Valentine Hound Dog: The Hart Family (Have A Hart Book 2)

by Rachelle Ayala

  “Oh, Larry.” Jenna turned as his large hand descended on her shoulder. “You’re just in time to take me home.”

  He bent toward her and whispered harshly in her ear. “I told you already. I’m not joining the club, and I’m not getting in line. Goodbye, Jenna. Enjoy whatever you have to do to pay what you owe.”

  Without giving her a chance to catch her next breath, he turned around and elbowed his way through the party-goers toward the door.

  “Larry.” Jenna picked up her skirts and charged after him.

  But one look from her boss, who was hobnobbing with the mayor, stopped her in her tracks. She was the hostess tonight, and she couldn’t afford to let her personal life stir up controversy and ruin the success of the show.

  * * *

  Back at his apartment, Larry changed out of the stuffy tuxedo and into a pair of sweats. He pulled a black t-shirt over his head and donned his running shoes. He hurt so badly inside, that the only thing he could do was take a long run through Golden Gate Park.

  He wasn’t much of a drinker, and he always thought it was stupid of men to douse themselves with alcohol whenever they were in pain, but tonight, after watching Jenna banter with those two fashion twits, he was ready to pound his body into oblivion.

  It had been torture to watch the fashionistas manipulate Jenna, but at the same time, she seemed to hold her own. Was she truly interested in him as a man or as a freak? When that douche canoe called him the Phantom of the Opera, it was all he could do to not stalk out of there. But he couldn’t embarrass Jenna, so he’d stayed and endured their pitying glances.

  Larry ran down the street past the fire station. He kept his eyes peeled for Harley, in case someone was taking him for a walk. Tonight was misty and the fog had dropped, so it would be hard to see him from a distance. After crossing into the park, Larry tore down the trails, pounding the pavement, dodging dog walkers and the few pedestrians still strolling in the evening.

  He had to exorcise Jenna from his heart, the same way he had had to let Shelly go. One no longer wanted him because he was ugly, and the other used his ugliness to further her career. What was with these women?

  “Woof. Woof. Wooarooh.”

  Larry recognized Harley’s bay anywhere.

  “Harley, that you boy?” He tried to find the dog in the thick, pea soup fog. “Harley.”

  A loud panting sound approached and Harley undulated toward him, dragging a chain. Larry bent down and hugged the dog. “What happened to you? Did you get lost?”

  Harley only whined and licked him gustily, dripping drool all over Larry’s face. He didn’t care. This dog loved him and he loved the little guy, too.

  Larry picked Harley up, supporting his hind legs and squinted to see around him. “Anyone here taking Harley for a walk?”

  No one answered or came forward.

  Harley whined and nosed at Larry, the way he always did when he was hungry. It was then that Larry noticed his matted, wet fur with burrs and twigs sticking to the tips of his long ears.

  “What happened to you? I thought Connor took you back to the firehouse.”

  Harley only whined and licked Larry’s hand. His eyes were large and sad, the whites showing on the bottom.

  “You missed me, too? Were you looking for me?”

  Harley seemed to nod. He licked Larry and nosed him, then wiggled so Larry would hold him closer.

  “Guess you got lost in the fog, didn’t you?” Larry rubbed the dog’s loose skin and scratched behind his ears. “I better bring you back to the firehouse.”

  Harley was never his dog to keep, and the sooner he returned him, the better. It was the same with Jenna. She was never his to keep either. He should never have gotten his hopes up that she’d see him for anything more than a prop.

  But try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jenna and wishing things were different. He held the squirming puppy and said, “Time to man up. We’ll make you a firehouse dog, yet. Let’s jog back to the station.”

  He set the puppy on the sidewalk and jogged at a slow, glacial pace as the little puppy humpety-humped his long, basset-hound back down the sidewalk, his ears flapping and hitting the ground at every step.

  Larry didn’t expect to find many guys hanging around at the station. It was a Friday night and the only ones there would be the ones on duty. He ran into Brian Wonder, a fireman married to Jenna’s eldest sister, Cait.

