“Speaking of pieces of work,” he said, turning onto the road and talking as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “How about that Catherine Gardner? Is she hot or what? God. I’ve known her for a while and she never gets any less sexy.”
Emily stared at him in disbelief while trying to ignore the snarl of possessive anger that was building in the pit of her stomach.
“I mean, she’s kind of cold, doesn’t smile much. She’s always so serious. But, man.” Clark glanced at her, then laughed. “Please. Don’t try to tell me you didn’t notice because I know you did.”
She made a “that’s ridiculous” expression at him and was immediately aware that she may have overdone it.
“Please,” he said again. “I know the face you make when you find a girl hot.”
“You do not,” she retorted, but it lacked conviction because she knew he was right.
“Yeah, okay,” he said with a snort. “Hey, wanna race?”
Emily turned a confused face on him. “What? To where?”
“To a bed, of course. Let’s see which one of us can tap the lovely Ms. Gardner first. Wanna?”
“Seriously, Clark, you sound twelve. And like a pig.”
“You’re just afraid I’ll win.”
Emily thought back to Saturday, to the smiles and the eye contact and the conversation she’d received from Catherine. She felt a corner of her mouth tug up in a tiny grin. No, Clark wouldn’t win. She was reasonably sure of that.
“I haven’t really made a serious effort to ask her out,” Clark said, interrupting her train of thought. “But now that I’m not her contact for the Foundation, it would probably be okay.”
Emily shook her head, unable to believe the depth of her disbelief. “You’re an idiot.” It was all she could think of to say. “You’re my brother and I love you. But you’re a freaking idiot.”
“You say that now. Let’s see what you say when I win. What do you say? A hundred bucks?”
“I am not taking your ridiculous, unprofessional, sexist bet, Clark, and this is not a romantic comedy. Forget it.”
“Chicken. You know you’ll lose.”
He gave a chuckle, and for a moment, Emily was ten years old again, wanting to hang out with her big brother and his friends, only to have them call her names and pick on her, as thirteen-year-old boys tend to do to their little sisters. She shook her head in a combination of frustration, disgust, and disbelief. Gazing out the window as they headed away from Junebug Farms, Emily allowed her thoughts to turn to Wednesday—when she would be alone with Catherine Gardner. It was business, she knew. The last thing she wanted to do was act like her brother.
That being said, she’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again.
CHAPTER THREE
JESSICA BARSTOW RAPPED HER knuckles gently against the doorjamb of Catherine’s small office.
Catherine looked up from her desk, over the top of her glasses. “Hey. Come on in.” She pulled the glasses off and focused on Jessica. “What’s up?”
Jessica stepped toward the two chairs positioned in front of the desk. The room was small, but neat and tidy, tasteful despite the unglamorous cinder block walls and public school-like furniture. Catherine knew how to make just about anything look good, and her office was no exception. Three thick, green houseplants flourished in different corners and added a lushness to the atmosphere. An abstract painting in warm, earthy tones of sage green and rust orange hung on one wall. A soft, oval area rug in burgundies and greens tempered the coldness of the linoleum floor. Jessica, amazed as always by Catherine’s ability to look like the most put-together thing in any room, no matter how nice the room was, took a seat.
“What did you think?” Jessica asked. She and Catherine had known each other long enough that she didn’t need to clarify.
Catherine set her glasses on the desk and sat back in her chair. “I think the Breckenridge Foundation finally got enough complaints about Clark that they decided they needed to do something about it.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Jessica crossed her legs, made herself comfortable. “I noticed they never said that. I wonder what other organizations have become part of the ‘restructuring.’” She made air quotes.
“I guess it depends on how many complaints they got. Honestly, the man makes my skin crawl.”
Jessica didn’t hide her surprise. “He does? I mean, I feel the same way, but you always seem so comfortable and friendly around him. I’d never know you didn’t like him.”
“He disgusts me.” Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t openly hit on me yet. He’s stayed pretty subtle about it up to this point, complimenting my skirt or telling me I smell good. That’s fine for a friend. Not for a business colleague.” She gave a visible shudder.
“And what did you think of the sister?”
Catherine gave a shrug.
“Have you two met?”
“Yeah.” Catherine blew out an annoyed breath. “I waited on her and her date Saturday night.”
“Ah, that explains it.” At Catherine’s raised eyebrows, she went on. “The stutter step at the door. You recognized her. She obviously recognized you as well. And seemed happy about it.” Jessica winked, taking some of the seriousness out of the exchange. It wasn’t a secret that Catherine worked a second job, but she was sometimes self-conscious about it.
With a chuckle, Catherine said, “Well, I give good service. What can I say?”
“She pings my gaydar.”
Catherine grinned. “Her date Saturday was a woman, so…”
“Yeah? Well, she’s cute.”
“I wonder if she knows exactly why the family is pulling Clark.” Catherine neatly avoided Jessica’s comment, which Jessica noticed, but let slide.
“I would think it’d be hard for her not to know, but…” Jessica let the sentence dangle.
“She may not be any better than he is.”
“What do you mean?”
“When she was at dinner on Saturday, all she did was ogle me. She barely paid any attention to her date. I mean, she didn’t openly flirt with me, but…” Catherine shrugged. “Maybe being a letch runs in the family?”
