Cowboy Take Me Away

by Jane Graves

  At exactly seven o’clock, Luke was relieved to see Tasha come through the door. In a ridiculous statement of fashion gone wild, she carried a huge orange handbag with designer crap all over it.

  Perfect.

  “Tasha, meet Ginger,” Luke said. “Ginger, this is Tasha. She’s going to be taking you home today.”

  “Now, wait just a minute,” Tasha said, looking warily at the dog. “I told you I’m not a dog person. I’ve never had a dog before, and I really don’t want—”

  “But this is not your average dog. She’s very smart.”

  “That’s fine. But—”

  “She’s friendly, and she barely sheds at all.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “She’s housebroken. Spayed. Has all her shots.”

  “But I told you I don’t want—”

  “And Paris Hilton has a dog just like her.”

  Tasha froze, her already-wide eyes springing open even wider. “Paris? My God, that’s right. She does have a dog.”

  “Lots of them, actually. Tiny little dogs. All super-rich heiresses have them. Well, not all of them. Only the ones with fashion sense. And there’s no more perfect fashion accessory than a cute little dog. Check this out.”

  Luke pulled Tasha’s bag off her shoulder, opened it, and slid Ginger right down inside it with her little bug-eyed head poking out. He handed it back to Tasha. Ginger looked up at her as if she’d found her new home. Tasha stared down at Ginger as if to say, There’s a dog in my gazillion-dollar handbag.

  “Picture yourself walking down Rainbow Way with her head sticking up out of your handbag,” Luke said. “Tourists will swear they’re on Rodeo Drive. If Paris came along, she’d think she was looking in a mirror.”

  Tasha looked undecided, and Luke was afraid he’d laid it on a little thick. Then she put her bag over her shoulder to try it out. Ginger looked up at her with a little doggy whimper. Tasha patted her on the head, and Ginger panted happily.

  “The adoption fee is only fifty dollars,” Luke said.

  “Fifty dollars?”

  Luke waved his hand. “That’s nothing. You spent way more than a paltry fifty bucks for that purse you’re carrying.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s Prada.”

  “Of course it is. You’re on the cutting edge of fashion around here. Would your clients expect you to carry anything less? And they would also expect you to have exactly this kind of dog. It’s part of your persona.”

  “My persona,” Tasha said, trying out the words. She clearly liked the sound of them.

  Luke pulled the dog out of Tasha’s handbag, told Tasha to sit, and put Ginger in her lap. Tasha petted her tentatively, but there was nothing tentative about the way Ginger circled around twice and plopped herself down in Tasha’s lap. She stroked the dog’s head, and Ginger looked up at her adoringly with those big Chihuahua eyes.

  “Hmm,” Tasha said. “She is kinda cute. I never really thought about having a dog, but maybe…”

  “There’s no maybe about it,” Luke said. “You’ll love her.”

  “Do you think she’d like it at my shop? Some of my clients are kinda grumpy.”

  “They won’t be after they meet Ginger.” And with all that attention, she might think twice about ripping up a waiting room chair.

  “I’m not really sure how to take care of a dog. If I’m going to do it, I have to do it right.”

  “A little dog like Ginger is no trouble at all. I’ll fill you in on all of that.”

  Luke kept quiet, waiting as the two of them bonded, and soon Tasha’s unsure expression was replaced by a decisive one.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to adopt her. But mostly because it’s good for my business. You were right. This is Rainbow Valley. People expect it.”

  But judging from the way she was smiling down at Ginger, Luke knew it was only a matter of time before she figured out the truth. Ginger might be good for Tasha’s business, but she was going to be even better for Tasha herself.

  Luke dug through Freddie Jo’s desk drawer and grabbed all the appropriate forms for the adoption. After he explained the forms to Tasha, she filled them out. He gave her an information sheet and talked to her about how to care for her new dog. He collected fifty bucks, then clipped a leash onto Ginger’s collar. When Tasha stood up, the dog put her front paws on her leg and let out a little yap.

