On the drive to her house, Susan couldn’t help but wonder if her invitation was the brightest idea she’d ever had, especially when she heard the loud sound of the motorcycle following behind her.
She was used to Covenant Falls and its neighborly ways and generous hearts. Everyone helped everyone else, and all the veterans who’d arrived in the past three years had proved to be of the same mold. If they weren’t when they arrived, they certainly were after arriving.
She was happier in their ranks than any time in her previous adult life. They were all in this together, and “this” was growing the town while leaving its unique character intact. In the process her own life had changed. She owed that to Josh. As far as she was concerned, he could do no wrong.
This guy was his friend. A fellow Ranger. She’d had her doubts when she first saw him. He looked more like an outlaw than a physical therapist. She’d learned, though, that the incoming veterans turned out to be great guys, and she warned herself not to prejudge the newest one.
She also knew that if he got out of line, Josh and the others would make him very, very sorry, friends or not. Among the vets, she was treated like a sister, and that was great. Growing up, she’d been a tomboy who was more comfortable among boys than girls. She’d been equal among them in racing horses and some sports.
She’d also been perfectly honest when she’d told Ross Taylor she knew karate. She’d been vulnerable once. She intended never to repeat that mistake.
So she felt safe enough. Physically, at least. She wasn’t so sure about the rest of her emotions. It had been a long time since any guy had sparked her interest. She’d been too badly burned. Yet despite the rough appearance of her surprise guest, she was intrigued. A physical therapist that lived on a motorcycle. A warrior who helped people heal.
No more time to question your decision. It took only minutes to arrive at her cottage. She’d bought it for a fraction of its worth when the owner died without heirs and the property reverted to the bank.
She glanced in the rearview mirror. Ross Taylor was right behind her. She parked in front of the house and signaled him to go into the unattached garage, which she’d left open in her rush to the inn.
She tried not to think about her elderly neighbors and his bike’s thunderous approach. Most of them would be asleep but then there was the morning to consider.
One of the joys of a small town was everyone knew everyone. One of the problems with a small town was everyone knew everyone’s business. She shrugged. She could explain later.
Susan left the Jeep on the street, met Ross Taylor in the garage and turned on the interior light. She watched as he unbuckled two bulging saddlebags from the front of the bike and threw them over his left shoulder, then unbuckled one of two large containers from a platform at the rear of the bike.
He opened one and lifted out the scruffiest-looking dog she’d ever seen. It was small—about the size of a small terrier—and its leg was bandaged. The animal was brown, but she suspected several layers of dirt had darkened its color. At least one flea was obvious, and Susan knew their relatives were hiding in the thick, matted fur.
The dog stared back at her with suspicion.
She reached out a hand. The dog flinched and uttered a warning growl.
“He’s not sure who is friend and who is foe,” Ross said. “I think he’s seen some rough times.” He looked up. “Is there part of a lawn he could sprinkle for a few minutes?”
“Sure,” she said. “Pick any place in the front yard, then we’ll manage a bath.” We? Did she really say that?
Her guest nodded and gently—for a big man—lowered the dog to a green spot next to the garage. The dog didn’t waste time. He awkwardly lifted a leg while balancing on the two good legs and the one with a cast.
The dog looked like a combination of more than a few breeds. Even under the best of circumstances she doubted he would be handsome. His fur was long and matted and he definitely had an odor about him. His eyes were a little clouded. His toenails looked as long as an eagle’s talons. He was also very thin.
Ross Taylor gave her a wry smile. “He looked even worse a few hours ago. Some water and food has helped.”
“I’m surprised he did well in that basket.”
“I have some mild sedatives in my first aid kit and gave him one. He slept most of the way. We made stops for water and for him to relieve himself.”
“You said you found him on the road?”
“Some bastard shot him and left him on a road with no traffic. If he hadn’t moved when I rode past, I wouldn’t have noticed. He’s a little survivor.”
His crooked grin dissolved all the irritation she’d felt at being so rudely interrupted from a deserved rest.
