by Norah Wilson
~*~
Quigg parked as close to his house’s front door as he could. For about the zillionth time since he’d opened his mouth and let that sophomoric confession escape, he wondered what in hell he’d been thinking.
She moved to open her door, but he put a restraining hand on her arm. “Wait here a sec. I’ll just make sure we weren’t tailed.” He climbed from the car, his eyes searching the street for a few moments, ears straining. Nothing untoward. Well, if anyone had followed them, they’d have to be pros. He’d kept a careful watch on his rearview mirror the whole way.
Satisfied, he rounded the car and opened her door.
“All clear?”
“Yep.”
She climbed out, her bag gripped tightly in her hand. “Nice house.”
He glanced up at the rambling two-story house. No way he would have picked this monstrosity for a home if his aunt hadn’t left it to him. An apartment in a nice, secure building where the neighbors didn’t knock on your door and no solicitation was permitted was his idea of appropriate bachelor habitat. “Don’t rush to judgment too fast,” he said, brushing past her to unlock the door. “You haven’t seen the inside.”
He could hear Bandy’s toenails clicking on the floor as he danced on the other side of the door. “I better go first. The damned dog’ll ruin your dress if I don’t restrain him.”
He pushed the door open. As anticipated, Bandy leapt all over him, whining softly. He bent to catch the mongrel’s collar, pushing him back into the kitchen. When he glanced up he saw Suzannah was still standing in the doorway. “Come on in,” he called. “He’ll be okay in a minute. He just needs to settle down a bit.”
She stepped inside and closed the door. Finally Bandy noticed her, a low growl issuing from his throat. She froze.
“Don’t worry. That’s how he greets everyone. He’ll be all over you in a second.” He scratched Bandy’s neck soothingly.
“That’s vastly reassuring.”
At her tone, he glanced up to see she had her princess face firmly in place. Oh, great. A damned dog hater. He might have known. Or maybe it was his Bandy’s obvious lack of pedigree she disdained. And it was pretty obvious. Part Shelty, part junk yard dog. Quigg looked down at Bandy’s delicate head, which looked like it had been improbably grafted onto his Sherman tank body, the girth of which was imperfectly disguised by his long silky coat. Yeah, okay, he was butt-ugly, but so what?
“Don’t worry, Princess. He may not be best-in-show material, but I can assure you he’s flea free. No mange, no rabies, nothing you need to worry about carrying back to your mama’s perfumed poodle.”
“Appearances to the contrary, I am not a snob.” Her posture grew even more ramrod straight, indicating her displeasure, but she never took her eyes off Bandy, who was currently doing his best to crush his own windpipe by straining against his collar. “And my mother did not have a poodle or a Pekinese or any of those toy dogs. We never had any kind of dog.”
He grinned, finally understanding. “You’re scared of dogs.”
She took her eyes of the dog long enough to shoot him an evil look. “Anybody would be scared of that one.” She dropped her gaze to Bandy, who now sounded like he was trying to hork up a tennis ball. “What’s wrong with him.”
“He’ll be okay in a sec. He choked himself in his eagerness to greet you.”
“Greet me? He looks more like he wants to eat me.”
So did his master.
Down, boy.
Quigg cleared his throat. “Don’t worry, he just looks scary. He’s harmless. Mostly.” He knelt beside the dog, who’d recovered from his self-imposed asphyxia. “Even if he did have a mind to bite, he doesn’t have the ideal equipment for it. See?” He parted Bandy’s soft lips to display an obviously incomplete dentition. Both upper and lower canines on the left side were missing, as well as two incisors on top, leaving a bald patch of pink gum where healthy white teeth should be.
“Oh my goodness, what happened?” She moved toward the dog, her fear seemingly forgotten. Bandy wriggled his stout frame, his fabulously well-haired tail fanning Quigg’s face.
“Vet says it was trauma.” Bandy started to strain toward her again, and Quigg let him inch closer. “Put your hand right down so he can sniff you,” he encouraged. “Once he gives you a lick, you can pet him.”
She complied, letting him snuffle her palm before she gingerly patted him on the head. “What kind of trauma?”