“I suppose it’s possible. Let’s hope not.” Jessica sat forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. “What was her date like?”
Catherine shook her head with a grin. “No idea. She never looked at me once.”
Jessica made a face, because in her book, anybody who didn’t look at Catherine was an idiot. “Really?”
“Really. Not once.”
Before they could delve into the subject further, there was a racket outside the door. A shout. Two. Something crashed to the floor. Jessica turned around in her chair just in time to see something on four legs fly through the door, across the floor, and around Catherine’s desk to stop underneath. All she could honestly say was that it was brown and white, and considering where they were, she’d guess it was probably a dog. With a squeak of wet shoes on the linoleum, a body burst into the room and stopped short just inside the door.
Ashley Stiles was a volunteer at Junebug Farms, one of their best. Jessica liked her very much. She stood still, her chest heaving as she sucked in air. Dropping her hands to her knees, she said, “I am so sorry!”
Catherine bent over the arm of her chair to peek under her desk. Jessica watched the soft smile play at the corners of her mouth as she spoke to the animal. “Well, hello there. Whatcha doin’ under there? Hmm?” Catherine bent further, then came back up with the end of a red leash in her hand.
“I’m so sorry,” Ashley said again, obviously embarrassed as she crossed the room and took the leash from Catherine. “He’s so fast. And smart. He lulls me into a false sense of security, and when I loosen my grip, bam! He’s gone like a shot.” She shook her head. “He’s gotten me twice now. He needs an escape artist name. Houdini or something.” She gave a gentle tug and the dog came out from under the desk, giving Jes
sica and Catherine their first good look at him.
His fur was mostly white and wiry, with brown spots on his rump, the middle of his back, over one eye like a patch, and on the tip of one perky ear. Jessica knew dog breeds well, and this one was obviously part terrier of some kind: Jack Russell (but bigger)? Fox terrier (but squattier)? Something along those lines. He was smallish—maybe twenty to twenty-five pounds, but scrawny and definitely in need of some nourishment. His white legs were brown with mud up to his little dog knees and something occurred to Jessica.
“Were you outside when he got away from you?”
Ashley grimaced. “Yeah.”
“And he ran….into the building?”
Ashley gave a nod. “Somebody was coming in the front door, and the little stinker timed it just right, scooted through right between the poor woman’s feet.”
A slight exhale of a laugh escaped Jessica’s lips. “Interesting that he didn’t run toward the woods or the road or the goat pen or something.”
“He likes this office, I think,” Ashley said, her eyes catching Catherine’s. “Last time he got away from me we were inside and he ran here, too.”
“You got some bacon hidden in your desk?” Jessica asked Catherine.
“Sadly, no,” was her reply. She held the dog’s gaze.
Jessica watched, amused.
“Come on, you,” Ashley said, giving another tug on the leash. The dog followed, but his eyes stayed on Catherine as long as possible. “I’m really sorry,” Ashley repeated.
Catherine shrugged and smiled softly. “It’s no problem.” She watched them go.
Jessica smiled and stood. “Okay. I’ve got work to do. Just wanted to get your take on the Breckenridge siblings.”
“If nothing else,” Catherine said, sliding her glasses back onto her face, “it’ll be interesting.” She lifted her shoulders in a long shrug.
“It will.” Jessica left the office and headed down the hall. She waved to David Peters, head of fundraising, who sat in his own office and spoke into his phone as he lifted a hand to her. The hallway spilled her out into the open lobby, and she took a moment to just stand there and gaze.
It was busy. And loud. As it always was. The barking was pretty much nonstop. Combine that with whining, howling, meowing, the hum of conversation, and ringing telephone lines, it made for a fairly hectic environment until you got used to it.
To her left was the information desk, three volunteers working feverishly behind it, answering phones, filing papers, tapping the computer keyboards, directing visitors to the right places. To her right was the Wall of Cats, a giant Brady Bunch-like checkerboard of windows that showed most of the cats Junebug Farms had for adoption, and a few people stood in front of it, cooing and making faces at the various felines. Next to that wall was a set of double doors that led to the dog wing, a long, long aisle with kennels on each side, an adoptable dog in almost every one of them. That was too many, and Jessica knew it. They were going to have to step up their efforts. Good thing there was a big fundraiser this weekend.
Jessica let herself lean back against the wall and just take it all in. Her grandmother had loved this place, had dumped her heart and soul into it, and Jessica was pretty sure she’d be proud of the things her granddaughter had done to keep it running. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was downright stressful the majority of the time. But Jessica loved animals, she loved Junebug Farms, and she loved that she was in a position to help.
As she grinned and nodded to herself, Regina from behind the desk called her name.
“Ms. Barstow?” She pointed at the receiver. “You have a call?”
Pushing herself off the wall, Jessica smiled. “Give me two minutes, then send it to my desk.”
Heading to her own office, she couldn’t help the surge of pride the puffed up her chest. Junebug Farms wasn’t easy to run, but she managed, and she managed well.
I’ve done good, Grandma. I wish you were here to see it.