“I’d planned to sneak him into the inn and give him a bath before anyone saw him,” he continued. His expression was disarming. He looked like a boy caught snatching a piece of pie. It was more than a little disconcerting on a man who radiated self-confidence.
“Hopefully he’ll make a full recovery,” he added. “I want him to find a good home with kids and a family.”
She waited as the dog hobbled awkwardly over the grass, this time stopping to hunch up and finish his chore.
“I like your Jeep,” he said, seeming a little surprised at her transportation.
“I bought it from Josh. It’s great for going up into the mountains.”
He was about to say something but then Hobo limped over to Ross Taylor and waited to be lifted.
Her guest picked up Hobo with a tenderness that impressed her. She didn’t want to be affected by it but, hells bells, she was.
She led the way to the front door and opened it.
“No key?” he asked without moving.
“We’re not exactly a crime center,” she said. “There hasn’t been a robbery or break-in since I moved back here.”
“How long ago was that?”
“A little more than five years ago, but I’m a native of Covenant Falls. My mother grew up here as did her mother and hers before that. Very little had changed in those years. Then Josh Manning appeared, then another veteran, and a third. Things started to change. In a good way.”
“It’s hard to imagine him as a builder and a businessman,” her visitor said as he went through the door and she closed it behind him. “He was one of the toughest, no-nonsense staff sergeants in the army.”
“He isn’t much at explaining himself,” she said with a smile. “He just likes to throw people into quicksand and see what happens.”
“Are you one of those people?”
“I guess I am,” Susan admitted.
“Does it work?”
“So far.” Until today. She changed the subject. “You said the dog needs a bath. Isn’t it going to be difficult with that leg?”
“Let’s say I doubt if it’s easy. But it has to be done. I suspect there’s a few fleas along with dirt.”
“I can wrap that leg in some plastic baggies and you can use the hand spray in the bathtub to wash him,” she volunteered, surprising herself. But she knew how difficult it was to wash an uncooperative animal.
He raised an eyebrow.
Vagabond chose that moment to stride in from her favorite perch on the bookcase just below a window in the kitchen. She was not the most attractive cat in the neighborhood. She had her share of feral cat scars and was a wretched shade of orange. She purred a greeting until she saw the dog in Ross Taylor’s arm. Her back went up and she hissed.
Susan couldn’t blame the cat. She felt somewhat the same way about the intrusion. She was also struck by the similarity of names. Vagabond and Hobo. It was downright weird. It reflected similar thought patterns, and she didn’t like that idea at all. She had nothing in common with this man, outside of the connection with Josh.
Vagabond retreated a few feet but not before expressing her irritation with an unholy squawk. Not a meow, but a high-pitched squawk.
“I don’t think Hobo and I are welcome,” her guest opined.
“She’ll adjust. For a feral cat, she’s turned into a diva,” Susan said. “I never had a cat before. Always dogs when I was a kid. But Vagabond just showed up here one day and decided to stay. I didn’t have much say in the matter.”
“Then we have something in common,” he said. “I didn’t have much choice either, but this is a fleeting relationship. I hope to find him a home as soon as I see the veterinarian.’’
Their relationship would be fleeting, as well. They obviously didn’t have much in common except falling victim to animals. He was overpowering, both physically and, well, personally. He dominated the space around him. And even with the fuzz on his face and being a sartorial disaster, he caused warning bells to ring in her. A small—very small—part of her might be just a little attracted to him, but she’d ignore that.
She counted the strikes against him. He rode a motorcycle. He was far too sure of himself. He was here temporarily. He was obviously a wanderer.
She felt she was inviting a tornado into her peaceful home.
“Sorry for ruining your night,” he said with the first hint of concern. “I should have persisted in calling the inn.”
“And then a very nice elderly couple would have had a dangerous drive home,” she said.
“I just assumed there would be plenty of rooms.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said. “The fault is mine. Not yours. The room was reserved for you.” She paused, then added, “I’ll show you upstairs and you can settle in while I gather up some extra towels.”
