch to the doorbell, and it barked. A deep woof-woof-woof.
Stevie didn’t move.
“You might want to get that,” Twyla nudged.
“I could . . .”
“You should.”
Stevie slowly rose. She caught her reflection in a wall mirror next to a filing cabinet. With a hint of bed head, her short hair appeared more spiky than feathery. Her expression was drawn, her lips flat against her teeth. She’d dressed casually in a soft yellow polo with Unleashed scripted over the pocket. Brown shorts and sandals. No garter. She dragged her feet to the front door. Slowly opened it. Not looking forward to their meeting.
Taken in by Joe’s grin, she missed Turbo’s lunge. His front paws hit her square in the chest, and she lost her balance. Went down. Turbo stood over her. Licked her face with sloppy kisses.
“He likes you.” Joe seemed pleased.
Turbo nuzzled her chest.
“Really likes you.”
Her jaw clenched. “No manners.”
“You look good flat on your back.”
She struggled to sit up. “Get him off me.”
“Better him on you than me.”
Had he really just said that? Unbelievable. She glared.
“Sit, Turbo,” he commanded.
The big dog parked on her thighs. Squashed her hips.
“Stand,” from Joe.
“He’s not listening.”
“He listens when he wants to.”
“Make him listen now.”
“I’m working on it. Up, dude.”
Turbo wagged the stub of his tail. “Not a good first impression, Joey.”
“We already know each other, Stewie.”
“You’re here for an interview. Best foot forward.”
“I’m meeting with Twyla.”
“And me,” she said flatly. “The decision is mine.”
His grin turned to a grimace. “Seriously?”
“As a judge.”
“Give us a chance, woman.”
“I could say no right now,” she threatened.
“But she won’t.” Twyla’s voice of reason reached them. Her aunt stood in the doorway to her office, leaning on one crutch. She patted her good leg, said, “Come, Turbo. Let’s get acquainted.”
The Rottweiler obeyed. He rolled off Stevie and trotted over to Twyla, stubby tail wagging. He allowed Twyla one pat on his head before darting into her office. To explore. Stevie exhaled sharply. She accepted Joe’s hand, held out to her. Strong grasp. Callused palm. He pulled her up so fast, she fell against him. His body caught her. His arms wrapped her tight.
She lost all sense of self. Her concentration was solely on the man who held her. She looked up. Wide shoulders, jawline scruff, the slight quirk to his lips, the flare of his nostrils. His gaze was narrowed, dangerously dark. His thoughts impossible to read.
He widened his stance, and she found her legs between his own. His faded blue cotton T-shirt brushed her breasts. His male heat escaped his torn and laddered jeans, warming her thighs.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Could only mock. “Sunday best?” she asked of his clothes. “Hardly presentable.”
“The appointment’s all about Turbo. He’s had a recent bath.”
“You should’ve showered. You smell doggy.”
He pulled out the front of his shirt, sniffed. “Downy, not doggy. Careful, babe. Insulted, I bite.”
She hadn’t meant to be mean. It went against her nature. But Joe had pushed her buttons. On purpose. Words slipped out that she couldn’t recall. She breathed him in. An inconspicuous sniff. His scent, musk and masculine. Fabric fresh. Dominant and desirable.
“How bad could you bite? ” she wondered. Aloud. Kicking herself afterward. Did she really want to know?
She’d provoked, and he responded. Her shorter haircut left her neck bare, vulnerable. He tucked his chin against her pale throat. Her tender skin. His whiskers scraped. Abrasive. He nipped her. Grazing teeth and sucking. A love bite. The Rogue had marked her—his.
Awareness shivered through her body. Arousal stoked. Her belly felt fluttery. Sexual thoughts invaded. Flustering her. She couldn’t think straight with him so close. He overpowered her.
She jerked back, as mad at him as she was at herself. She touched her neck. Felt the warm moistness of his mouth. The slightly raised flesh, certain to bruise. “No, no, no,” she gasped. “What have you done?”
Nonchalant. “I bit you.”
“I don’t believe it,” she sputtered.
