Star Bright

by Catherine Anderson

  First thing the next morning, Parker rode his Yamaha four-wheeler over to Samantha’s place to help her wrap and plaster the leg of a lame horse. Tucker had early calls that morning and couldn’t be there to do it. After learning that Samantha hadn’t yet made an appearance at the stable, Parker strode over to the house, worried that she might be sick. It wasn’t like Sam to lollygag and show up at the stable late.

  Opening the door without knocking, he stepped into the entry and hollered, “Yo! Is anybody home?”

  “In here!” Samantha called from the kitchen, and then Parker could have sworn he heard her curse.

  That was definitely an anomaly. Sam abhorred bad language and never missed an opportunity to scold her brothers when they transgressed. Parker shuffled his boots back and forth on the rug before stepping onto the gleaming hardwood floor. As he hung a right through the kitchen archway, he burst out laughing. The entire floor of the room was crawling with black, waddling fur balls.

  “Hey, sis, how’s married life treatin’ you?” he couldn’t resist asking.

  “Oh, shut up,” she retorted, grabbing for a puppy and missing her mark.

  Growing up, Samantha had never been much of a dog person. That had all changed when she met her husband, Tucker, and his sidekick, Max, a male rottweiler that had stolen her heart. Now, a year and a half into the marriage, she’d also become the proud owner of Roxie, a female rottweiler Tucker had rescued from euthanasia when the dog’s owners had been moving to the city. Problem: Tucker had overlooked one minor detail when he initially examined Roxie. The dog, bred to another pedigreed rottweiler by her owners, had been in the early stages of gestation. Parker still grinned when he recalled the family dinner debate that had taken place when Roxie’s condition became apparent. The final vote had been five to four in favor of spaying the dog and ending the pregnancy. In the end, however, Tucker’s vote had carried the day because he would be wielding the scalpel, and he held to the unpopular professional opinion that spaying and neutering were detrimental to canine health. He also maintained that aborting a pregnancy could cause a female rottweiler to develop uterine problems that could be deadly.

  Five weeks later, Roxie had proudly presented her new owners with eight bundles of joy. At first, it hadn’t been that big a deal, but now the bundles had developed functional legs and were escaping from the plastic kiddie pool that had served as their holding area since birth.

  “Damn, Sam.” Parker rested a shoulder against the frame of the archway. “This is so entertainin’, I could sell tickets.”

  “I do not need to hear any smart-ass comments right at the moment!” Samantha continued collecting puppies and returning them to the pool, but the moment she turned her back, they tumbled out again. “If you were any kind of brother, you’d help me.”

  “To what end? They just keep gettin’ loose.”

  Bent at the waist, Samantha glanced up, her brown eyes snapping. After puffing at a wayward strand of curly black hair that dangled over her pretty face, she stuck her tongue out at him. “And your point is?”

  “That it’s an effort in futility. You need higher walls to keep ’em in.” Parker glanced into the enclosure where Roxie and Max, surrogate father to the brood, snoozed obliviously. Raising octuplets was clearly an exhausting endeavor. “You need a bigger pool, too. As the puppies grow, it’s gonna get crowded in there.”

  Max stirred awake and emitted a sleepy woof at Parker. A good watchdog had a duty to perform, and the male rottweiler apparently didn’t want to be caught sleeping on the job.

  “Don’t bark at me, you good-for-nothin’ mongrel,” Parker said as he waded into the fray to help his sister. “You know very well who I am.” To Samantha, he said, “Seems odd to me that the scalpel man is conveniently absent when all hell is breakin’ loose.”

  “I told you he had early calls. He’s a vet, remember.”

  “You’d defend him no matter what.” In truth, Parker liked his brother-in-law and was tickled pink to see his sister so happy. He just couldn’t resist teasing Sam about loving the guy so much.

  “Of course I’d defend him. He’s my husband.”

  Samantha had not held her first husband in such high regard, but that was a closed chapter of her life and best not mentioned. Parker still saw red when he thought about her ex, and he probably always would.