  “She’s telling you she wants to go home,” Luke said.

  “Is he right, sweetie?” Tasha said, smiling down at the dog. “Do you want to go home? Huh?”

  Baby talk already. A very good sign.

  He escorted them to the door, and Ginger trotted alongside Tasha as if they belonged together.

  “Hold on,” Luke said. “One more thing.” He grabbed the camera from the credenza behind Freddie Jo’s desk.

  “Wait.” Tasha scooped Ginger up and put her into her handbag, then struck a pouty Paris Hilton pose.

  Luke clicked. “Perfect.”

  A few moments later, he closed the door behind them and breathed a sigh of relief. He uploaded the photo, then grabbed photo paper to print it. As he tacked it to the Wall, he thought maybe he’d done a pretty good day’s work. Thank God he’d caught TMZ a couple of times over the years so he could spout all that Paris Hilton crap. And thank God it had kept Tasha interested long enough to decide she wanted to adopt Ginger.

  Even better, Shannon was going to be thrilled.

  “What the hell have you done?”

  Luke stopped sifting poop from one of the cat boxes and looked over his shoulder. Shannon had just come into the cat cottage, and she didn’t look happy. In fact, she looked downright pissed.

  “What do you mean, what the hell have I done?”

  Shannon shoved the photo he’d taken of Ginger and Tasha in front of him. “I’m talking about this.”

  “You’re mad that Tasha adopted a dog?”

  “Yes! It’s a disaster in the making!”

  Luke tossed the poop scooper aside. “Yeah? Why is that?”

  “Because she told me Paris Hilton would love her. If that’s the only reason she got a dog, it’ll never work out.”

  “Yeah? I heard Paris built a house for her dogs that cost three hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Don’t you wish you lived that well?”

  “How do you know Tasha will take care of Ginger the way she’s supposed to?”

  “Tasha runs her own business. I’d say that makes her a responsible person. And she’s a friend of yours. If she doesn’t treat Ginger right, you’ll be all over her.”

  “But what if she weren’t a friend of mine? You have to emphasize how much responsibility a pet is. Did you tell her that?”

  “Seems obvious to me.”

  “But it’s not obvious to a lot of people. They get all caught up in the fun of adopting a pet. Then they sour on the responsibility of having one. And then the pet becomes a burden instead of a member of the family. And people need to know that if for some reason they can’t take care of them, they must bring them back. Did you have her sign the paperwork that obligates her to that?”

  “She signed all the forms.”

  “But did you emphasize it?”

  “She read them and signed them. What else was I supposed to do? Get a megaphone and shout it at her? I did get the fifty-dollar adoption fee.”

  “This is about more than collecting money and moving animals. They’re not inanimate objects.”

  “But they’re also not permanent residents. Not supposed to be, anyway.”

  “We’re not trafficking in purse dogs.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe that’s why you have so many animals around here. By the time you get finished with people, they’re not sure they even want to adopt a pet.”

  “It’s my job to make sure they know what they’re getting into.”

  “So go talk to Tasha.”

  “Right. After you let her adopt a dog, I’m supposed to drop by and say, ‘Hey, I’m not sure you’re responsible
enough to keep her’?”

  “Look. Ginger needs attention all day long or she barks her head off, which means she’ll be perfect as a shop dog. Tasha needed a reason to make the leap and get a dog, so I gave her one. All that Paris Hilton crap will go by the wayside in no time. The dog has a home. Isn’t that what you’re after?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m after. But if it works out, it doesn’t mean you knew what you were doing. It just means you lucked out. On top of everything, Tasha lives right above me. When Ginger starts in with the barking, guess who’s going to have to listen to it?”

  “Well, I’m sorry it wasn’t a perfect match.” He walked over slowly and stopped in front of her. “I’d have found a different home for her, but Mother Teresa wasn’t available.”

  Shannon drew back, her face all tight and angry, but he really didn’t give a damn. He knocked himself out to do something good around there, and this was what he got?