“Never ask how I do anything if you don’t want to be shown.”
Her hands shook as she turned up the collar of her polo. She couldn’t face Twyla with a fresh hickey. Too embarrassing. Adjustment made, she nodded toward the office and said stiffly, “We’ll see you now.”
He followed her so closely that if she’d stopped, he would’ve humped her backside. She sped up, and so did he. The toe of his boot lightly scraped her heel as she walked into the office. The wall mirror captured her flushed, breathless, and wild-eyed image. Joe’s reflection flashed, too, looking devious and wicked.
No greeting from Turbo. He sat beside her aunt’s chair, his big head resting on her thigh. He didn’t move a muscle when they entered. Her aunt motioned them to take a seat. They did so. The office was small, the man large. His presence took over the room. He squeezed into one of the two chairs. The wingback arms of the two overlapped. They rubbed elbows. Thighs. Ankles.
“You could move over,” she muttered.
“Could.” But he didn’t.
Idiot. Stevie scooted her chair away, distancing herself by inches. He sat in profile to her now. His hard face appeared even harder at a side angle. Chiseled granite.
Twyla eyed Stevie with interest. “Everything okay, hon?” she asked.
Stevie fingered her collar, making sure it stood up. Her love bite was momentarily hidden. “I’m fine,” she responded, her voice shaky.
“Very well, then.” Twyla next turned to Joe. “I’m Twyla Lawrence. Welcome to Unleashed.”
“Joe Zooker,” he returned, reaching across the desk and shaking her hand. “I appreciate your seeing me so quickly.”
“Dire circumstances, from what you’ve indicated,” Twyla said. “Let’s talk before you fill out the registration forms. Spring training starts tomorrow, and Turbo needs day care.”
“That’s right,” from Joe. “I’m looking for immediate placement.”
Stevie was curious. “Where has he been staying?”
“With me at the Driftwood Hotel.”
“He’s not happy there?”
“He’s . . . bored.”
Twyla nodded, sympathetic. “A bored dog gets restless.”
“Destructive,” Joe admitted.
“How much damage?” Stevie asked.
Joe hesitated. Twyla eased his way. “I’ve dealt with dogs for forty years, son. Nothing you can say will surprise me. It’s important we know his personality, should we accept his application.”
“Honest dialogue,” Stevie stressed.
Turbo lifted his head off Twyla’s thigh, looked at Joe, as if dreading his bad habits coming to light. He whined, begging Joe to go easy on him.
Joe exhaled. Stated, “He acts out when I leave him alone.”
“Lonesome,” Twyla noted. “Separation anxiety.”
“I purchased sturdy toys to distract him. A solid wood shaped bone, a tire-tread Tuffzilla, and a chicken-flavored Nylabone, manufacturer guaranteed to withstand the strongest chewer. My boy defied the dog toy companies. They all bit the dust.”
He ran one hand through his hair. Sweeping it off his face. Revealing a strong forehead and a bold arch to his brows. “Turbo didn’t stop with the toys. He went on to rip up a corner of the carpet, gnaw a leg on the dresser, remove and splinter a baseboard near the door.”
“Your boy was busy,” Twyla calmly remarked.
“Unfortunately, Turbo also growled at two maids from Housekeeping. They notified the office of the damage. No sympathy from the manager. He handed me a bill for the repairs and replacements, then requested that Turbo and I vacate the premises. Within the week.” He shrugged, admitted, “A justifiable demand, but it still sucks. It’s high season. Snowbirds are in town, filling hotel rooms and rental properties. No Vacancy signs all along the coastline.”
Sympathy registered in Twyla’s gaze. Stevie felt a moment of compassion, as well. It didn’t last long. The Rogue knew a lot of people in town. He could crash somewhere. Hire a pet sitter.
Joe shouldered the blame for his dog’s actions. “I’m aware of his temperament, and I should’ve been more attentive,” he explained. “I broke my bond with Turbo. We’ve been joined at the hip during the off-season. Being alone for several hours flipped his destroyer switch, which was totally my fault. I had places to be and people to see on Saturday. I lost track of time, got caught up—”
“In the bridal event,” Stevie reminded.