She led the way up the stairs. The upstairs included two bedrooms and a bath. She’d turned the larger one into a guest room and the smaller one into a study/office/library. There was also a full bath in addition to the one downstairs that she usually used.
“This way,” she said, and led him to the guest bedroom. She opened the door and waited while he entered and surveyed the room before placing the saddlebags on a chair.
“Nice,” he said. “I think I’d better put Hobo in a bath before putting him down anywhere.”
“Do you have dog shampoo?”
He looked blank for a moment. “I thought I could use human soap. The kind you find in hotels.”
“You’ve never had a dog before?”
“When I was young. He was a ranch dog. He stayed outside and didn’t get baths unless he ran into a skunk or something equally as noxious, then it was a hose. I thought...hell, I guess I didn’t think. I should have bought some along the way.”
“A ranch dog? You’ve lived on a ranch?”
He hesitated, then replied, “It was a long time ago.” His tone warned her off the subject.
She took the hint and said, “I use a liquid soap on my cat when she gets into something noxious. It’s gentle and also helps with fleas. I’ll bring a cup up with those towels. In the meantime, rub him around the ears and stomach to relax him.”
“Thanks,” he said with obvious relief. “I don’t know if he’s ever had a bath before. He sure as hell doesn’t look like it.”
“I have a laundry basket downstairs that will serve as a good bed for your dog.”
“He’s not my... “
“I know. That’s what I kept telling Vagabond. She wasn’t my cat, just an outside freeloader. Didn’t do any good. An animal seems to pick their own person. Doesn’t matter whether that person agrees or not. I certainly didn’t. You just kinda get stuck and then, later, you’re glad you got there.”
His expression told her he had no intention of getting stuck.
She ignored it. “You think you can do it on your own?”
“Sure. It’s just a bath,” he said with male confidence.
She looked at the dog now nestled in his lap. “You two seem to be getting on rather well,” she said.
He gave her a chagrined look, which softened the hard face. “We had a long ride together.”
She tried not to let it affect her. “Take off your boots and socks and roll up those jeans. Prepare to get wet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obediently but she saw a shadow of a smile cross his face as she turned and left.
Could this day get any worse?
Yeah, he reminded himself. It would have been, had the innkeeper not been so helpful. She was damned attractive, too. As weary as he was, he couldn’t deny a certain spark flaring inside. It wasn’t just her appearance that attracted him—the startlingly blue eyes, long dark hair, a body that was both athletic and womanly, and her easy smile—but her sense of humor and her ready acceptance of two strangers who must look like they’d stepped out of someone’s nightmare.
Her smile was infectious and made him want to smile as well, even as he sat uncomfortably on the seat of a toilet in a decidedly feminine bathroom holding a wriggling, flea-infested mongrel at an ungodly hour and wondered what in the hell happened to his nice comfortable life. No complications. No responsibilities except to his current patients. That was his motto.
He silently condemned Josh for getting him into this mess. He’d just finished several assignments and had planned a biking trip up the California coast to Washington. No schedule except a few stops to see buddies. That was the way he liked it.
Hobo squirmed in his arms, but Ross hated to put him down on the rose-colored rug that covered a quarter of the pristine bathroom floor. He set the dog down in the empty tub instead and wondered again about his hostess as he awaited her return. Obviously she was dedicated to her job since she’d appeared in the middle of the night and opened her house to a stranger. Her smile was a killer.
Hobo tried to move again in an obvious effort to get more comfortable but he didn’t make any noise. Not a whimper. “You’re a good soldier,” Ross said. “I wish you didn’t need a bath but you’re a mess right now. Not fit for polite company, and we’re in polite company.”
His years in the army had taught him to be observant, and he noticed details. The living area downstairs looked comfortable with large stuffed chairs, Western paintings and several full bookcases. There was a big flowering plant in front of the large window.
The guest bedroom looked equally as attractive with a queen-size bed covered by what looked like a handmade quilt. Three large paintings of Western scenes decorated the walls. A comfortable-looking chair sat next to a window.