  She straightened with three squirming puppies in her arms. “And this wasn’t happening before he left. It only started about thirty minutes ago. One puppy accidentally rolled over the edge, and then, in a blink, they were all going for it.” She glanced at her spotless floor. “What’ll I do? They’ll poop and pee everywhere.”

  “That’s the name of the game with a litter of puppies. Why don’t you move ’em to an outbuildin’?”

  “I can’t do that. Roxie is part of our family now. It’d hurt her feelings.”

  “She’s only a dog, Sam. They don’t internalize stuff the same way we do.”

  “I’ll remind you of that the next time one of your mares drops a foal.”

  She had him there. After one of Parker’s mares had a foal, he slept in the birthing stall, sometimes two nights running. “Horses are different,” he said, even though he didn’t truly believe that. “They’re smarter.”

  “That is so not true, and you know it.”

  Parker returned two escapees to their bed. “How about buildin’ a barricade to corral ’em?”

  “With what?”

  He surveyed the room. “I could find two wide boards to block both archways. We can cover the floor with newspapers. One nice thing about tile is that it’s washable. Won’t be the end of the world if puppy piss leaks through.”

  Samantha nodded. Then she smiled. “Offer accepted.”

  Parker was about to leave to find some boards when he heard a fierce little growl and felt a tug on his jeans. He glanced down to see a stout little bugger attacking his pant leg. He reached down to pick up the transgressor. “Damn,” he muttered. “The little shit won’t turn loose.”

  “He’s only a baby, Parker. Just work his teeth free.”

  Parker tried, but the puppy’s needlelike incisors were embedded in the denim. He was afraid to jerk for fear he’d hurt the little guy. “He’s got more moxie than he’s got good sense.” Parker had never owned a dog, but he’d long since determined that if he ever got one, it would be an Australian shepherd. Quincy had two Aussies, Bubba and Billy Bob, and they were fabulous around horses. Not that Max wasn’t. The rottweiler had been raised by an equine specialist and had spent a good deal of his life at a horse clinic. “Hey, blockhead,” he said to the puppy. “You got any brains between those floppy little ears of yours? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m bigger than you are.”

  “He’s got plenty of brains between his ears.” Samantha gently deposited the three puppies in the pool. They immediately started trying to jump back out. “Rotts are extremely intelligent dogs. Point in fact, that one is only six weeks old, and he knows you’re an interloper. He’s protecting his home.”

  “I’m not an interloper.”

  “You haven’t been here for three weeks. Do you expect a tiny baby to remember you? To him, you’re a stranger, and strangers pose a threat.”

  “You think?” Parker moved his foot to see if the puppy would hang on. Sure enough, he did. “He’s just playin’, Sam.”

  “Practicing,” she corrected. “Someday, he’ll protect his loved ones to the death. They’re smart dogs, I’m telling you. If you had any sense, you’d take one home with you. Pick of the litter. I’ll let it go for free.”

  “What a deal.”

  Parker was still trying to extricate his pant leg from the pup’s mouth. Definitely a boy, he decided. A girl wouldn’t be so ferocious. The little fart had braced all four legs on the floor to snarl and shake. Parker was impressed. If there was anything he admired, it was courage, and this puppy seemed to have it in spades. It reminded him of David going up against Goliath.

  By pressin
g on the puppy’s jaw joints, Parker was finally able to free his pant leg. He grabbed his attacker by the scruff of his neck and picked him up. “Ah, he’s a tough little nut. Doesn’t yelp.”

  “Of course he doesn’t. That’s how his mother picks him up.”

  Parker angled his wrist to get a frontal view and found himself looking at the cutest canine countenance he could recall ever having seen. “He’s got wrinkles on his nose.”

  Samantha stepped closer to look and smiled. “Isn’t he darling? All of them are precious, of course, but those nose wrinkles are definitely adorable. He’s got a perpetual frown, too.”

  Something happened as Parker gazed into those almond-shaped, milky brown eyes. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, but the feeling that moved through him made him think of Rainie. From that instant forward, maybe instinct took over, but he suddenly knew he’d just found a cure for her loneliness. “You serious about lettin’ him go for free? He’s got papers, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, but I would never charge family.” Samantha gave him a bewildered look. “You’re not seriously thinking about adopting him? Puppies are a lot of work, Parker.”