“That, and the hospital appearance. The superhero gig was scheduled before I arrived in town. I’d never break my word to those kids.”
Twyla nodded supportively. She scratched the rottie’s ears. The dog sank against her side. Calm. Content. “You need a safe place for Turbo to stay when you have obligations.”
Stevie hardly considered the bridal event to be an obligation, but she let it go. Joe had been looking for a lover. She wondered whether he’d found one. Who’d warmed his bed last night?
“Was Turbo left alone yesterday evening, as well?” slipped out.
He side-eyed her. “Application conversation or curiosity?” he baited. “Asking whether I had a date, babe?”
She sniffed. “My concern was for your dog.”
“I’m not irresponsible,” he defended. “My boy and I both crashed early.”
“Oh . . .” A weight lifted off her chest. Had she sighed? She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. Too late.
Her aunt raised a brow, eyes wide.
Joe’s grin annoyed her most. Slow, sexy, significant.
Twyla came to her rescue. “Coffee?” She held up the glass carafe. Joe accepted a cup. She poured. He drank half, in one sip.
“Traditional commands? ” Stevie returned to asking the appropriate questions to please her aunt.
“The basics. He’s restless, like me, and responds best following a morning run. A release of excess energy.”
“You’ll have exercised Turbo before you drop him off?” Very important to Stevie. “I don’t want a repeat of this morning’s greeting.”
“We’ll jog early,” Joe assured her. “He’ll listen afterward.”
“How do you respond following your run?” Snarky undertone.
“Depends on what I’m asked to do,” he returned. “What did you have in mind, babe?”
Twyla cleared her throat, intervened. “We don’t ask much of anyone. Our staff is competent. Amazing. All animal lovers. Unleashed is more than a job to them. They treat the dogs like kids. Nurturers providing a safe and secure environment. My employees are also all knowledgeable about behavior modification. They are certified in first aid and animal CPR. We have a veterinarian on call, and the emergency center is less than a mile south. Are Turbo’s shots updated?”
“I can have his records faxed from the clinic in Richmond.”
“No hurry,” Stevie waved it off. “We’re interviewing, not accepting at this point.”
Turbo made a guttural noise in his throat. “He’s already found his place with Twyla,” Joe noted.
“My aunt won’t be around much of the days when Turbo’s here,” Stevie specified. “She’s to rest, doctor’s orders.”
“You’ll be dealing mostly with my niece, and, on occasion, with her friend Lori. Is that agreeable to you?” Twyla asked him.
Agreeable to him? What about to her? Stevie nearly blurted out. She held her tongue.
“Fine, Twyla, but I’ll miss seeing you,” Joe responded in an obvious bid to charm her aunt.
Twyla appreciated his compliment. Her eyes sparkled. “I’ll hobble in and out,” she promised. “Make sure the dogs don’t take the staff members hostage.”
“Turbo looks like a ringleader,” said Stevie.
Joe grinned. “I’d pay your ransom.”
Stevie wasn’t as enchanted as her aunt. “Why Unleashed? There are three other canine care facilities in town. BarkTastic?”
“I drove by,” he told her. “Outdoor runs and dog walkers. No freedom.”
“We’re off-leash,” Twyla informed him. “The dogs have the run of six lower rooms on the first floor, plus two fenced-off acres. We have a monitored treadmill. There’s also canine playground equipment.”
“A doggy crawl tunnel?” His tone was hopeful. “It’s Turbo’s favorite whenever we go to the dog park.”
Twyla nodded. “A twenty-foot plastic tunnel, extra-wide, with spy holes for visibility. A Rover Jump Over, two King of the Hill piles of dirt, deck rest platforms, and a small pool. Lifeguard on duty.”
“Nice,” from Joe. He stretched out his legs, leaned back in the chair. He casually slid his foot toward Stevie. Rubbed his boot against her sandals. She kicked his ankle.
She leaned as far away from him on her own chair as she could manage. Standing up was next. “Did you try Smoochie Poochie?” she persisted.