All the rooms had something in common. They were homey, comfortable and unpretentious.
He told himself none of it mattered. He was just here overnight and he was tired enough that the garage and a sleeping bag would have sufficed. He smothered a yawn. Damn but he was tired. He tried to snap back to the present.
He’d just finished taking off his boots and socks when she appeared with the bath supplies, along with a length of yarn.
She eyed his large naked feet and rolled up jeans. “Battle ready?” she asked.
“Can’t be worse than serving under Josh,” he said.
She laughed.
He liked the sound of it. In fact he liked a lot about her. He was impressed with her energy. He’d probably pulled her out of bed, then invaded her home with a filthy animal, not to mention his own sorry state, and she was being helpful. She’d been apologetic, businesslike and a tad defensive when he met her, and while he’d had little choice in accepting her offer, he hadn’t been enthusiastic.
He still wasn’t enthusiastic but he felt a hell of a lot better about the situation. He knew his size could be intimidating. She’d been a bit hesitant at first but then used her instincts. She was confident enough in her own abilities to bring him inside her home. He liked that.
Not, he reminded himself, that it mattered. He had no intention of staying in Covenant Falls one day longer than his two-week commitment to Josh. “I doubt he’ll object any more than if it was the canine kind,” he said of the shampoo.
She examined him. “It’ll be easier to hold him while you sit on the edge of the tub with your feet in the water than leaning over the edge. If he’s not familiar with a bath, he’s going to fight you, but you’ll be right there with him.” She leaned over Hobo and covered the wounded leg with its splint with several plastic bags, then secured them with a piece of yarn.
“More comfortable than a rubber band,” she said. “It may not be waterproof but it will help.”
Makes sense. While still holding Hobo, Ross swung his long legs over the edge of the tub and perched on the narrow rim. It was...uncomfortable to say the least. Susan detached the hand showerhead from above and handed it to him. He turned the faucet on and water splashed all over him and the dog.
Hobo protested. He barked and tried to squirm out of Ross’s grip. Ross held the dog with one hand as he frantically thrashed about, and gripped the showerhead in the other. His partner in dog torture leaned over and took the spray head from him and set it at a gentler output then handed it back to Ross. She’d taken off her shoes and sat on the rim of the tub with him and cooed over the dog as Ross rubbed a mixture of soap and water into the fur.
Hobo wasn’t buying it. He kept wriggling. Ross was covered with water as Hobo tried to get out of his grasp, then shook water all over the bathroom and both of them.
Susan stood and stepped out of the tub, but Ross felt her eyes on him as he used more soap and water.
“Saints above,” Susan exclaimed. “The dog is changing color.” She gave him a sympathetic glance. “I think you’re next when you’re finished with Hobo,” she said with what he considered a smirk.
He looked down at himself. He was soaked. His jeans were dirty from road dust and the rest of him was not much better. Why she ever let him in her house was beyond him. “I think you’re right,” he admitted.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” she said as she moved away from the bathroom.
“You’re really not going to stay and help?”
“You’re a big boy,” she said, “with all four limbs intact. I think you can manage it.”
Despite the frank words, he detected a hint of a smile in her eyes. She’d obviously enjoyed his discomfort.
“Maybe,” he said. “But this seems beyond my expertise. I bow to yours.”
“What is it they say about throwing a kid into the water to teach him to swim,” she said, amusement tinting every word.
“They drown sometimes,” he replied.
“I don’t think you would be one of them,” she shot back, then added, “I’m leaving at seven to help with checkout at the inn, but I’ll have a thermos of coffee outside your room. There’ll also be some pastries on the dining room table and orange juice in the fridge. Take your time,” she added. “We probably won’t have a room ready until ten.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“No need. I like dogs,” she explained.
He noticed he wasn’t included in the statement.
“Sleep in. And leave those clothes in the bathroom. I’ll wash them and take them to the inn.”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied obediently.
“Just close the front door when you leave and make sure the cat doesn’t go with you.
