by Traci Hall
The white cat had beautiful blue eyes and a slender build that had been on the point of emaciation when Sarah had rescued her from a Dumpster. She meowed in greeting, curling her fluffy tail around her hind leg.
“She’s had all of her shots,” Martin said, letting the dogs get a drink of water from the big bowl on the floor. “And she’s spayed. I’ll miss her pretty face.”
Sarah turned to Martin with a shake of her head. “You, my friend, have enough animals at home.”
“She would have fit in nicely.” Martin turned on his heel and opened the doors for the dogs to go back into their crates. They did, the morning exercise demanding an immediate nap. “A Diva born on the wrong side of the tracks. Who is the lucky buyer?”
“I’m not sure if it’s a sale yet, but it’s that older lady at the Pelican Perch who wanted to call my manager last week.”
Martin looked heavenward. “Sweet thing decided she needed a pet after all of that excitement?”
“Maybe so,” Sarah laughed.
He leaned toward her and winked. “Any word from Franco de Silva?”
Sarah blushed. “No. Why would there be?”
“Wishful thinking on my part. I saw him, you know. After hearing your story last week, I had to check out the puppy store, and honey,” Martin waved his hand over his face, “he is scrumptious.”
Sarah agreed, but to herself. He’d been making appearances every night in her dreams, spearing her with fury in his brown eyes. She’d witnessed his gentleness. It was so at odds with the man she thought she knew that her mind was having a tough time sorting out which Franco de Silva was the real Franco de Silva. “What did you think of the shop?”
“Clean, bright, classy. Not a hint of Lysol anywhere. Hand sanitizer stations, attendants to watch how customers held the dogs.”
“Good.” She nodded, truly wanting the best for the animals in Franco’s care. “I really don’t want to be a hard-ass, but I can’t look away if the puppies are being mistreated.”
“New owner. I think things will be all right.” He started to turn away, but then came back with a mischievous smile. “However, I’d be glad to take over the weekly check.”
Sarah laughed and pushed her friend on the arm. “Franco threatened to call the cops, so you might have to.” She sighed and gave Miss Priss one more ear scratch before heading into the office as the phone rang again. “I’m not sure it’s worth the drama, especially if he’s on the up and up.” Racing to reach it before they hung up, she was somewhat breathless as she answered. “Pet Rescue.”
“Sarah? It’s Bob. Mrs. Drummel has decided on the white one with the gray tips.”
She sank into her office chair with relief. “Wonderful. We have a set adoption fee, though we are mostly run by donation,” she began.
“We saw that on the site. We’ve filled out the application online already, too. Mrs. Drummel requests that you deliver the cat, if you can? She will pay extra. She would need cat food, litter and a collar as well.”
Sarah mentally added up the charges and smiled. “My pleasure. I can drop the cat off around three, if that is all right?”
“Sure. And thank you!”
Sarah hit the intercom on the desk that went from the front office to the warehouse. “Martin, could you get the complete package prepared for Miss Priss? She’s moving up!”
Heading into the kitchen, Benny and Pippa hot on her heels, Sarah looked at the bag of treats Martin had thoughtfully brought in. She read the back and cringed at the ingredients. “How hard can it be to make these things healthy and tasty?”
Pippa and Benny barked for a chance to taste the treat. Sarah gave them each one from the bag and they wagged their tails. “You know there isn’t anything good in there for you?” They didn’t seem to care.
Wondering if she could just make them herself, she used the iPad on the counter to search homemade doggy treats, jotting down a few ingredients on a sticky pad. “I have to be able to do this better.”
Using the money she’d get from Mrs. Drummel, Sarah decided to try a few different batches. “Healthy can still taste good,” she told her dogs.
They didn’t look convinced.
Nashville leaped to the desk and groomed her hind leg. Was it possible to make them for cats, too? She might try it, depending on how the dog treats turned out.
Martin came out of the warehouse to the front office with Miss Priss glaring daggers from behind the bars of a pink cat carrier. “I’ve told her we love her,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Of course we do!” Sarah took the carrier. “Martin, we can’t keep them all. Other people need to know the unconditional love of a pet.”
“When you put it like that…I already stacked the supplies in your truck.” He dabbed at his lower eyelid.
“Thank you. Do you want to come?”
“No, no. We’ve said our good-byes.” His sharp eye noticed the hot pink sticky note on her purse. “What’s that?”
“When I get back, I’m baking.”
“Here?”
“I don’t have any cookie sheets or anything at my apartment.” She didn’t really spend much time in the kitchen.
“I didn’t know you could use anything other than the microwave.”
“It’s a good thing you’re cute,” she said, heading out the door.
The South Florida heat walloped her in the face but she pushed forward. She opened the truck, slid in, and put the carrier next to her on the floor, immediately cranking the air conditioner.
Miss Priss chose to voice her opinion of the move with a loud and scratchy yowl. No amount of sweet talk from Sarah helped.
By the time she made it through the gate, parked and lifted Miss Priss’ carrier, Sarah was certain Mrs. Drummel would send the cat right back.