“Steel-toed Kodiak to the mouth, most likely. Or maybe a car accident.”
He heard her gasp. “Somebody kicked him in the mouth?”
“Somebody kicked him a lot.” The memory still had the power to raise his blood pressure, so he paused a few seconds. When he spoke again, his voice was as controlled and matter-of-fact as ever. “He greeted us at the door during a drug bust a couple of years ago, and not in a friendly way.”
Bandy sat to better enjoy the stroking she was giving him.
“He didn’t think much of your warrant, then?”
Quigg grinned. “About as much as our pharmaceutical dealer did. And if he hadn’t flashed those gums at us, he might have got plugged right there.”
“Poor dog,” she crooned, kneeling. Bandy sidled even closer. “So you took pity on him and brought him home?”
“Hardly. I got the dog catcher to round him up and haul him off to the SPCA.”
Her brow furrowed. “How’d you wind up with him?”
He stood to relieve cramped leg muscles. “No takers at the shelter. Everyone wants a pup, and he was already six or seven years old. Behavioral problems to boot, not to mention he needs regular thyroid meds. Who wants to take on that kind of burden?”
“You did.” She gave Bandy a last scratch and stood.
“Watch out!”
Too late. Bandy demonstrated one of his behavioral quirks by clawing her leg. She cried out, stumbling backward in her haste, and he caught her. Immediately, Bandy started barking and snapping, his remaining teeth clicking ominously. Quigg stifled a curse. In her fear, she tried to press closer, which only made the dog more frantic. He pushed her away from his chest, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Ow! Dammit, you stupid mutt!” The dog shrank away, but Quigg knew the little bugger would come right back at his ankles if he couldn’t keep Suzannah at a distance. He backed away from her. “It’s okay.” He put up a hand to keep her at arm’s length. “He’s trying to protect you. He’s been socialized to think any human-to-human contact is hostile, even a hug. And with all that squealing you did, he figured I’m the aggressor.”
“I did not squeal.”
He grinned, bending to reassure the still anxious Bandy while she examined her leg. “How is it?”
She straightened. “The skin’s not broken, but it’s raising a pretty good welt.”
“That’s another of his quirks. He tends to register a complaint when you stop petting him. I guess I’ve learned to defend myself. After I fight off a couple of attempted claws, he’ll desist. I don’t even think about it anymore.”
“So, no full-body contact allowed,” she mused. Her hair, which had been pinned up in a casual twist, had started to escape. She lifted her arms to release it. “Must be hell on your love life.”
He watched her twist all that blonde silk up again and fumble to secure it with the claspy thing. Her uplifted arms did incredible things for her breasts. “It hasn’t been a problem for quite a while,” he heard himself say.
She lowered her arms, her hands suddenly looking awkward as they plucked at her dress.
Aw, way to go, Quigley. First you say you like her—like her, for chrissakes. When had he last said something that asinine? Sixth grade? And now he’d as much as told her he was sex-starved. Way to make her believe she made the right decision coming here, putting herself in his hands.
She was twisting the strap of her expensive purse, now, and looking at the floor, the prints on the wall, everywhere but at him. Well, what’d you expect, Romeo?<
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He stood quickly. “I’ve gotta take Bandy for a spin around the block. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
He reached for the dog’s retractable leash and snagged a couple of plastic grocery store bags, which he stuffed in his pocket. “Lock the door behind me. I’ll take my keys.”
“Okay.”
“Bathroom’s at the top of the stairs, though I can’t guarantee you’ll find the seat down. There’s beer and cola in the fridge, if you want something cold. Coffee and tea in the cupboard to the left of the stove, if you prefer hot. I’ll make up a bed for you when I get back.”
“Okay.”
“I should be back as soon as Bandy does his business. Ten minutes, tops. And I won’t be more than a block away, close enough to keep an eye on the house."
She smiled. “John, it’s okay. If I were at home right now, I’d be alone.”
No, she wouldn’t. He’d be parked a discreet distance from her house with Bandy snoring in the back seat like a lumberjack sleeping one off.
“Okay.” He turned to the dog. “C’mere, mutt. Let’s get you leashed.”