“And don’t lock it,” he recalled. “You must be the most trusting person in America.”
“Nope.” Her voice softened. “I just know Covenant Falls and I’m a fairly good judge of character after fifteen years in the hospitality field.”
“Hobo and I thank you. You’ve gone way beyond the call of duty. I don’t want to think what would have happened if I’d tried to wash Hobo by myself in a hotel room.”
“Yes,” she affirmed. “The bill would be staggering.”
“Agreed,” he replied. “I owe you.”
“We aim to please,” she said, then left him to finish on his own.
Ross smiled at the last comment even as the soapy dog tried again to get out of the tub and splashed a mixture of dirty, soapy water over his jeans.
He wanted Susan Hall back but damned if he was going to call for her. It must be near 2:00 a.m. now. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit he needed help in giving a small dog a bath. He recalled only too well the doubt in her eyes when he insisted he could do it on his own. Ha!
Finally, the exhausted little guy gave up and stayed relatively still. Ross finished rinsing the last of the soap and it was then he saw bite marks and other scars on the dog. He uttered a few “not for polite ears” oaths, and plucked Hobo from the deep tub only to be on the receiving side of another shower as the dog shook himself and more water landed on him and the floor.
Now he knew why Susan brought so many towels and why she’d escaped.
He dried Hobo as best he could. And then he saw more scars. A lot of old ones. Some not as old. He suddenly felt very protective. He would find Hobo a good home, one with children who would love him as he deserved to be loved.
Once reasonably clean, the dog was a tan and white mixture. The leg under the baggies was wet but not nearly as wet as the rest of him. He was, Ross had to admit, kinda engaging, if you liked little dogs. He liked big ones, especially when they belonged to someone else.
Ross used several of the towels to wipe the wet floor as Hobo huddled against the closed door, then neatly folded the wet towels and left them in the sink to drip.
There was one dry one left.
“Sorry, kiddo,” he told Hobo. “You have to wait until I take my turn.”
He rinsed out the tub, then hooked the showerhead back where it belonged.
He turned the temperature to hot, only to discover there was no hot left.
Resigned to another bump on this day, he took a cold shower, washing off two days on the road. He was freezing when he felt he’d made a dent. The rest had to wait until tomorrow. He definitely wasn’t going to shave with cold water.
He left his wet clothes in the bathroom, and he and Hobo headed for the bedroom. He found a big, plastic clothes basket inside. It was lined with a thick, soft blanket. A dish of water was next to it along with a dish containing small pieces of chicken. For him there was a glass of milk and cookies on a bedside table.
Milk and cookies? He hadn’t had that since he was a tyke.
Hobo had no reservations. He gobbled the chicken and drank a little water before Ross plucked him up and settled him in the basket. The dog did a couple of crooked circles on the soft material, then collapsed on it. He obviously didn’t hold a grudge about the recent indignity and discomfort. But then he hadn’t had a cold shower.
There was something backward about that.
Ross replaced his wet clothes with clean dry skivvies, then sat on the bed and ate the cookies and drank the milk.
Ross looked at the dog curled up and breathing easily, and his heart hitched a little. He decided he didn’t begrudge the little guy all the hot water.
He turned off the light and sank into the bed. The crisp clean sheets felt great but his mind wouldn’t shut off as fast as Hobo’s apparently did.
His hostess’s last smile—full of mischief and challenge—wouldn’t leave his thoughts. It had been such a turnaround from the woman who’d walked into the inn with such businesslike determination. He certainly hadn’t expected the invitation to her home, the ugliest cat he’d ever seen, her tenderness with Hobo nor her lack of concern as he and Hobo wrecked her bathroom.
And then cookies?
Watch it, Taylor.
It was a damn good thing he would be here a very short time before moving on. He would call Josh first thing in the morning and work out a schedule. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could take his long-anticipated drive up the coast.
Josh might be tamed, but he certainly never would be.
He turned over and closed his eyes, lulled by Hobo’s soft, contented snoring.