by Megan Ryder
“No. I suggested maybe we could use it as a secondary shelter site for overflow but Tom, the new animal control officer, refuses to consider it. He says it’s too expensive, not in the budget. Are you hoping to lease or buy it? You can barely afford to adopt these dogs. How can you buy a place?”
“We have some meetings with sponsors. I think something will pop on that. Things will get easier.”
Sara grinned. “Then get on it. If you need help, let me know. I do some of the grant writing for the society and I can help out, unofficially of course. I’ll put a place card on the dogs and let you know if anything changes.”
Savannah hugged her. “Thanks, Sara.”
Sara held her a few minutes longer. “Sweetie, you need to take care of yourself. Rescue work will break you down faster than almost anything else. You’re pouring everything you have into it and I get it, I really do. But you’re going to burn out. You need to find some balance.”
“I know, Sara. I’ll figure it out. Don’t let him be alone okay? I can stay if you want.”
Sara gave a small, sad smile. “Tom will never allow that. But I’ll stay with him until the end. I always do. We make it gentle, Savannah. Now go. I have to get him back inside.”
Savannah walked past the barking dogs, the frantic terror beating down on her until she exited the kennel area and made her way to the foyer, tears prickling her eyes as they always did when she had to leave. She could only save three. Three out of how many? She was desperate to do more, but how? Tears started to fall when she realized she wasn’t alone in the waiting area.
A young man stood in the center of the room, a small gray pittie cowering between his legs, a few scars crossing her face and body, some old and a few fresh. He stood tall and straight, a nylon rope dangling from his hand, around the small dog’s neck. He looked completely out of place, not like the usual people who abandoned dogs at the shelter. He was clean cut, muscular but lean, tanned, with short, brown hair and piercing dark chocolate eyes that latched onto her like a lifeline. In those eyes, she thought she caught a hint of desperation and confusion, not unlike what she saw in the eyes of the terrified animal crouching at his feet. For in an instant, she felt an answering tug of attraction in her lower belly, an awareness of the man in a way she hadn’t felt since the day her ex-fiancé had walked out on her. Then the barking dogs intruded, breaking the bubble that surrounded them.
In that moment, the stress of her day, what she had just experienced, exploded and she marched across the room and got in his face, finger punching a hole in his chest. “What kind of an asshole are you? Abuse your dog then dump her here, abandoning her to an unknown fate? What, did you get her as a cute puppy for your kids and then she grew up and she wasn’t cute anymore? Your kids got busy and she was bored and chewed your precious shoes?” She narrowed her gaze. “Or do you fight dogs and dump them here for someone else to deal? You son of a bitch.”
He tried to back up and stumbled over the pup who had scrambled back at her vehement attack and he landed on a bench seat, hard. Good. Maybe he had broken his ass or something. Regret set in as the dog started shaking, terrified, and she had caused it.
She knelt and held out a treat from her pocket stash. “Here, sweetie. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. Only the mean, nasty man who hurt you.”
The man in question snorted. “I didn’t hurt her. I found her outside my house for the past couple of weeks, scared and cold. I fed her, which was probably my first mistake. Now I can’t get rid of her. So, I brought her here.”
Her anger eased a little and she stared up at him from her position on the floor, while the dog sniffed her fingers cautiously. “Your first mistake? Feeding a starving animal is a mistake? I’d really hate to live in your world when you can’t spare a few seconds for a poor animal.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging the short strands. “Look, lady. I don’t know who you are but I’m trying to do the right thing. I could have ignored her and left her outside, alone and in the rain. Instead I fed her and brought her here so someone could take care of her. Don’t I get points for that?”
She rocked back on her heels and shook her head at the stupidity or the blindness of this man. “Can you hear the barking behind the door? Does it sound like a wonderful place to be? It’s a cold, dark place for a dog. They live in a small kennel run with nothing between their bodies and the concrete, with constant barking for background noise. Would you want to hang out there? If they’re lucky, they get a week, but she’s clearly a pittie and has been fought. She’ll be lucky if she gets twenty-four hours. No one trusts a former fight dog or bait dog in a family. No, you’re not saving her. You’re killing her.”