  “From now on,” she said, “just do what you were hired to do and leave the adoptions to the rest of us. Do you understand?”

  There was a long pause, and when he spoke again, he made sure he put a few icicles on his words. “Yes, ma’am. I understand completely.”

  Instead of walking away, though, he simply folded his arms and held his ground because he knew it pissed her off. Finally she turned around with a huff and strode out of the cat cottage, leaving Luke standing there doing a little fuming himself. It was a shame so many animals were going to get stuck there because a good home wasn’t good enough, but what could he do? The boss had spoken. In her grating, frustrating, irrational way, she had spoken.

  And he’d be damned if he’d try to help her again.

  Chapter 12

  Shannon was still irritated that evening when she headed across the hall to Rita’s apartment. She hoped Luke had taken her seriously when she’d told him to leave the adoptions to the rest of them, but with him there was no way to tell. And that—that right there—was what made him so impossible to deal with.

  When Rita answered the door, Shannon saw a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table and Ollie sitting on the arm of Rita’s recliner. With his paws tucked under him and his eyes at half-mast, he looked perfectly happy as an only cat. After Rita’s two dogs had passed on a few years ago soon after her stroke, she decided feeding and cleaning up after a single cat was about all she could handle.

  Shannon didn’t watch much TV, but Rita had hooked her on Dancing with the Stars. Shannon had a tremendous amount of respect for bad dancers who worked hard to get better and then were willing to potentially embarrass themselves in front of millions of people.

  Then Shannon looked at the TV. Instead of a picture, there was nothing but a blank screen with a bunch of funny numbers and letters going down one side.

  “Uh-oh,” Shannon said. “What’s with the TV?”

  “I don’t know,” Rita said. “The remote’s messed up. Or the TV’s messed up. Or somebody shot a satellite out of the sky. Hell, I don’t know. But that,” she said, pointing at the screen, “is all I can get.”

  Shannon reached for the remote. “Let me try.”

  She poked around on it. After a few stabs, the funny numbers and letters disappeared, but now all they had was a blank screen.

  “Well, that helped,” Rita said.

  “We have to fix it. We cannot watch this episode on my crummy thirty-two-inch TV.”

  Shannon heard a knock at the door. “Who’s that?”

  “Somebody who’s going to fix it, I hope.”

  “Thank God.”

  Rita opened the door, and Luke walked in.

  Luke?

  He stopped short when he saw Shannon, then turned to Rita. “What’s she doing here?”

  Shannon sat up straight. “Excuse me? What am I doing here? What are you doing here?

  “I got a nine-one-one call from Rita. She said it was a matter of life and death.” His gaze fanned across the room. “Ah. There’s the patient.”

  Luke walked over to the TV. Picked up the remote. He poked at it for approximately fifteen seconds, and the picture popped up.

  “How did you do that?” Shannon said.

  “I’m a man.” He handed the remote back to Rita, eyeing the TV like a starving dog checking out a T-bone steak. “Nice looking TV you’ve got there, Ms. Kaufman.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “What is that? A sixty-inch?”

  “You have a sharp eye.”

  “LCD?”

  “Yes.”

  “HD, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t believe I’ve ever seen a picture that clear. Shannon? Have you ever seen a picture that clear?”

  Go home, Luke. Go home right now.

  “And Dolby sound,” Luke said. “Of course it has Dolby sound.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know about that,” Rita said.

  “How about picture-in-picture? There’s nothing better than watching two channels at once, particularly when—”

  “Okay!” Shannon said. “Enough! Luke has no TV at the shelter, so he’s going through TV withdrawal. That’s why he can’t stop yapping about it.”

  “Luke?” Rita said. “Would you like to stay and watch TV with us?”

  Luke said yes at the same time Shannon said no. They turned and glared at each other.

  “Is there a problem here?” Rita said.

  “Shannon’s mad at me,” Luke said.

  “I’m not mad at you,” Shannon said, even though she was. But the way Luke said it made her sound petty. Which she wasn’t.