  “Hey, don’t tell me you ducked out of the fashion party,” Brian said. “If you’re looking for Connor, they’re out tonight.”

  “Actually, I found Harley wandering around in the park. I thought someone took him out, but no one stepped forward.”

  “Oh, the basset hound?” Brian clucked his tongue. A set of doggie toenails clicked across the hard floor as a gangly Dalmatian puppy wiggled his way toward them.

  “Woof. Woof.” It jumped up and down when it spotted Harley.

  “Wait, whose dog is that?” Larry spotted the bright red collar around the dog’s neck. Meanwhile, poor Harley was still wearing the collar Larry had bought him.

  “Chief’s new puppy,” Brian said. He looked around and cupped his hand, leaning closer to Larry. “Apparently, his ex-girlfriend bid on him for the bachelor auction and dropped off Cinder here.”

  “Cinder? But what about Harley?” Larry’s heart crushed in on itself at the thought that no one had cared whether Harley had wandered off or not.

  “Oh, Harley. He’s still the firehouse dog.” Brian reached over and took the puppy from Larry. “But Cinder is the Chief’s dog. She’s going to sleep in his office.”

  “She? But who’s watching Harley? He’s hungry.”

  “He’s always hungry.” Brian eyed the messy puppy and sniffed him. “Stinky too. And muddy. Those long ears are going to get tangled up wherever he goes.”

  “I’ll clean him up and feed him.” Larry took Harley back from Brian and marched into the kitchen.

  A bunch of guys were sitting around the table, chowing down on a slab of roast beef. Harley’s nose did a happy dance and his tail swish-swished all over Larry’s arm.

  “No, sorry, boy. But if you want to be a real firedog, you’re going to have to eat a healthy diet.” Larry lowered Harley to the floor and dug under the counter for the healthy dried dogfood he’d bought. “Hey, where’s Harley’s dogfood?”

  “It’s probably upstairs in Chief’s office,” one of the older firefighters, Rex, said. “He grabbed it to feed Cinder before he went on his hot date.”

  Bile burned from Larry’s gut to his throat. He shouldn’t take it out on Cinder. After all, she was just a pawn brought by Connor’s ex to disrupt the firehouse. But still, how unfair could this get?

  Harley panted and wiggled his butt, snuffing hungrily at the wonderful scents that filled the kitchen. He waddled over to Rex’s feet and stared expectantly at each piece of meat the older man put in his mouth.

  Another veteran, Hugh, tossed Harley a scrap of beef, which he inhaled in one swallow.

  “You shouldn’t give him that,” Larry said. “It’ll make him fat.”

  “Oh, let the little guy enjoy himself,” Hugh said. “It’s not like he’ll be climbing any engine rigs anytime soon.”

  “Yep, Chief took pictures with Cinder up on top of the ladder truck already,” Rex added. “Too bad you missed the photoshoot. His fancy ex-girlfriend, the rich doctor, brought her own photographer.”

  “Heard she paid five-thousand for their date,” Hugh remarked. “Say, rumor has it Chief’s sister bid ten thousand for you. How’s she going to pay?”

  “She won’t have to.” The words rolled from Larry’s mouth. “I can’t imagine Connor making her pay if I cancel the date.”

  All of the men stopped chewing their food and stared at him.

  “You’re canceling out on the model?” Shane, one of the probies, entered the kitchen along with Patrick, another rookie. “After all that work Chief went through to get you a date?”

  Warning
bells tickled the hair inside Larry’s ears. “Who are you talking about?”

  “The Russian model,” Patrick said. “Chief and his sister told her to bid as high as she could to get you a date.”

  “Wait, Connor and his sister? Which sister?” Larry already knew the answer, but he had to hear it confirmed if he had any chance of cutting Jenna out of his heart.

  “Jenna, the fashion girl,” Shane answered. “I heard them talking. Connor wasn’t going to let any of the men participate in the fashion show unless she let you in. Then when she mentioned the bachelor auction, he told her not to worry as long as she got someone to bid on you. So why aren’t you on the date? The model doesn’t have to pay.”

