by Kate Angell
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.”
<
br /> “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.”