For Keeps

by Donna Ball

  He would not have called her, he was sure of that. But he was glad she had come back.

  He brought the grin under control, but could not entirely subdue the twinkle in his eyes. He didn't laugh. For that, Lyn would have forgiven him almost anything.

  He said, "Why do I get the impression you're not a very organized person?"

  Lyn started to inform him of the part Montana had played in this latest incident, but swallowed back the retort. She repeated, "Could I use the phone?"

  His response was, "I don't suppose you got around to feeding the indoor animals."

  She hesitated, torn between outrage over the suspicion that he was going to make her work for the privilege of using the phone, and guilt over the fact that she had not finished the job she was hired to do in the first place. Finally, chagrined, she admitted, "In all the confusion ... No, I guess I didn't."

  "I tell you what. Why don't you finish that while I make myself some supper, then I'll see what I can do about your car."

  That was certainly a fair proposition, but still Lyn hesitated. She looked around uneasily. "Where's Sheba?"

  He flashed her a grin. "Bedded down for the night in the garage. And you don't have to worry about Grizabella, either. She's already been fed and brushed."

  Lyn came inside and closed the door. She knew she should probably leave well enough alone, but she had never been the kind of person to let disputes go unresolved. She said, "I'm sorry I lost my temper before. But I still think what you did was wrong, and I don't like being manipulated."

  He lifted a perfectly innocent eyebrow. "Is that what I did?"

  "You know that's what you did." She tried to keep the shortness out of her voice. "And it was completely unnecessary."

  He seemed unimpressed as he opened the refrigerator door. "It was for a good cause, wasn't it? The cat food is on the counter. I found your notebook beside Grizabella's cage, and all the feeding instructions are there."

  For once, Lyn's better judgment prevailed, and she did not continue the argument. She picked up the bag of cat food and proceeded to do her job.

  When she returned to the kitchen after the last water dish was filled, the smell of sizzling bacon made her mouth water. The only thing she had had since breakfast was a doughnut, and it was long past her suppertime.

  Her longing expression must have given her away, because Casey glanced up from the peanut butter he was spreading on a slice of bread. "Have you eaten?"

  "Well, I..."

  "Here, there's plenty. Help yourself."

  She watched dubiously as he added three slices of bacon to the peanut butter sandwich, but she was too hungry to be particular. "Well... Maybe I'll just have a snack."

  Casey handed her the peanut-butter-coated knife and placed his own sandwich on a saucer. "Montana," he said, moving to the table. "Bring me a beer."

  Lyn watched in amazement as Montana scampered eagerly across the linoleum, stepped on the foot pedal that opened the refrigerator, and poked his head inside. A moment later he backed away, a can of beer clenched in his teeth, jumped on the refrigerator door to close it, and walked proudly over to Casey.

  Casey took the beer from the dog and scratched his ears. "Good boy. Go lie down."

  "I don't believe it!" Lyn said, still staring at the dog. "That's the most incredible thing I've ever seen. How in the world did you teach him to do that?"

  Casey wiped the can with the hem of his T-shirt before setting it down, then began to move piles of mail, newspapers, and other miscellanea off the kitchen table. "It's really one of the least complicated tricks you can teach. Just a sequence of behaviors that more or less come naturally...walking, retrieving, and jumping. Dogs are a lot like people in that respect: they'll do anything in the world for you, as long as it's what they wanted to do in the first place."

  Lyn shook her head in amazement, and turned back to spreading peanut butter on her sandwich. However annoying and autocratic Casey Carmichael might be, she could not deny that he was very, very good at what he did—and what he did was fascinating. "Maybe," she agreed, "but I still think that's one smart dog."

  "Average dog," Casey corrected, "brilliant trainer."

  This time his grin was infectious, and Lyn shared it, though somewhat dryly. "I guess it helps that you don't suffer from ego problems."