“Savannah Monroe. I thought we discussed your position here. Or lack of position.”
A man’s voice boomed out from behind her, sending the dog back under the bench and the man’s legs. The stranger stood and turned toward the office doorway where Tom Harrison, the new animal control officer, glared at her from the office doorway. She scrambled to get to her feet and the stranger held out a hand and helped her to her feet, hand lingering for a moment in hers. She pulled back and turned to face Tom.
“I was just talking to him about his dog.”
“I heard what you were saying. We don’t browbeat our community members here. Their tax dollars keep this place running and if they want to turn over their dog or an abandoned dog, they can do that. Isn’t it time for you to leave?”
She gritted her teeth but thought about the three dogs she wanted to save behind the door. She wouldn’t put it past Tom to take them away from her as payback. “Of course. Good luck to you, sweet pea.” She bent down and gave the dog a little pat.
With one last meaningful glare at the stranger, she stalked out of the shelter and toward her car.
She got in her SUV and pounded her fist against the dashboard. Why did she let her temper get the better of her every time? Her mother had warned her long ago about her tendency to speak and act first, which always got her in trouble. But when she saw a sweet, scared dog, a fierce momma bear came out and took over.
A knock at the window made her jump. The strange man stood there, looking at her uncertainly. He motioned for her to roll her window down. “You scared the shit out of me. What do you want?”
“Did you mean what you said in there? Would they have ...”
“Euthanized her?” Savannah nodded. “They’re full. She’s clearly a former fighting dog, bait or fighter, who knows. But no one will take the chance of her snapping and biting someone.” Did she bite him?
For the first time, the man looked green but he shook his head. “I didn’t let him take her.”
She leaned over the window and looked down to see the dog next to his feet. She smiled. “There may be hope for you yet.”
He moved back and she got out of the car. She knelt and held out a treat to the dog, who cautiously sniffed her hand, more comfortable than when she was inside but she still wouldn’t take the treat. Savannah studied the man for a moment and stood.
She held out the treat. “Try to give her the treat.”
He looked surprised but took the treat and squatted on powerful thighs, holding it out gingerly. The dog immediately took it, gently but with little hesitation.
“I’ll be damned. Looks like you got yourself a dog.”
He shot to his feet, a hint of panic on his face. “I can’t have a dog. I was hoping you can take it.”
“She’s not an it. And I can’t take her. I’m full. Besides, she chose you to be her owner.”
She smothered a smile at the complete and utter blankness on his face. Now that she’d gotten the dog outside and away from the immediate danger and stress of the kennel, she could enjoy the guy’s discomfort. Out in the sunlight, she could see him more clearly and he was definitely not a local or she would have noticed him long before now. His eyes were a deep chocolate with of gold specks that reflected the light, studying her with a quiet desperation that spo
ke of a man with a plan shot all to hell. She was thoroughly enjoying the view, but had to do something about the pup crouching at their feet, had to convince him to take her, at least temporarily.
“I knew I shouldn’t have fed her,” he grumbled under his breath. “Look, I travel a lot. For long stretches. There’s no one at home to take care of her. Can’t you just take her and find a new home?”
He thrust the rope at her and stepped back. The dog immediately followed his steps, straining the limits of the rope, clearly not interested in her one bit. She laughed. “Nope, she’s yours. And really, how much can you travel?”
He scowled. “I play for the Georgia Knights. We leave on a road trip in two days for seven days. What will I do with a dog? I can’t leave it at home all alone for ten days. And I can’t board it. That’s why I was bringing it here.” He stepped closer, a charming look settling on his face. “You run a rescue. Can’t you take it?”