“Sounded . . . pink. Too girly.”
“Paws ‘R Us?”
“They prefer small dogs, under forty pounds.”
Turbo was a tank. “Socialization?” she inquired. “Does he get along with other dogs?”
Joe rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Pretty much so. Several of my teammates recommended your place. Turbo’s met Rylan Cates’s Great Dane, Atlas; Halo Todd’s pug, Quigley; Will Ridgeway’s Chihuahua, Cutie Patootie.”
“There will be sixteen to twenty dogs here, daily,” Stevie stated. “Will he need one-on-one handling, or will he take to the group?”
“No hands-on. He’ll fit in.”
“You’re certain?” Hard to believe.
“So sure, I’ll pay a month in advance.”
“No need,” Twyla inserted. “Daily or weekly rates depend on the owner. Turnover disrupts our routine. We like consistency. Most of our dogs are regulars. We have all sizes and ages, from rambunctious puppies and active adults to mellow seniors and special-needs dogs.”
Joe’s brow creased. “Special needs?”
“Triple Threat, or Triple to his pals.” Stevie spoke fondly of the dog. “A miniature pinscher born with a birth defect, only three legs. Triple runs with the pack at playtime. He keeps up well.”
Conversation slowed. Twyla finished off her coffee, awkwardly rose. Turbo moved aside, giving her room to collect her crutches. “I want you to be as satisfied with us as we are with you,” she said. “Stevie can give you the tour of the house and the yard. There are no other dogs around just now. Turbo can run free. Explore. See if he’d be happy here.”
The big dog wagged his tail.
Joe stood, moved the chairs out of Twyla’s way, nearly unseating Stevie. Her aunt now had a clear path to the door. She smiled cordially. “I’ll be in the kitchen, and will see you before you leave.”
Joe winked at her aunt. “I’d like that.”
Her smile turned serious. “Stevie has the final word on all new applicants,” Twyla reminded him. “I’m sure she’ll come to the right decision.” She disappeared down the hallway. Turbo took off after her.
Stevie drew a breath from deep in her belly. Exhaled slowly. She was about to walk Joe around the house. A waste of time, as far as she was concerned. She planned to stand her ground, decline his application. That was her intention, anyway.
She pushed off her chair, turned, and came breast to chest with the man. She’d been deep in thought, and hadn’t realized how he’d invaded her space. Yet there he was, leaning over her, hot-bodied and breathing her air. She hoped he’d step back. He did not. She sucked in her stomach, pulled back as far as possible, and eased around him. Still, their bodies brushed. Intimately. Her nipples grazed his arm. Her hip skimmed his groin.
He had the balls to grin. “You feel good.”
So did he. Solid and strong. He affected her. Light-headed, her legs shaky, she managed to reach the door. She wanted to send him packing, but she would never disrespect her aunt. Twyla trusted her with the business, so Stevie went through the motions.
“This way.” She began the tour, pointing to a plaque near the front door. Pets Welcome. Owners Tolerated. “My aunt’s motto.”
“Twyla seemed to like Turbo,” said Joe. “And me.”
“She’s polite to everyone.”
“Shame you don’t take after her.”
“I’m nice,” she objected.
“Define ‘nice.’”
“Giving you a tour of our facility.”
He rolled his eyes.
They walked together. The hallway was wide, yet he walked adjacent to her. There was contact. Purposeful on his part. Their hands and arms brushed, their hips bumped, and he nearly tromped on her foot.
She sidestepped. “Must you crowd me?”
“I hadn’t realized—”
“You’re aware,” she insisted. “You’ve touched me eight times.”
“Nine, hon.”
She’d only counted eight. He was off by one. His ninth came seconds later. Taking the collar of her polo in hand, he hiked it up her neck. “You’re flashing my hickey.”
* * *
She blushed. She was so hot, Joe’s fingertips heated before he lowered his hand. He teasingly blew on his fingers to cool them. Her heartbeat was visible at the base of her throat. Accelerated by his nearness. He liked throwing her off balance, and he would continue to do so. Repeatedly. “Keep moving. You’re holding up the tour.”
