Chapter 1

by Ann Whitaker

  I could kick myself. I should kick myself over the Nick fiasco. I might as well admit he’d lost interest in me. First Philip biting him, now Babe probably doing some nibbling of her own. The odds were stacked against me, and I didn’t stand a chance.

  Average Internet Joe could be my man. The more I thought about it, the more I thought how perfectly suited for me he might be. Low-maintenance Joe with his little dog.

  I e-mailed him to reschedule our date. Computer guru Joe must have been at work, because a few seconds after I’d shot my message off into cyberspace, I heard a beep telling me I had mail. He agreed to meet me for lunch the next day. Something told me this was it—Waco had finally produced a winner.

  I hadn’t asked for a description, since I figured I’d recognize him from his picture. I’d told him I was medium height with brown hair and would be wearing jeans and a pink T-shirt.

  “Jeans!” Carmen said, as I was leaving.

  I laughed and wiggled my hips. “He might as well know what kind of wife he’s getting. If he doesn’t like jeans, then we’ll have a problem.”

  Arriving early, I pulled the Lexus into the Cotton Patch parking lot, looking around for smiley-face Joe. My hands were cold and clammy though the temperature must have been inching upwards toward 100. I checked my lipstick in the rearview mirror one last time. We’d agreed to meet inside at eleven, as soon as they opened. Joe wanted to beat the crowd. I checked my watch. Ten thirty-five. I didn’t want to appear overly eager, but it was too hot to sit in the car. Employees were carrying boxes in and out one of the front entrances, so I asked if I could wait inside. They pointed to some wooden benches near the hostess stand, and I sat down to wait. I rummaged in my purse and pulled out the book I’d been reading. Know Thy Dog contained short chapters explaining certain doggy behaviors, like why they eat poop and love to roll in dead stuff.

  I was so engrossed I forgot the time. When I looked up and saw people being seated, I checked my watch. Ten fifty-five.

  Just then, the door opened. The man coming through the door couldn’t be Future-Husband Joe, even if he was five minutes early. His hairline wasn’t merely receding. He had a serious comb-over and was a good fifty pounds overweight.

  If he was thirty-two, he’d had a really tough life. His teeth were as yellow as his hair, what there was of it. I’d told Carmen looks didn’t matter. Maybe Joe had a great personality. It was only lunch. It wasn’t like I knew anyone in Waco who might see me with him. He could be my boss for all anyone knew. Nevertheless, I looked around to see if anyone was watching. The hostess didn’t even look up. At thirty-two, I was well on my way to becoming invisible. Before long, men would be looking straight through me. For years my mother had warned me that after a certain age—

  “You must be Julie.” His smiley face grew bigger, and he thrust out his hand.

  “And you must be Joe.” I forced myself to smile back, wanting to slip him some Crest Whitestrips.

  Before I knew what was happening, Joe’s outstretched hand pulled me to him in a hug. The smell of smoke was so strong I had to hold my breath. I stiffened and kept my arms at my sides until Joe released me.

  I nodded reluctantly when the hostess asked if we were a party of two and followed as she seated us in a booth. I told myself not to rule him out based on the first five minutes. Joe might be an uncut diamond. Beauty and the Beast immediately came to mind. But the Beast had been cuter, more like a fuzzy dog.

  “Good to finally meet you,” he said. “You won’t believe this, but I’ve been on muchas-dates for three whole months now, and you’re my first bite.” He laughed so loud heads bobbed up from the other booths like prairie dogs popping out of their burrows. “Bite, byte, get it? It’s a computer term.”

  I smiled lamely.

  “Julie Shields,” Joe crooned. “Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. And not married yet.”

  I especially hated the “yet.” I gave Joe what I hoped was a withering look. “Definitely not married.”

  “How long have you been divorced?”

  “And not divorced.”

  “You mean you’ve never been married?” Joe looked at me as if I were an anomaly.

  “What about you?” I took my time as I unwrapped the silverware and placed the napkin in my lap. Anything to avoid looking at him.

  “Couple of times. But I’ve been a swinging bachelor again for the past three months.” He grinned.

  I ignored the “swinging” comment. “So how’s single life this go-round?”