***
Catherine sat in her office, nibbling on the earpiece of her glasses, and gazing out the window at the gray fall day. It had started slightly sunny, but thick clouds had moved in and now it was overcast and just…depressing. Like her mood suddenly.
It was because of Pablo. She did okay when she wasn’t thinking about him, but having that little dog run to her the way he had only served to remind her how lost she was without Pablo. The wound was healing, had scabbed over, but that little dog made her think of him, which was like picking at it and now it was bleeding again.
She’d known immediately upon meeting Pablo, who was a three-year-old German shepherd mix of some sort, that they were destined for each other. Catherine had heard stories more times than she could count about people “just knowing.” She always thought it was bullshit.
Then she’d met Pablo.
His brown eyes were astonishingly soulful, and when he looked into hers that first time, she would swear on any God you named that she saw something almost human there. His owners had a new baby and no time for him, so they’d surrendered him to Junebug. Catherine had gone to Jessica immediately and staked her claim. There’d never been a question, and they’d spent ten beautiful years together until old age had taken him almost three months ago. She was with him for his last breath, and though it just about wrecked her, sent her to bed for nearly a week, she wouldn’t trade her time with him for anything.
Maybe it’s time…
The thought scratched at her brain. Catherine blew out a breath as she watched the birds in the feeder outside her window scrabbling for seed. “I don’t know…” she whispered.
“What don’t you know?”
Startled, she looked up to see Anna St. John standing in her doorway, and did her best to stifle the groan of irritation she felt build in her chest. “Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile. “What’s up?”
At five foot one, Anna was a petite woman. People often referred to her as “cute” —which she despised—and it was an apt description. Her blond hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail more often than not, her wispy bangs brushing her forehead. Her brown eyes were slightly too big for her head, giving her a bit of a doll-like appearance. She had a kind heart, a smart intellect, and a wicked temper, the receiving end of which Catherine had been on for the better part of the past four months.
That’s what I get for hooking up with somebody at work.
“Your floor’s all muddy,” Anna said as her eyes moved from the doorway and along the path to the chair where Jessica had sat not long ago.
“Oh. Right. I need to call Bill.” Catherine picked up the handset on her phone and dialed the number of the front desk. Much to her dismay, Anna took a seat. “Hi, Regina. Next time you see Bill, could you ask him to come to my office with a mop? I’ve got a muddy floor.” She thanked the woman and hung up. Turning back to Anna, she folded her hands on her desk, pasted on a soft smile, and waited, steeling herself for whatever was to come. Because lately, it was always something she needed to brace for.
Today was not the exception.
“How are you?” Anna asked in the small voice she used when she was trying to soften Catherine up.
“I’m fine.” A beat of silence passed, one during which Anna was waiting for Catherine to ask her the same question. Which Catherine would not do because that was engaging, and engaging meant the beginning of what would inevitably be an emotional, uncomfortable conversation. It seemed over the past weeks, Catherine spent the majority of her time trying to avoid those types of connections with Anna. Her success, sadly, was hit or miss.
“I talked to my mom last night.”
Shit. Anna was no dummy. Playing the mom card was low because she knew how much Catherine liked her mother and she knew Catherine couldn’t not ask about her. Swallowing a sigh, she did just that. “How is she?”
“She’s okay. Getting excited for the upcoming holidays. You know how she is.”
Catherine nodded.
“She invited
you to come for Thanksgiving.”
And there it was. Catherine knew there was going to be a hook and she briefly congratulated herself for pegging that fact. Now, however, she was walking in a minefield and it didn’t matter how carefully she stepped. There would be an explosion.
“Anna.” Catherine breathed in slowly, then let it out at the same speed. “You know I can’t go to your mother’s for Thanksgiving.”
A current of anger flashed across Anna’s brown eyes. “Why not?” The question was short, the words clipped.
“You know why not,” Catherine said, her frustration growing despite her attempts to keep it tamped down. “We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for nearly four months.”
“Yes, I know exactly how long it’s been, thank you very much. I don’t need you to tell me.”
Catherine pressed her lips together, carefully searching for words. The right words. Problem was, none of them were right. They never would be to Anna. “I appreciate the invitation, but I have to decline.”
“I have to decline,” Anna sneered, mocking her. “You don’t have to get all snob on me.”
“I’m not being a snob,” Catherine said quietly.
“Fine. It’s fine.” Anna stood. “I’ll just tell my mother that you’re too good to come to Thanksgiving dinner at her place. That won’t crush her. No problem. I got this.” With that, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the office, almost running into Bill Tracey as he pushed a bucket and mop down the hallway.
“Whoa,” he said, flattening himself against the wall as the little blonde whirlwind blew past him. He stood there, shaking his head slowly back and forth as he watched Anna exit down the hall. Turning to Catherine, he said from just outside the doorway, “That woman has a heck of a temper. Remind me never to get on her bad side.”
“Please,” Catherine said with a scoff, sliding her glasses back onto her face. “I live on her bad side. I run the place.” Refocusing her attention on the screen of numbers in front of her, she absently hoped the conversation with Anna meant she wouldn’t have to have another one for a while.
Run To You (Puppy Love Romance Book 2) Page 3