She glared.
He grinned.
The thick-padded rubber floors muffled their footsteps. The padding was soft on the dogs’ joints and paws. Bone-shaped wooden benches offered seating. Photos of boarders covered the walls. “Atlas.” He noticed a picture of team captain Rylan Cates’s Great Dane. The big dog lay on the floor, surrounded by playful Dalmatian puppies. One puppy had climbed onto Atlas’s back, biting the Dane’s floppy ear. Atlas’s expression was happy, goofy. Accepting.
“Does Turbo like puppies?” Stevie asked him.
“He’s never been around them.”
“We have a special Puppy Room,” she said. “Atlas is the only bigger dog we trust to play nice. No roughhousing.”
“Do you favor him?” He didn’t want Turbo to be left out.
“No favorites. All dogs are treated equally.”
Sounded fair. “Has the Victorian ever been a family home, or was it always a dog care facility?”
“My aunt considers the dogs her family.”
He understood. He and Turbo were tight. His dog was similar to a child, working through his terrible twos. His destructive tendencies weren’t any worse than a kid throwing a temper tantrum. “Has Twyla lived here long?”
“Thirty-five years. The Victorian was run-down and needed a face-lift when she first purchased it. Once it was authenticated and preserved, the house became eligible for the National Register of Historic Places, and it could have become a tourist attraction.”
Joe smiled. “Instead it went to the dogs.”
She nodded. “My aunt’s preference. She’s never regretted her decision. Animals are her life.”
Joe admired the wide central staircase that rose to the second floor. A balcony overlooked the main hallway below. “Bedrooms?” he asked.
“Four total, along with a small sitting room for watching TV or reading. The third-story turret is a library,” Stevie told him. “Dogs aren’t allowed up there. That’s our personal space. We stretch an expandable lattice gate across the bottom of the staircase, so the dogs don’t climb. Running and playing on steps can be dangerous for them anyway.”
No gate today. A shadowed streak ran out of one bedroom and into another. Turbo? Joe hoped his boy wasn’t already getting into trouble.
“There’s also a narrow back staircase off the kitchen. It was once used by servants to serve breakfast to residents still in bed,” she added.
“Breakfast in bed is nice,” he said. “Although most mornings I’m hungrier for a woman than food.”
“More than I needed to know.”
“I like to share.”
“Please don’t.”
He took in the high ceiling beams, intricate carved-wood medallions, crown molding, and wainscot paneling. No dust or cobwebs. “Big place. Lots of upkeep, I imagine. ”
“More than my aunt can handle alone. A cleaning crew comes in each evening. Lawn maintenance cuts the grass twice a month.”
Joe liked what he’d seen and heard so far.
They passed a small boutique area filled with high-fashion collars and leashes, seasonal pet attire and accessories, toys, and organic treats. Lights out, it was closed for the day, yet Joe peered inside. His brow creased. “Why do people dress up their pets?”
“They treat them like kids.”
“On Halloween, Turbo could wear camouflage.”
“Guerrilla warfare,” she muttered.
Stevie didn’t hold back. He liked a gutsy woman. Feisty. He still didn’t understand her constantly putting him down, though. But for now he let her comments drift, not stick. He wasn’t taking them personally anymore—or at least not too seriously.
The Toy Room came next. The floor was clear; all the toys had been piled into big plastic bins. “Turbo likes tennis balls and sock toys,” he let her know. Both were visible in the bins.
They neared the back door. Two cameras were mounted on either side. “Webcams?” he assumed.
“Six total, running whenever dogs are on the premises. Pet owners are given passwords, and they can click onto our website throughout the day. Track the action.”
“I could watch you, too.”
“I’ll be sure to wave.” Caustic.
“I’ll wave back.”
“There’s no return signal feed.”
“Still, you’ll know.”
Her sigh was heavy. Long-suffering. He flattened his palm on her lower back, nudging her forward. She allowed his touch for two steps, then picked up her pace, walking ahead of him. He’d had her for two entire steps. Not bad. He was wearing her down.