  “You did a pretty good imitation of it this morning.”

  “I said I’m not mad at you!”

  “Great! So you won’t mind if I hang around and watch TV?”

  Shannon twisted her mouth with irritation.

  “After all, he did fix it,” Rita said.

  “He punched three buttons!”

  “It’s not the button punching,” Luke said, plopping himself onto the sofa next to Shannon. “It’s knowing which buttons to punch.”

  “You told me you didn’t care about having a TV,” Shannon said.

  “I lied.” He rubbed his hands together with anticipation. “So what are we watching?”

  “Dancing with the Stars,” Shannon said.

  Luke’s face fell, and the hand rubbing ceased. “Oh.”

  “The competition’s really heating up,” Rita said.

  He leaned against the back of the sofa and folded his arms. “Dancing with the Stars? Isn’t that the show where a bunch of over-the-hill D-list celebrities make idiots of themselves by trying to dance when they can barely put one foot in front of the other?”

  “Stop being judgmental,” Shannon said. “You like to dance.”

  “Yeah, but do I wear dumb costumes when I do it?”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “Can this beggar at least make a suggestion?”

  “Of course,” Rita said.

  “Well, there’s a Rangers game on…”

  Both women gave him deadpan looks.

  “Which it appears we will not be watching,” Luke muttered.

  “Have a cookie?” Shannon said sweetly.

  Luke shot her a dirty look. Evidently the cookies had no appeal when he didn’t get a side of a baseball to go with them. As the first couple began to dance, he made a face. “That guy’s pants are stupid. Gold? With sparkles? Seriously?”

  “It’s ballroom dancing,” Shannon said. “What do you think they’re going to wear? Chaps?”

  “That’d be a big improvement,” Luke said, then tilted his head. “Good Lord. That woman is going to lose that dress if she’s not careful. Not that I mind naked women, but it is national television.”

  “Be quiet,” Shannon said.

  “They’re terrible dancers,” Luke said. “At least the guy is.”

  “That’s because he’s the celebrity. Now, will you hush?”

  “H
a! Look at that. He almost fell. Sure this isn’t Dancing with the Physically Challenged?”

  “Okay, that’s it,” Shannon said. She reached for the remote, paused the program, then grabbed her keys from her purse and tossed them to Luke. “Go watch the game in my apartment. It’s right across the hall. Stay out of the refrigerator. And don’t do a lot of banging around and scare Goliath.”

  Luke rose so fast Shannon swore a spring came loose underneath the sofa cushion and vaulted him to his feet.

  “It’s only a thirty-two-inch screen,” Shannon said over her shoulder.

  “Thirty two inches of baseball beats sixty inches of this,” Luke said, and disappeared out the door.

  Shannon turned to Rita. “And men swear size doesn’t matter.”

  Rita just smiled.

  “Why did you ask him to stay?” Shannon said.

  “I told you. He fixed the TV.”

  “Why did you call him in the first place?”

  “Because most of the men I know are my age. The only electronics they know anything about are transistor radios. So why are you mad at him?”

  Shannon turned away. “I’m not mad at him. Didn’t I say that?”

  Rita shook her head sadly. “Good Lord. It’s as if eleven years never passed. When are you two ever going to get on the same page?”

  Never. Not as long as he persisted in acting so flippant about getting the animals adopted. He was out of there soon, so of course he didn’t care if whatever he did in the meantime backfired.

  Shannon reached for the remote to start the program again, only to hear a knock. Rita rose, grabbed her cane, and hobbled to the door. A few seconds later, Tasha came into the living room, and she was carrying Ginger.

  “Hi, Shannon! I came by so Rita could meet my new dog.”

  “And isn’t she just a doll?” Rita said, giving Ginger a little scratch behind her ears.

  “My clients went crazy for her,” Tasha said. “She just loves the attention.”

  All at once, Ginger caught sight of Ollie on the arm of Rita’s chair. She came to attention and let out a flurry of little doggy barks.