“She. The dog is a girl, not an it. Besides, if I take her, then another dog will be put down. It would be better if you keep her and I save the three I asked for. This way, we save four dogs.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Georgia Knights, huh? Look, if you keep her as a foster, I’ll help you out with her. I’ll train you and her and, if you still want to get rid of her, once she’s ready, I’ll find her a new home.”
“But what about my road trip?”
“I’ll take care of her for your road trip, like a pet sitter. I do that as one of my jobs anyway,” she added hastily.
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you suddenly willing to help me?”
“I’m not helping you, I’m helping the dog. But, now that you mention it, maybe you could help my rescue get some attention from donors or something.”
“You want to use me to raise money for your rescue by blackmailing me into keeping a dog I don’t want in the first place?”
She planted hands on her hips. “It would really suck if I went to the papers and told them a story about you abusing a poor, defenseless dog and then abandoning it.”
He glared at her, hands clenching around the rope. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She shrugged. “You willing to take that risk?”
“You care about this dog that much? You don’t even know it.”
“Her. And, yes, I care about all dogs. More than most people in fact. People suck.”
His sudden laugh surprised her, the rich deep baritone pleasing to her ears. “On that, we can totally agree. Fine, you have a deal.” He held out his hand. “Dylan Prosser.”
“Savannah Monroe.”
His calloused hand enveloped hers and a tingle of awareness ran up her arm. She tugged her hand free as quickly as she dared.
“Now, where do I start with it?”
“How about a name for her?”
Chapter Three
Quickly, Dylan was armed with a laundry list of instructions including dog food recommendations, crating instructions, guidelines for proper toys, and so many other things that his head hurt, along with a dog he never intended to keep. And the phone number of an attractive woman who intrigued and irritated him at the same time. In case of emergencies, she had written next to the phone number. Honestly, having a dog was the emergency but his version of urgent clearly didn’t match hers.
As he waited to pull out of the shelter’s parking lot, he glanced in the rearview mirror of his Lexus SUV at the gray dog resting quietly and sighed. At least she was calm in the car and didn’t trash the leather of the brand-new vehicle. Small miracles. If only she would stay that good. He could hope.
His gaze was caught by the vision standing next to the beat-up, black Suburban in the shelter parking lot. Savannah Monroe glared after his retreating SUV, arms folded across her white, cropped t-shirt, plumping out the full breasts that had distracted him throughout most of their conversation. Her tanned, long legs stretched out from a pair of cut-off daisy-duke jean shorts that made him want to beg for mercy, then trace the muscles with his tongue and fingers. He shook his head when a truck whizzed by him, horn blaring. Too bad her attitude ruined the wet dream the rest of her inspired.
He admired her passionate advocacy for the dogs and if he was in any other position, he’d respect the hell out of her. Right now, however, he had to be careful. What had possessed him to tell her that he was a Georgia Knight? That was like flashing a wad of cash around a bad end of town in the middle of the night. Nonprofits needed money and names to function. Players, such as he and his teammates, were constantly being hit up for donations, for their names. Everyone wanted something from him. And he went ahead and offered up that information like an idiot. Now he’d have to be careful and see when she’d call in the marker and use that information.
He headed for home and barricaded the dog in the bathroom, put some dog food in there and headed for the stadium. As he pulled in to the player’s parking lot at the Knights’ stadium, all thoughts of dogs, hot women, and family drama flew right out of his mind, replaced with pitches, hitters, and game time strategy. By the time he walked down the tunnel to the locker room, he was firmly in his head, focused on the upcoming game.
He opened his locker and began stripping down street clothes and putting on his workout clothes. Only a couple of the clubhouse guys wandered around, setting up equipment and doing basic maintenance tasks. He slipped on his pants and headed for the video room to watch tape for the upcoming game, studying hitters, pitchers, runners.
Over an hour later, the door banged open and Cody Patterson sauntered into the video room and pulled out the metal folding chair, straddling it. He propped his chin on his folded hands and jutted a chin at the screen. “These guys are tough.”