  "I can't afford to. The minute these animals started to suspect I was less than perfect, I'd be overrun by a giant revolt. And let's face it, smart as they are, I haven't met a dog or a cat yet who was qualified to negotiate a contract, so we're all better off if I stay in charge."

  Lyn chuckled and placed her sandwich on a paper napkin. "I guess that's one way to look at it."

  "What would you like to drink?"

  Lyn had never considered herself a gourmand, but she didn't think even she could face beer with peanut butter. So she said, "I’m driving. Maybe milk?"

  "Sorry, Montana can't manage that one. The glasses are in that cabinet over your head."

  Lyn helped herself to a glass and milk, feeling more at ease than she ever would have thought possible in a stranger's kitchen. As she sat down across from Casey at the small table she said, "Is Montana a movie star, too?"

  Casey took a bite of his sandwich and shook his head. When he had swallowed, he added, "He's done a few commercials, but mostly I use him for demonstrations and to help train other dogs. He started out in search-and-rescue, but was also one of the first service dogs I trained. That's why he has to be allowed some degree of independent thinking—and why he's not always very reliable before the cameras."

  Lyn frowned a little as she tore the crusts off her bread with her fingers. "Service dog? What kind of service?"

  "Handicapped assistance, mostly. I don't do as much of that as I used to, but every once in a while I'll get a dog that shows a real knack for it. There's nothing sadder than an unemployed dog, so I give them on-site training and send them off to profitable, fulfilling careers."

  "Aren't any of your animals just pets?"

  That was a question Casey had been asked many times over the course of his career. No one seemed to be able to understand why an animal as cute and cuddly as Grizabella, or as entertaining as Montana, should ever have to serve any other function. He answered, "There's nothing more useless, or pitiful, than a pet. Put yourself in the animal's place. Everybody needs a purpose in life."

  Lyn said, "I don't know. Free room and board, all the attention you want, and no stress except a trip to the vet once or twice a year... I think I could deal with that."

  "A vegetable has a more interesting life."

  As far as Lyn was concerned, the life of a vegetable had certain appeal as well, but she didn't want to argue with him. So she commented instead, "It must be hard to raise an animal, grow attached to it, and then have to give it away."

  He shrugged. "Not really. They do their job, I do mine. As long as I've been in this business, if I let myself get all worked up every time I lost an animal I'd be a real mess by now."

  Casey was aware that that sounded a little cold, so he quickly changed the subject. "I get the impression pet sitting is not your usual line of work. Are you just helping Pat out part-time?"

  Lyn's lips tightened in a self-conscious smile. "Gee, what gave me away?" Then she answered, "I've been staying with Pat for a couple of weeks, and I knew how much she needed this vacation. So I volunteered to look after the business while she was gone." She couldn't prevent a regretful little sigh as she added, "It sounded like a good idea at the time."

  "So you're just visiting?"

  Casey's eyes were alert and interested, and Lyn felt slightly uncomfortable beneath his gaze. She wished she had thought to straighten her hair while she was out of the room feeding the animals, or at least checked a mirror to see if her face was clean.

  She pushed a frizzy tendril of hair behind her ear and answered, "I'm not really sure yet. I'm kind of on a leave of absence from my job in Philadelphia until I make up my mind what I want to do."r />
  Another man might have been disappointed, but Casey was oddly relieved. Another man probably wouldn't have tried so hard to convince himself he did not find her nearly as interesting as he did, but knowing that there was no chance she could become a permanent fixture in his life made everything much easier. Almost imperceptibly, he felt himself relax.

  "What did you do in Philadelphia?"

  She answered briefly, "I was a social worker."

  Perhaps it was the shortness of her reply that alerted him, or perhaps it was something on her face. His instincts for people were almost as sharp as they were for animals, and he knew there was more to the story than she was willing to tell. The quick clouding of pain in her gray eyes tugged at him, and there was something about the set of her mouth that seemed suddenly vulnerable. And he knew then that he did not want to know the rest of the story.