  And apparently, neither did Jenna. Larry kept his upper lip stiff. His left eye twitched as it often did over the tightly scarred skin, but he forced a smile onto his face and gave a self-deprecating nod. “I’ll leave the models to you beautiful boys. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking my hound dog home.”

  He snagged Harley, tucked him under his arm, and marched out of the station with his back straight and head held high.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jenna’s feet were sore and she was going hoarse from nonstop talking and selling. Around midnight, the last of the champagne had been poured and the caviar and finger foods were long gone. The tab was going to be horrendous. Fortunately, she wasn’t responsible for the cleanup, having hired a crew to restore the gallery to pre-party condition.

  Her boss, Monique, rushed toward her after bidding a celebrity goodbye. “You better get busy.”

  How about congratulating her on a great show first? But Jenna knew better. The more orders they took from celebrities, the more specials she had to design and stitch up.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get to everything right away. How much did we sell?” Jenna asked. She could ask for an advance, maybe, to help her pay for the bachelor auction.

  “Sell?” Monique raised her perfected painted eyebrow. “You do understand this is all about product placement and being seen. How many dresses do you think Aleen Dee can shift for us if the whole world sees her on her Valentine’s Day special wearing our label?”

  “Uhm, sure. It would be awesome.”

  “Right. So no, we’re not charging a penny. It’s all about seeding the market.”

  “We won’t get paid for the show? What about the buyers?”

  “That comes later after the singers, actresses, and celebrities make our name splash.”

  “How many gowns do I have to do this weekend?” Jenna’s heart sank. Although she should be elated with the success of the show, she needed to catch up with Larry.

  “I’ve lined up a reality show star for another gown, the silvery ruffled one you wore, and an actress wants that sexy crisscross over her heart jumpsuit with the red lace cutouts.”

  “Great, I’ll get them modified.”

  “Actually, you’ll have to hit the rag shops early tomorrow morning. None of their measurements will fit the gowns you made. The trick is, they saw how it looks on Irina, they touched the fabric, handled it, and you have to make it look as fantastic on them with all their lumpy measurements as it does on the models.”

  “You’ll give me a budget for this, right?” Jenna had charged enough expenses onto her credit card to max out her card already, and she hadn’t submitted an expense report.

  “Sure, but I’m not covering your extravagant bid for that awful former firefighter, no matter how well he does that Beauty and the Beast thing. I understand it was a publicity stunt you set up between you and Irina, and it’s trending on social media, but I didn’t authorize it.” Monique pursed her lips. “We’ve already made a separate donation to the Firefighters’ Family Fund.”

  “Sure, I understand.” Jenna nodded quickly. Her face flushed hot. “Is it possible for me to get a bonus for pulling off this show? I do need to come up with the money somehow.”

  “Just don’t pay.” Monique pulled out her cell phone and futzed with it. “As for a bonus, you already got free publicity, name recognition, and I’m rewarding you with your own fall fashion line. If I were you, I’d get busy. You have less than twenty-four hours until Valentine’s Day.”

  Monique marched away from her, texting and not offering any further support. Jenna reached for a half-full champagne glass and downed the rest of the flat liquid.

  She was screwed. Utterly and totally screwed. In twenty-four hours, she had to come up with three outfits for three celebrities, and the rag shops didn’t open until the morning. She’d better rush back to her bedroom and see what material she had left over, then plug the measurements into her design program and estimate how much she needed to order. She’d also have to modify the lines, angles and cuts to make the real life celebrity look as sleek and thin as the models. And then, there was Larry and his hurt feelings.

  She wandered back to the dressing area where Carmen was zipping the gowns into bags to transport back to her house.

  “You have the measurements?” She asked her assistant.

  “Yes, and it’s not good,” Carmen said. “They won’t be able to fit into the samples.”

  “I know. Take these back to my parents’ house, and meet me tomorrow morning at the fabric shop. Also, call Heidi and Katya to meet me bright and early at my place with their sewing machines.”

  “Sure, boss,” Carmen said. “And about that firefighter?”

  “What about him?” Jenna narrowed her eyes, wondering what Carmen had heard.

  “If you don’t want to go out with him, can I call him?”