“Top of the league. You’re late.”
Cody snorted. “It’s six hours to game time. I have plenty of time to study tape and warm up. Don’t worry, Dylan. I’ve got this.”
Dylan clenched his jaw so tight his back teeth ached. “It’s my job to worry, Patterson. I’m responsible for the game, for directing the infield, making sure you know what pitches to throw and where, and how we play each hitter. I have to know everything about everyone.”
Cody laughed. “And you call me arrogant.” He stood up and swung his leg around, tossing the chair against the wall. “I’ll come back later, when I don’t get a lecture for breathing.”
“Sit.” Dylan never raised his voice but he made it firm and nonnegotiable.
Having worked with the younger pitcher for the past few months, he had learned a few things about the kid. First and foremost, the kid needed direction, craved it even as he rebelled against it. He pitched better when he had Dylan catching, guiding him, and, while he fought against the strictures and the rules, he listened. He pretended he was forced to do it, but he was learning and pitching better than he had ever done before, although he was still prone to bouts of wildness.
Cody froze, hand on the doorknob, then slowly pivoted and came back to the desk. He pulled out the chair and sat back down, resentment coming off him in waves. Dylan didn’t give a shit. Nothing mattered as long as they got the job done. And it was his job to make sure they got it done. Starting catchers pulled the starting rotation together and directed the game. And this was his shot at the job. If he did this right, he’d get a new contract either here with the Knights or another team.
They began the rundown of each hitter – sweet spots, special pitch loves, and tendencies at the plate. Cody listened, nodding occasionally, internalizing everything.
Cody reached over and snagged Dylan’s binder and began leafing through it. “This is pretty fucking amazing, Prosser. Like a bible of the whole league.”
Dylan grabbed it. “Every pitcher and catcher should have one. Update it after every game. This is your career, man. Your bread and butter.”
Cody stretched his legs out. “No wonder they call you the professor. You like to lecture so damn much. I don’t need a book to tell me how to pitch. I got it all up here.” He tapped the side of his head then laughed.<
br />
Dylan shook his head. “You’re an idiot. When are you going to take this seriously? There’s going to come a time when you won’t have a ninety-five mile per hour fastball and you won’t be able to muscle your way past the hitters. Then what will you do?”
Cody shrugged. “I’ll have you to tell me what to throw. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Okay?”
Dylan slammed the binder on the desk. “It’s not that simple. We don’t work separately. We have to work together, as a team, to get it done. We don’t need to be best friends, doing each other’s hair and painting our nails together. But we do need to be on the same page, having a rhythm. Without it, we’ll be constantly crossed up and fucked up at the plate. Then we, and the team, lose.”
Cody held up his hands and laughed. “Chill, Prosser. We’re doing fine. We got to the All-Star game, didn’t we? We’re fucking rock stars.”
“Dumbass. Every team has to send at least one player to the All-Star game. We didn’t get there on our merits but out of pity. Check the votes.” Dylan got in Cody’s face. “You’re the guy with the big contract, the guy they signed to save the team. You and your golden arm. Well, I’ve been here almost four months and you’ve been inconsistent on the mound, a wild child off of it, and not at all the savior the Knights need.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be the one to settle me down, like some old man father-figure or Yoda-figure? Mission failure.” Cody stood up. “I’m going to warm up. Catch you on the field, Professor.”
Cody sauntered out, but he was stiff and tense, and Dylan swore under his breath. He sat back in his chair and flicked off the screen. Dylan wasn’t much older than Cody but some days, like today, he felt positively ancient. How was he supposed to get through to the overgrown child who had no interest in taking anything in life seriously except maybe beer, women, and sex? Well, he’d better figure it out before the season ended and he had no contract left and no team interested in signing him except as a backup catcher again. And there was no way he’d go back to being a reserve, a stand-in. No way.