  “It’s not bad, but I miss being married. My wife, my last wife, she found someone else. She wanted to go out all the time and didn’t understand we couldn’t afford it. Child support was killing me.”

  Joe kept talking, but I’d quit listening when I heard child support. For some reason, I hadn’t thought about kids, only his dog. I couldn’t help thinking about all the baggage Father Joe must be lugging around.

  A perky waitress appeared and handed us menus. “My name is Amy. I’ll be your server today. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  For the first time in my life, I’d have considered a straight shot of whiskey if they’d had it, but it wasn’t in keeping with a wholesome name like the Cotton Patch Cafe. Wine and domestic beer were available, but I would pass.

  “Hi, Amy,” Joe said, waggling his eyebrows like Groucho. “My name is Joe, and this is…”

  I swear he hesitated, as if he didn’t know my name. I hated it when guys flirted or got cutesy with the waitress.

  “Just call me Ishmael,” I told Amy, unable to meet her eyes. “A glass of Waco water for me, with some lemon, please.” Waco water was an acquired taste I had yet to acquire. Lemon helped dull part of the nasty tang, which had been attributed to everything from excessive nutrients, such as nitrogen or phosphorus, to something called geosmin given off by dead algae.

  “Sure you don’t want something stronger?” Joe asked, as if he’d been reading my mind.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Bring me a Bud,” Joe said. An image of Archie Bunker flashed through my brain. I held the menu close to my face to disguise the fact I didn’t want to look at Joe. I studied it as long as possible, hoping if I was slow enough, Joe would have to go back to work.

  “Take your time,” he said. “I’ve got the afternoon off.”

  What? Was Irish-American Joe expecting to get lucky?

  Amy the waitress reappeared. “Have you made a decision yet?” she chirped.

  Oh, yes.

  Joe was studying the menu as if it were a computer manual. “Give us a few more minutes.” He looked up at me. “Don’t order the meatloaf. It gave me diarrhea a few weeks ago.”

  My lip curled involuntarily. “Too much information. But don’t worry. I never eat beef.” It wasn’t true. Joe was bringing out my perverse side.

  He pulled his head back and looked at me in disbelief. “You’re kidding. You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  “No, but I am a Texan if that’s what you mean.”

  “I can’t imagine a Texan who doesn’t eat beef. Wait a minute.” He pointed a finger at me. “I’ll bet you’re from Austin. They’ve got lots of those veggie…vegan types there.”

  I gave him a slight grin. “Nope, Abilene. Born there. Lived most of my life there. Smack dab in the middle of cattle country.”

  Amy reappeared just in time and asked again if we’d made a choice. Joe didn’t know he was supposed to ask the lady, a.k.a. me, before he ordered for himself. “I’ll have a double-meat double-cheeseburger and curly fries,” he said.

  Looming over us on the wall behind Joe was a large mural of cows grazing in a meadow. The cows seemed to be looking straight at me. The thought of ordering a hamburger made me queasy. Besides, I’d made my veggie bed, and now I had to order it.

  Amy turned to me.

  “I’ll take the Wabbit Platter. Broccoli, green beans, black-eyed peas, and salad with vinaigrette on the side.”

  “Hey, you weren’t kidding,
” Joe said. “You ever tried beef?”

  “Only once.” I fabricated the story as I spoke. “When I found out I was eating Dolly, my favorite cow, I got sick and could never eat the stuff again.”

  “You serious? So you had a cow?” He began to laugh at his own weak attempt at humor.

  “It was my pet cow!” I’d begun to believe the story so much that tears welled up in my eyes. Maybe I should go to Hollywood.

  I excused myself to powder my nose and considered slipping out through a side door, but I’d been taught better manners. I took my time, and when I returned to the table, I asked the questions.

  “You said you’re a computer analyst. Where do you work?”

  Amy arrived with our food, and Joe wasted no time wrapping his tobacco-stained teeth around his burger, but he managed to talk with his mouth full and chew at the same time.

  “Self-employed.” Joe’s beefy chest puffed out.

  “Do you have your own shop, or do you work for someone else?”

  “For now, I’m living with my grandmother and work out of my bedroom, but I hope to own my own shop someday.”