  “Actually, I do want him.”

  “No, you don’t.” Quint’s voice came from the shadow, as he stepped out from behind a floor length mirror. “Act’s over, and I’ll take you out for a nightcap. I’ve got the perfect copy for the show. It was awesome. Congratulations.”

  Jenna didn’t want to turn him down in front of Carmen, so she said, “I have to redesign three couture pieces for celebrities. Their measurements weren’t quite what we expected.”

  “I’ll be sure not to let that little nugget of information out,” Quint said in a silky, smooth voice. He massaged her shoulders. “You’re tired. Stiff, tense. Let me take care of you tonight.”

  “Bye.” Carmen wisely retreated with the bags of clothing.

  Once Jenna figured she was out of earshot, she moved away from Quint. The massage that used to feel so relaxing was creepy instead.

  “What’s wrong?” Quint creased his forehead. “You want a good write up or not?”

  “Write whatever you want,” Jenna said. “Everyone knows this show was a success. I’m too tired right now, and I have a long day of sewing ahead of me.”

  “Sure, have it your way.” Quint folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll write you up good. Don’t worry. What are friends for?”

  “Right. Friends. Thanks.” Jenna stifled a yawn and turned toward the dressing room door.

  “Good luck with your garbage man,” Quint shouted right before she slammed the door.

  * * *

  Jenna woke the next morning with a raging headache. She checked her phone, but Larry hadn’t answered any of her text messages or voicemail.

  Last night, she’d kept up a steady stream of texting, because she wanted him to know she hadn’t spent the night with anyone. She tried again, then called his number.

  It cut to voicemail immediately, meaning his phone was turned off.

  “Larry? It’s me. I’m going to be busy all day stitching up specials for a bunch of celebrities. Are we still on tomorrow evening for the Valentine’s Dinner and Dance? I’m sorry about whatever you overheard, but nothing happened. Please call me back.”

  The rest of the day was non-stop black coffee, jitters, pricked fingers, and stitching. She moved the sewing machines onto the long dining room table at her parents’ home, and the three women set up shop for the day.

  By evening, Jenna was grimy, her fingers were pin-pricked and her eyes were twitchy, b
ut she and her assistants had finished the gowns.

  She bagged up the gowns and borrowed her mother’s Toyota to make the deliveries. Larry still had not returned her calls. How long was he going to stay mad at her for talking to her fashion colleagues?

  She rushed from hotel to hotel, delivering and fitting the dresses. She finished her last client a little after nine and drove to Larry’s. Maybe something had happened to him. She hated to call the firehouse and ask if her brother had seen him, but a gnawing feeling, plus the fact she hadn’t eaten all day, had her stomach grinding in on itself.

  Jenna found a parking spot and ran up the stairs to Larry’s apartment. She buzzed the doorbell and knocked frantically on the door, but no one answered.

  “Larry, I’m not going away. You hear that? I’m not giving up on you,” she shouted to the door.

  “Woof, woooohh, rroof, roooh,” Harley barked and howled, thumping the door on the other side.

  “Ah ha! You’re in there, and you’re too chicken to open the door,” Jenna said. “I know you have to take Harley out to potty.”

  She heard the sound of Harley shaking his head and flapping his ears. His little tail must be wagging like mad as he pawed the door, whining and snuffling.

  Good. At least Little Harley still remembered her. She settled down to bang the door until he could no longer ignore him. “Chicken. Stop hiding. Bawk, bawk, bawk.”

  “Wooahhhrooh! Woof! Woof! Wooahhorooo!” Harley accompanied her.

  Larry opened the door. His brows were drawn, mouth pressed together and his eyes narrowed fiercely. “Get in. I didn’t know you were so childish.”

  “Who’s being a kid? If you want to give me the cold shoulder, at least tell me what I did wrong.” Jenna stomped her way into his apartment and bent over to pet Harley. “You left me at the gallery all alone and I had to hitch a ride home with one of the donors.”

  Larry bunched his arms across his chest and glowered at her. “Fine. Explain.”

  “Did you listen to my messages or read my texts?”

  “No.”