  “Do I look lazy to you?”

  “No, of course not, but raising a rottweiler takes more dedication than it does with most puppies. What’ll you do if he eats your sofa?”

  “Buy a new one.” Parker couldn’t stop grinning. There was something about the puppy’s face that just got to him. “What do you know about his papa?”

  “Not much except that he’s a purebred and hip certified. You do understand that Tucker will have a fit if you get him neutered. He’s convinced it’s bad for dogs, especially rottweilers, because they have sensitive immune systems.”

  Parker shuddered at the thought of having his best buddy’s balls cut off. What was life all about if a guy couldn’t have sex? “That’s fine.” He tucked the puppy into the crook of his arm. “I’m not keen on neutering.”

  “Intact males can pose more problems. He’ll be more inclined to fight with other dogs.”

  Parker had no objection to an occasional fracas, either. In his younger years, he’d been a scrapper himself. “No worries.”

  Samantha nibbled her bottom lip. “When Roxie comes in heat, you’ll have to make sure he stays home. We can’t have Roxie breeding with her own offspring.”

  Parker figured he could handle that, too. “What’s the deal, here, Sam? You offered me a dog. Now you’re puttin’ on the brakes.”

  She ran to catch two fleeing puppies. After returning them to their pen, she said, “I’m just afraid you may be biting off more than you can chew. You can’t take him, let him develop an attachment to you, and then suddenly decide you don’t want him.”

  Parker nudged his hat up to give his sister a wondering look. “When have you ever known me to be inconstant?”

  “Never, but that’s largely because you never commit to anyone or anything.”

  “That’s not true. I commit to my horses.”

  “Doesn’t count. Name me one time you’ve committed to anything else that lives and breathes.”

  Parker thought for a moment. “I’m committed to my family. You can’t say I’m not.”

  “That doesn’t count, either. Any man with half a heart is committed to his family.”

  “What are you sayin’, that I’m not fit to have a dog?”

  Samantha folded her arms, a dimple showing in her cheek as she smiled. “Until death do you part. Say it, or you can’t have him.”

  Parker almost put the puppy back down. He didn’t like ultimatums. But the little bugger attacked his shirt pocket just then, and the tug-of-war began again. “I think he likes me.”

  “Birds of a feather flock together.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’re stubborn, irascible, snarly, and recalcitrant. As I recall, I’ve called you a blockhead more than once. The two of you suit each other.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “You’re also loyal and lovable,” she added.

  “You forgot handsome.”

  “With that nose?”

  “You looked in the mirror lately?” he countered.

  “The Harrigan schnozzle looks better on me than it does on you.”

  “Who says?”

  Her dimple deepened. “Tucker. He adores my nose.”

  “Yeah, well, he’s addled.” The puppy let loose with a deep growl that sounded amazingly ferocious coming from such a tiny attacker. Parker chuckled. “He’s awesome, Sam. I think I’ve found a soul mate.” He glanced back at her. “I’ll keep him. You have my word.”

  After erecting the promised puppy barriers, Parker collected his dog and started to leave.

  Sam searched his gaze. “Who would have thunk it? My brother, smitten with a puppy.”

  “He’s no ordinary puppy. He’s got mojo.”

  The office door swung open with such force that it whacked the interior wall, making Rainie jump. Then a huge blue thing appeared in the doorway. Judging by all the grunting and muffled cursing, Parker was somewhere behind it.

  “What on earth?” She jumped up from the desk. “Do you need help?”

  His dark head appeared. In the light coming through the window behind her, his freshly shaved jaw gleamed, his skin the color of caramel. The blue collar of his shirt framed the thick, corded column of his sun-burnished neck. The weathered toughness around his mouth and eyes was purely masculine, an attribute that she should have found repugnant, but instead it sent her senses spinning, making her feel like a schoolgirl in the throes of her first crush. Not good. Developing feelings for this man was not part of her game plan.

  “It’s not heavy, just cumbersome,” he assured her.