  Divorced twice, maybe more? At least two kids. Lives with his grandmother? More proof I was hopeless at choosing men. It wasn’t his fault—it was mine. Therefore, I would maintain my poise, despite Joe’s shortcomings, until I could make a dignified exit. That meant trying to carry on a conversation. I would tell myself he was a cousin I hadn’t seen in years. That way I could disassociate myself from the reality of his being my date.

  “Sorry to sound ignorant, but what exactly does a computer analyst do?” I knew how to use a computer, but beyond that I was technologically challenged and planned to stay that way. Cell phones, BlackBerries, iPods—people toys. I’d rather play with a dog.

  Joe took another bite of his double-double burger. “Mainly, I do small repairs. Like, say someone gets a virus or has a configuration problem. I fix it for them. Most people I deal with don’t know jack. Take the other day. This woman brings me her computer and says she can’t get the little boxes off her desktop. All she has to do is click on the ‘x’ in the corner, but instead she keeps clicking on the browser icon, which creates more little boxes. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to own a computer.” Joe shoved the last of his curly fries in his mouth.

  “But if it weren’t for people like that, I wouldn’t have a job. I can make fifty bucks in five minutes because she’ll never know what I’ve done.”

  “So, you’re like a computer doctor.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” His face brightened. “I deal with emergencies lots of times. Or sometimes people need more RAM installed or they want to set up a wireless router. I also make house calls.” He gave me a lascivious yellow grin.

  “So tell me about your dog. What’s his name?”

  Joe sat up straighter at the mention of his dog. “His name’s Kisser.”

  “Kisser. That’s a sweet name.” I thought of little Philip, who loved to kiss.

  “Yeah, I say, ‘Come here, Kisser,’ and he plants a big one on me.”

  When I pointed to his mouth, Joe raised his napkin and wiped at the burger juice running down his chin. Maybe I would give up beef. “I’ll bet Kisser is happy having you at home all day. My little guy just goes crazy when I come home from work.”

  “Yeah, he’s always glad to see me when I let him in, especially in the summer when it’s hot outside.”

  “You mean he’s an outside dog?” From Joe’s online profile, I’d assumed he and Kisser were close.

  “I let him in sometimes, but he likes it better outside.”

  Probably avoiding all the second-hand smoke.

  “You said he’s your hobby. Is he a show dog? Or agility? Obedience?”

  “Kisser? Nah, Kisser’s full blood pit bull.”

  Dogs like pit bulls often got a bad rap, but they could make sweet companions with the right owner and proper training. I was just about to say as much when Joe continued.

  “He’s obedient and agile. I guess you could say he’s in the sporting class.” Joe laughed so loud this time my Waco water rippled. “Kisser’s a fighter. Say, maybe you’d like to come watch him fight this weekend. He’s going to be defending his title against Bloody Rex, this dog from East Texas.”

  Oh my God. What was I doing here? I almost spit out my black-eyed peas.

  When I’d read “computer analyst” on Joe’s online profile, I’d thought Michael Dell, not Michael Vick. Now, in addition to being unethical in his business dealings, he was also involved in illegal and inhumane treatment of dogs.

  I instinctively pressed my knees together and took a big swig of water. As I lowered the glass, my heart began to thump against my breastbone. I could have sworn Nick just walked in the door. I squinted. It was Nick. And Babe was beside him. The Cotton Patch was the last place I’d have expected to see either one of them. Surely Nick wasn’t following me. Did he think I was a snitch? A spy? Meeting the feds to tell them something?

  I ducked my head, hoping they wouldn’t see me, but was too late. Nick and Babe were headed straight for our booth. Babe waved to me. My cheeks were on fire. I wiped the condensation from the side of my water glass and rubbed my throat.

  Babe looked gorgeous in her slinky purple skirt and tiny tank top. Now I wished I’d listened to Carmen and worn something dressier than jeans. Compared to Babe, I looked downright dowdy.

  “Julie!” Nick called out. His white teeth could have starred in a toothpaste commercial. I hoped Joe would keep his mouth shut. “What a coincidence. Care if we join you?”