She pointed to a small area at the rear of the house, informed him, “The mudroom, converted to Time-Out. Quiet space separate from other activities. Exuberant and overactive dogs often need a few minutes to calm down, same as a child. Time-out gives them that opportunity.”
Joe’s chest tightened at the thought of Turbo being reprimanded. Inside the Time-Out area, there was a big bowl for water and a rectangular plaid-covered dog bed. However comfortable, though, he would hate to see the rottie boxed in.
He brought up the fact, slowly saying, “Turbo doesn’t take to tight spaces. Time-out won’t benefit him.”
“It’s helped with other dogs.”
“You need to understand Turbo’s history,” he admitted. Pain hit him whenever he discussed the dog’s past. “Abused. I adopted him from the local no-kill shelter before the Annual Barefoot William Dog Jog last year. The charity event promotes forever homes. Players showcased adoptable dogs during the race. I chose Turbo.”
He swallowed hard. “According to his file, he’d been living outside, chained to a tree. There are deep scars beneath his collar. His owner moved, left him behind. The neighbors reported his barking for food. He’d been starved.”
Stevie’s face turned pale, her expression sad. She placed a hand over her heart. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve spoiled him rotten ever since.” Truth. “Turbo has no restrictions. He often gets the better of me. I’m fine with that. No regrets. It is what it is.”
Stevie nodded. “I understand. But freedom is one thing; free-for-all, quite another. My aunt refers to our dog day care as ‘controlled chaos.’ She’s never had a dogfight. Never an escapee. We want to keep it that way.”
“Be kind to my boy.”
“Should Turbo be accepted, he will be handled with great care. We don’t want to break his spirit. I prefer a spray bottle. A light mist to the face stops misbehavior pretty quickly.”
His dog’s face would be wet the entire day. Still, it was a gentler method of discipline than many others he’d heard of. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
He was still being screened.
She cracked the back door so he could peer out. He was impressed by the porch and the slanting ramp that led to the yard. There was plenty of playground equipment, a cement wading pool, and even a patch of woods, within the six-foot chain-link fence.
She closed the door, turned to him. “Any questions?”
Tour over. He had a couple. “Cost per day versus by the week? ”
She quoted him prices, including overnights and weekends. Kibble and snacks were included during longer stays. Grooming was also available.
“Affordable,” he agreed. “Turbo’s introduction to the other dogs?”
“Slowly. He’ll be temporarily separated from the main group. We’ll assign him two or three initial friends. Let them hang out for a day or two. Then bring in another dog, and another, until he’s met each one.”
“Add a friend a day. I like that.”
“Anything else?”
“I’m good. Are you good with me?”
“I’ll need to talk to Twyla first.”
“Discuss or diss us?”
She dipped her head. Diss.
He was disappointed, but didn’t know how to change her mind. Maybe Twyla would come to his defense.
Noise broke from the balcony. Running paws. The sound moved back and forth, room to room. There were no other dogs in the house. Joe needed to locate his rottie. “My boy,” he said.
“I’m right behind you.”
They climbed the staircase together. Stopped at the top—and stared. A tornado named Turbo had hit. Clothes and bedding were strewn across the landing. Pillows, sheets, a comforter. A black one-piece swimsuit, jeans, socks, shoes. An overturned dresser drawer.
Stevie’s jaw dropped. “The bedroom doors were closed earlier.” All four stood open now.
“Turbo might have”—no doubt had—“butted his head against the door, like a bull.”
She checked out the doorknobs. Breathed easier. “Jarred, but not broken. Locks intact. Thank goodness.”
Joe looked around, asked, “Who lives up here?”
“Lori and me. My aunt did, too, before she broke her leg. She’s since moved to the guesthouse. Easier to get around.” She bent and began to sort through the items. Dividing them into three piles.
“Where’s Lori now?”
“Out.”
Heavy silence, until he heard Turbo grunt. Not a good sound.
Stevie listened, frowned. “Coming from my room, two doors down.”