  Lyn recognized the quiet thoughtfulness of his gaze and she tensed for an onslaught of prying questions. But he surprised her by replying only, "I can understand why you left. Give me a cage full of wild animals over the human jungle any day. So where did Pat go?"

  The easy way in which he shifted the conversation to a more neutral subject was definitely a point in his favor as far as Lyn was concerned, and she was touched by his sensitivity. As a matter of fact, she decided there were quite a few things she liked about him—and still a great many she did not. He was arrogant and heavy-handed, supremely confident in himself and the rightness of his own thinking, and those were characteristics Lyn had never found admirable in anyone. On the other hand, he was good at light conversation and he didn't hold a grudge and he made her feel comfortable with him, which was no easy task. And he had the sexiest legs Lyn had seen on a man in a long time.

  They talked about inconsequentials while they finished eating, and when Casey emptied the beer can and tossed it across the room into the trash bin, Lyn said, "I really should call the auto club. It'll probably take them a while to get here and —"

  "Oh, I don't think there's any reason for that." He got up and opened a drawer, extracting a long flat tool of the kind used by professional locksmiths. "This should do the trick."

  "Let me guess," Lyn said. "You worked your way through animal training school by stealing cars."

  He grinned. "Nope. I just lose keys a lot."

  She laughed and followed him outside, discovering another thing she liked about him. She didn't think she'd ever met a man before who would admit to losing anything.

  It took Casey approximately three minutes to pop the lock on her car door. Lyn was surprised to feel a twinge of disappointment that the task was so easy, and that there was nothing left for her to do but go home. She turned to him with a smile. "Expertly done," she complimented him. "Thank you. And thank you for dinner."

  "Such as it was," he added with a grin. "No problem. I enjoyed your company."

  For some reason Lyn found that absurdly flattering. And because it was absurd, she added quickly, "I'm sorry I'm such a klutz. I know I've caused you a lot of trouble tonight. I'm usually not like this, honestly—losing cats and getting locked in closets and locking my keys in the car all in one evening. I don't know what's come over me lately. Just a run of bad luck, I guess.”

  In the light that filtered across the yard from the house, his smile was tender and amused. "I prefer to think of it as destiny. After all, if you hadn't had such a streak of bad luck, we never would have gotten to know each other."

  Lyn's pulse stuttered a little with pleasure. "If that's the case," she pointed out, "you manipulated destiny a little when you didn't tell Montana to open the closet."

  "So I did." In a playful, unexpected gesture, he reached forward and brushed the tip of her nose with his finger. "Are you sorry?"

  She didn't know how to respond to that. She wasn't even sure what the answer was. And, lacking a better alternative, she thrust out her hand with a bright smile and said, "Well, good night and thanks again. It's been a real—adventure, meeting you."

  He took her fingers in his, his grip warm and strong. There was a gentle twinkle in his eyes as he responded, "Good night, Lyn Sanders. I'll see you again."

  "Yes, of course." She withdrew her hand, not because she wanted to, but because the strength of his touch was doing unexpected things to her equilibrium. "Call us whenever you need us. I think I'm getting the hang of the job now, so you won't have to worry the next time you go away."

  He smiled as she retreated toward the car. "I'll call you," he promised.

  That sounded very much like the kind of promise a man made to a woman, not a client to a businessperson, but Lyn could have been mistaken. In fact, she decided on the drive home, she was sure she was mistaken. Casey Carmichael wasn't interested in her, and even if he was, she wasn't at all sure she approved of the idea. He might be sexy looking and even charming in an offhanded kind of way, but he certainly wasn't her usual type.

  As she showered and got ready to watch television in bed at nine o'clock, she reflected on what her usual type was, and it was a depressing composite. Grim, intense, always busy, perpetually dedicated to some higher purpose, not very well groomed and generally distracted... That was the kind of man she usually met in her profession, and that was the kind of man she found herself attracted to. And for a good reason, she realized now with an unpleasant start. The men she dated were always more or less a reflection of herself.