  My worst nightmare was happening shortly after high noon in Waco, Texas. I began digging in my purse for my billfold. “We were just finishing up.”

  Nick stood at my end of the bench seat, blocking me in. “You can stay a little longer, can’t you? At least do us the honor of introducing us to your friend.”

  Babe might not know it, and Joe didn’t know it, but I knew it—Nick was making me squirm and enjoying every minute of it. Before I could protest, he’d wedged himself in beside me, and Babe had sat down opposite us, next to Joe.

  Nick reached across the table to shake Joe’s hand. “Nick Worthington. And the lovely lady next to you is Babe Esposito.” Babe smiled sweetly, though she must have noticed Joe eyeballing her cleavage.

  The warmth of Nick’s thigh against mine unnerved me so much my knees began to quiver. I took a gulp of water. I think Joe told them his name, but I was too rattled to notice. Nick’s proximity had transported me to the realms of heightened unreality.

  “So, Joe,” Nick asked, “how is it you and Julie know each other? Are you from Abilene?”

  “You kidding?” Joe took a long pull on his third Bud. “Nope, we met on muchas-dates.com. Seems we have a lot in common. We’re both dog people.”

  Nick’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Then I guess Julie told you she’s here training a couple of poodles? Doing a great job, too.”

  “Poodles?” Joe gave a short bark of laughter. “What good are they? Fancy wuss dogs. Okay for women, I guess, but a real man needs a real dog.” Joe glanced at Babe for approval, but she was looking at Nick.

  “What kind of dog do you have?” Nick asked.

  Joe reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and tapped it on the table. “Pit bull.”

  Time for a nicotine fix. One thing I loved about Waco. The city had an ordinance that prohibited smoking in restaurants. If I was lucky, smokeless Joe would decide he could take it no longer and go outside, which would be my cue to say adios to all three of my lunch companions.

  Amy appeared with menus for Nick and Babe, and as she took their drink orders, I planned my escape. Looking at my watch, I feigned a look of absolute horror. “Oh no. Look at the time! I was having so much fun I totally forgot Carmen is waiting for me to give the dogs their next lesson.” I pushed Nick’s butt with mine as hard as I could, forcing him to stand up and let me out.

  Nick grinned and stretch
ed his arms out, his muscles rippling. “Just when we were all getting to know one another.”

  I aimed eye daggers at him, but I used my sweetest voice. “Oh, you guys stay here and enjoy yourselves. On me.” I slapped a couple of Alexander Hamiltons on the table. “Joe, great meeting you. Babe, good to see you again. We all need to do this again sometime.”

  To his credit, Joe tried to stand up, but Babe was blocking him in and I was faster.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, but I’d already turned away. “Wait! I don’t know your number!” he called out as I strode toward the door.

  The next thing I knew, I was in the Lexus, speeding down Lakeshore Drive with the rest of the village idiots. “Free! I’m free!” I shouted out loud. Now I knew how the dogs felt when I released them from a stay.

  Then Nick’s last words hit me. I was pretty sure I’d heard him tell Joe, “I’ll give you her number.”

  ****

  I saw little of Nick or Babe for the next few days. Carmen said Babe was visiting old high school friends and shopping. I still wondered why Nick had to drive her.

  When Philip’s knee had healed enough, I removed the stitches from the leg of my little Franken-dog and filled the tub for our first session of aqua therapy.

  I stripped to my underwear and held him close to my chest as I eased into the big tub. Poodles might have been water dogs centuries ago, but Philip had never liked getting wet. The second his back feet touched the water, he began climbing higher until he was perched on my shoulder with his front paws scrambling to climb onto my head, his claws digging into my bare skin.

  “Ouch, come on, Philip. Be a good boy.” I pulled him off me, his little legs flailing, and lowered him into the water, holding him upright. “Bounce, bounce, bounce,” I sang, as I pushed him up and down. The objective was to bounce him up and down on his back legs to build up strength in the muscles around his newly repaired knee and encourage use of the leg. Though the tub was wide, it wasn’t deep enough, but it was all I had. I considered sneaking into the Esposito pool in the dark of night, but with Berto’s penchant for lurking around at all hours, I couldn’t chance it.