He found his dog belly-flopped on the far side of a brass bed, tugging on the rounded corner of a brown, gold, and blue braided rug. Shit. A chunk was already missing by the time Joe reached him. Turbo spit it out. The rottie pushed himself up, darted around Joe, only to skid to a halt by a wicker laundry basket. He snagged something, took off again, leaving Joe staring at the torn rug. The wool appeared old, somewhat worn, the colors faded. Irreplaceable.
He nudged the loose piece with his booted toe, tried to fit it together. No go. Turbo had damaged the edges. Not a good impression. Maybe Stevie wouldn’t notice. More likely she would. He blew out a breath. Silently swore. A vintage rug would be difficult to repair. Harder still to replace.
He should’ve chased down Turbo, but instead he took a moment to look around Stevie’s bedroom. To satisfy his curiosity. Out-and-out simplicity. An armoire, an antique lamp, a cane rocker. His gaze narrowed and his grin spread when he caught sight of her blue garter on the bedside table. He circled the foot of her bed, picked it up, and twirled it on his finger. She hadn’t thrown it away, as she had threatened. He could still picture it on her thigh, above her freckled knee. Frilly satin against soft skin. Nice.
“Drop my panties!” Stevie’s voice was shrill, grabbing his attention. He placed the garter where he’d found it, and returned to the landing. The sight was not pretty. A tug-of-war was going on, as Stevie and Turbo pulled on a pair of red panties. The dog shook his head, and the bikini ripped. He immediately lost interest. Game over. He dropped the remains and bounded down the staircase.
Joe picked up the panties. The tear left them crotchless. To his liking—but not to Stevie’s, he imagined. She snatched them from him. Stuffed them in the pocket of her shorts. Fire shot from her eyes. Her color was high. Her jaw worked. He waited for her to rant and rave, to rip him a new one. But whatever she might have said was interrupted by the thump, thump of Twyla’s crutches.
The older woman now stood at the bottom of the stairs with Turbo by her side, all furry innocence. She called up to them, “I heard a commotion. Everything okay?”
Stevie expelled a breath. “Turbo invaded the bedrooms.”
“Destructive?” Twyla inquired.
Joe descended the stairs, two at a time. Stevie was close behind. “Depends on your definition of ‘destructive’,” he defended his dog.
“That bad, huh?” from Twyla.
Joe played down the damage. “He discovered bedding and clothing. Dragged items onto the landing.”
Twyla looked to Stevie. “Anything ruined?”
“A pair of my underwear.”
Twyla shrugged it off. “Replaceable.”
Joe spoke up. “I’ll buy you—”
Stevie shook her head. “I don’t want you getting into my panties.”
Her words hung in the air. The connotation was overtly sexual. Stevie’s whole body blushed, as red as the panties she’d just pocketed.
Joe fought back a grin. Inappropriate.
“My niece will make her own purchases,” Twyla informed him. “Anything further?”
He came clean. “There’s a small problem with the braided rug in Stevie’s bedroom.”
Stevie glared. “How small of a problem?”
“Turbo took a bite.”
“It’s a family heirloom,” Twyla quietly said. “Dates back a hundred years.”
Crap. Joe stood knee-deep in his dog’s damages. He felt terrible. “I’ll have it fixed,” he assured Twyla. “I’ll locate someone who restores rugs. Or I’ll find a replacement through an antique dealer.” Cost was irrelevant at this point. He needed to right Turbo’s wrong.
“Incidents happen,” Twyla said forgivingly. “We’ll deal with it later.” She changed the subject, spoke to Stevie. “You had a phone call moments ago. I took a message. A rather long one.” She handed her niece a sheet of paper.
Stevie read the note. Her eyes rounded. Her voice held surprise, excitement. “The bridal event. I won a prize.”
“Which one?” Joe asked. He’d stepped back on the boardwalk, watching her from a safe distance as she signed up for different drawings. Weddings gave him the willies.
Stevie answered, “A photo shoot with I Do magazine. The centerfold. I suggested several locales, and the editor chose Unleashed. She found it unique.”