  Which was another reason a man like Casey Carmichael couldn't possibly be attracted to her, nor she to him. If he did call her, she wouldn't know what to say, and it would only be awkward and embarrassing. Not that it mattered. He would never call.

  **********

  Casey spent almost half an hour puzzling over the impulsive promise. He wasn't the kind of man who blithely promised a woman he would call her with no intention of doing so, just because he thought that was what she wanted to hear. But he was not going to call Lyn Sanders, and he couldn't understand why he had told her he would.

  Casey's relationships with members of the opposite sex were easy and carefree, inevitably self-limiting in nature. He gave little of himself and asked even less In return. Above all, he always made certain there was no possibility anything serious could develop, and at the first sign of anything resembling a genuine involvement he backed quietly and politely away. The women he dated understood that, and expected no more of him than he did of them. Relationships should be purely recreational; they should be fun. Anything beyond that was more than he could afford to invest.

  Lyn Sanders was a woman who needed to have fun. She had been hurt; he didn't know how or why but he could see barely healed wounds and it was not in his nature to ignore them. She needed a friend. She needed to be challenged, she needed to be busy, she needed to laugh and work and be involved. She needed to start living, for Pete's sake.

  And was any of that Casey's responsibility? Of course not. He had learned long ago that he couldn't bring home every stray on the streets, he couldn't mend every broken wing or fill every malnourished belly and if he let himself be consumed by guilt over every needy creature he had to turn away he would have nothing left over for the ones he could save. So he learned to harden his heart, and blind his eyes to the things he couldn't do anything about. It was called being grown-up.

  Of course, sometimes he still slipped....

  But not with Lyn Sanders. She was not a stray puppy or a wounded kitten and she needed more than a little first aid and a sense of security. He was very much afraid that she needed more than he could afford to give.

  Thus resolved, he made his routine night check of the kennel and the livestock, and turned the cats out into the living room to play. He hated to leave them penned up all day; it wasn't good for his regimen or theirs. He would have to double up on the dogs' exercise tomorrow, and the horses were overdue for a good, hard run. He hoped that his kennel boy recovered from whatever he had and got back to work quickly. This was really a two-man operation.

  He tossed balls and dangled stri
ngs for the cats, chuckling at their antics, and when they had worn down some of their nervous energy he started putting a few of them through their routines. But he couldn't concentrate. He kept seeing the shadows of pain in Lyn Sanders's eyes, the vulnerable curve of her mouth. He kept hearing her laugh, and remembering what a nice contrast that was to the uncertainty he saw in her smile at other times.

  He liked it when her temper flared. He liked the way she looked him in the eyes and told him what she thought. He didn't like it when she backed away. He didn't like to think of her spending her days all alone in her sister's house, trying to think of new and improved ways to do nothing.

  Not that it was any of his business. Not that he cared.

  On the other hand, she was only going to be here for a short while. What would it hurt to invite her to spend some of that time with him? They could have fun together, get to know each other better.

  After a moment he got up and idly flipped through his Rolodex until he found the Pet Pride card. He looked at it for a moment, then closed the Rolodex.

  Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to call.

  ************

  The phone began to ring at a quarter to eight. Lyn groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. She had an hour before she had to get up to feed the Greshams' cats, and she couldn't think of a single person she wanted to talk to at this hour of the day.

  The ringing went on and on, and she burrowed deeper under the pillow, determined to ignore it. Except that it could be Pat. Or, heaven forbid, a client. She cursed herself for not putting the answering machine on last night and at last reached over and fumbled for the phone on the nightstand. She dropped the receiver on the floor with a thud, and had to pull it over the side of the bed by the cord. She hoped that by that time the party on the other end would have hung up, but no such luck. An unforgivably cheerful male voice responded to her muffled, "Hello."