  Rainie doubted that he considered much of anything to be heavy. She didn’t dally in the stable area often, but in passing, she’d seen him bucking bales of hay as if they weighed barely anything. He had a naturally trim and athletic build that had been padded with steely muscle by a lifetime of hard work.

  “What in heaven’s name is this thing?” she asked, grabbing hold of one end to help work it through the doorway.

  “A wadin’ pool. You in the mood for a dip?”

  The question was so silly it didn’t deserve an answer. “What’s it for?”

  “Mojo.”

  “Mojo?”

  “Yeah, I got myself a dog. Normally, I’m not much for dogs, but he’s a charmer. That’s how come I’m namin’ him Mojo.”

  Rainie backed up to make room for the pool, which was about five feet in diameter. “Where is he?”

  “On the floorboard of my truck, goin’ one-on-one with the gearshift boot.”

  Rainie had no idea what a gearshift boot was. The pool took up most of the walking space after they plopped it on the floor. Bewildered, Rainie said, “One-on-one? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

  “He’s a puppy with an attitude. He attacks everything.” Standing at the opposite side of the pool, Parker winked at her. A lazy smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. “I sure hope you don’t mind helpin’ me watch him durin’ the day. He’s a tad too young yet to be around the horses. He might get stepped on.”

  Because of her dad’s allergies Rainie had never had a puppy, but she figured she could do almost anything for sixty grand a year. “Of course.” She glanced at the pool again. “I’ll help however I can. But what is this for?”

  “Playpen. This way when he piddles, he won’t do it on the floor. I got the idea from my sister, Sam.” He plucked a thick stack of newspapers from under his arm. “I picked these up to use as liners. When he makes a mess, all we’ll have to do is pull the soiled sheet and put in another one.”

  “That sounds simple enough.”

  He nodded, gave her meal instructions, and said, “I’ll go get him and the food, then. You sure you won’t mind if I leave him in the office with you when I’m workin’?”

  “Not at all.”

  Thirty minutes later, Rainie had
come to regret those words. The moment Parker left the office, Mojo tumbled over the edge of the wading pool and squatted to pee.

  “No!” Rainie cried, racing to save the plank floor. Unfortunately, Mojo was a quick whizzer. He had finished and waddled under the desk before she could reach him. “Now look what you’ve done.”

  Rainie went to the coffee room for some paper towels and disinfectant. While she cleaned up the mess, the puppy discovered a pile of invoices that she’d set on the floor by her desk chair. Before she’d finished mopping up, he was attacking the papers like a miniature shredding machine.

  “Stop it! Bad, bad puppy!” Rainie cried, but Mojo apparently had a hearing problem.

  She scurried over to rescue the documents. As she bent to gather them up, her calf-length skirt grazed the floor, and the tiny rottweiler latched onto the hem. His little jaws were like metal clamps. She couldn’t pry them apart. As she tried, he let loose with a ferocious growl and went into reverse, tugging on the cloth with all his strength.

  Rainie burst out laughing. “I don’t have time to play,” she protested. “I’m supposed to be working.”

  But, once again, Mojo wasn’t listening. Finally Rainie surrendered and sat cross-legged on the floor to engage in a gentle game of tug-of-war. The skirt was ancient, anyway. If Mojo ripped it to shreds, she’d be out only two dollars. He was so sweet. As she ran her hands over his warm, plump body, her heart melted.

  When Parker returned to the office with lunch, Rainie stood at the file cabinet with the puppy dangling from the hem of her skirt. In order to hold on and follow when Rainie moved, Mojo stood upright on his tiny back legs. Parker noticed that Rainie took baby steps to accommodate the short stride of her new fashion accessory.

  “How’s it goin’?” he asked.

  Parker wasn’t sure what her response might be. He was half-afraid she might hand him a letter of resignation. Instead she laughed, a sweet, airy sound that could easily become addictive.

  “Slowly. The pool doesn’t work as a playpen. Over the course of the last two hours, I’ve gotten almost nothing done. He’s piddled three times and gone poo once, all on the floor. When he’s not busy making messes, he’s tugging on my skirt, chewing on my boots, or gnawing on the desks.”