“Definitely different,” Twyla agreed.
Stevie pursed her lips. “I was thinking it would promote the dog day care.”
Her aunt smiled. “A lovely thought.”
“The photographer will hold an open call for canines, and pick eight for the shoot,” relayed Stevie. “Dogs that will add color, originality, and flow to the pictures.”
Interesting, thought Joe. Turbo wouldn’t stand a chance of being selected. He was too rough-and-tumble. Too chewy.
Stevie shifted uneasily. “There were hundreds of potential brides . . . at the event,” she stammered. “I never imagined . . . I’d actually win.”
“But you did, dear,” Twyla said.
“There’s a problem . . .” Stevie’s voice trailed off. Her expression looked pained. Her face now pale.
“Something I can fix?” her aunt offered.
“Not unless you have a groom.”
“Oh,” from Twyla.
“Whoa,” came from Joe.
A groom? It took two to marry. Something Stevie had dismissed. She’d gotten caught up in the festive wedding atmosphere, and she’d entered the drawings without even a significant other in mind. She’d accused him of being an opportunist, checking out babes on the boardwalk, while she filled up the contest boxes without even having a man in her life. Karma. A total payback. Bit her in the ass.
He grinned over her predicament. So broadly, so impolitely, that Twyla hit his boot with the rubber tip on her crutch. She was protective of her niece. He pulled it together. Put on a momentarily respectful face.
Stevie held her own. “I’ll deal with it.”
“I’m sure you will,” Twyla assured her. “Moving on, where do we stand with Turbo?”
Joe stiffened. “My boy hasn’t put his best paw forward.”
Twyla rounded her shoulders, leaned heavily on her crutches. She eyed her niece. “Knee-jerk reactions aren’t always fair. We all need second chances.”
Joe breathed easier. “Seconds are good.”
“What do you think, Stevie?” Twyla sought her decision.
“I’m not sure I can handle—”
The words hung in the air. Joe mentally filled in the blank. Him or Turbo, which did she fear the most?
Twyla’s gaze shifted between them. Her expression was thoughtful. “A compromise, perhaps,” she said. “Turbo needs doggy day care, and, to save face, Stevie requires a groom.”
“A groom for an afternoon,” said Stevie.
An alarm sounded in his head. Red flags unfurled. “What are you suggesting?” he asked Twyla.
“We’ll accept Turbo’s application—if you’ll pose as Stevie’s intended.”
“No way,” Stevie choked.
Joe felt the same, until Turbo nudged him with his nose. The rottie whimpered. Joe scratched the dog’s ear. He’d arrived here with a purpose. One he would fulfill. He stepped up to the plate now. “Our posing together wouldn’t be new, Stewie. We played a couple on the boardwalk. Our picture was taken together at Kuts for Kids. You take care of my boy, and I’ll do you a solid—with one final stipulation.”
“What more do you want?” she asked, wary.
He threw a curveball. “I need a place to stay. Rent me a room.”
“That would be up to my aunt.”
Twyla approved. “I’d planned to rent the extra bedroom. Eventually. I have no problem with you living upstairs.” Pause. “One minor inconvenience. You’d have to share a bathroom with Stevie.”
Joe nodded. “I’m fine with that, as long as Stevie doesn’t hang her underwear over the shower curtain, and she knocks before she enters.”
“You two can work it out,” Twyla finalized. “I’m headed for a nap.” She hobbled off. Left them.
Joe waited for Twyla to clear the back door, for the air to settle between them, before he asked, “Equal opportunity, sweetheart. Neighbors or not?”
Alone now, standing close, she met his gaze. They were two very different people. She was sarcastic, didn’t like him. Much. He was drawn to her, for no logical reason. Lame.
Dissimilar, yet with matching desire, they breathed each other in. Woman. Man. He saw her uncertainty. Noticed her goose bumps. The clutching of her hands. She was a bundle of nerves. She touched the hickey on her neck. Bit down on her bottom lip. She warmed. He heated. Tension pulsed. Her sigh escaped. Low and throaty.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”