“Please be sweet, Miss Priss. This could be your forever home. It’s a lot nicer than the Dumpster.”
Bob met her at the door, opening it wide. “Sarah! We were waiting for you.”
She followed Bob’s gesture and saw a short woman with tight white curls and lots of jewelry get up from the chair in the foyer, her glossy white purse over her arm. Sarah lifted the carrier and the cat stopped yowling as she took in her surroundings. Marble, air conditioning. The smell of money.
“Mrs. Drummel,” Sarah said with a broad smile. “So nice to finally meet you!”
The woman ignored her for the cat carrier, making steady progress across the tile floor. She shuffled her steps, but walked without a cane. “Is this the one? Let me see.”
Sarah set the carrier on a giant round table next to an ornate silk floral arrangement. Mrs. Drummel, wearing a white t-shirt, pink shorts and pink sneakers, patted the pink carrier with what might have been approval. “Do I get to keep this?”
“Sure, if you want it. I’ll just have to add the replacement cost to your bill.”
She waved her ringed hand. “I’ve got my checkbook.”
Bob went to the woman’s other side as she opened the carrier. Miss Priss blinked slowly, taking in her new owner.
Mrs. Drummel reached in and gently pulled the white cat out, cradling Miss Priss in her arms. “Hello, beautiful.”
Miss Priss, thank all the stars, purred, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief.
Just then the door swung open and a yippy barking sound collided with a little girl’s laughter.
“Bob, look what I did at school today!”
Bella, dressed in her school uniform of navy blue shorts and a red polo shirt, ran for Bob, the dog in her arms barking with excitement. The cat squirmed from Mrs. Drummel’s grasp, leaping free with a terrified yowl.
No, no, no! Sarah captured the clawing cat mid-air before Miss Priss landed on the marble tile and broke a leg or something.
Somehow she was able to get the cat to her chest, but not before Miss Priss scratched down her chin. Ouch.
Bella stopped talking as she realized what happened. Her brown eyes widened with fear. “Sarah, you’re blee
ding!”
“What’s going on here?” Franco asked. His accent was barely discernible as he joined his daughter, who snuggled Paisley protectively to her body.
“Your dog frightened my cat,” Mrs. Drummel announced, her back straight, her finger shaky as she pointed at Franco.
Sarah crammed an indignant Miss Priss back in the carrier, digging a napkin from her pocket to press against her stinging chin.
“I’m sure she didn’t do it on purpose.” Franco’s entire demeanor was smooth as he answered, from voice to body language. Probably got himself out of many a situation just using that charm, Sarah thought. “She’s a puppy.”
Mrs. Drummel sniffed, not quite immune to Franco’s deep, honeyed tones. “Puppies are like children. They need training.”
Franco’s shoulders tightened at the rebuke. He wore tailored jeans and a tucked-in black polo. A black leather belt and black leather loafers completed his “casual” attire. His dark, wavy hair was kept from his face by sunglasses on his head.
“It was an accident, that’s all.” Sarah dabbed once more at her chin, shoved the napkin back into her pocket and gestured for Bob to assist.
The manager came forward and tapped the pink carrier. “Let’s get Miss Priss settled, shall we, Mrs. Drummel? I can walk you back to your condo.”
“Yes,” the old woman said, her attention diverted. “I’ve got her new home all ready.” Mrs. Drummel reached into her shiny white purse and pulled out a leather checkbook, tearing out a pre-written check. “I’ve made it for three hundred.”
Sarah blinked, hoping she hadn’t misunderstood. “That’s more than the bill.”
“Put the rest toward the shelter. Don’t jostle that carrier, Bob. And you, little girl, be careful with that puppy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bella said, slipping her hand into her dad’s.
Franco’s jaw clenched but he nodded his head at the older lady, who put her arm through Bob’s.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Drummel. I’ll leave the food and supplies by the desk.” Sarah wished she’d had kinder thoughts toward the older lady. The extra money would come in handy for sure.
Bob nodded. “Sure. Thanks again, Sarah, for delivering Miss Priss.”
“I don’t like that name,” Mrs. Drummel said. “I was thinking Jasmine. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Perfect,” Bob agreed.
Sarah, frazzled again, forced herself to smile at Franco. It was easier to reach down and pet Paisley. “Hi, Bella. Good day at school?”
“Gosto, sim. I mean, yes. Sarah, you need a bandage for your chin. We have one upstairs in our bathroom. In the medicine cabinet. Don’t we, Daddy?”
Sarah pulled the shredded napkin from her pocket and dabbed at the cut. He looked perfect and she was a disaster. Not that she cared. Right?
Franco gritted his teeth. “We do, but I’m sure Sarah will be fine as soon as she gets back to her office. Or home. Whatever.”
Bella frowned. “But her napkin is all red! And we have the sticky stuff that stops bacteria.”
Sarah felt Franco’s animosity toward her. She’d caused it, by giving him the citation. Uncertain how to change things, Sarah said, “Thank you, Bella. It’s very thoughtful, but I’ll be fine. I have a first-aid kit in my truck. ”
“See, Bella?” Franco took his hand from his daughter’s and put it on Bella’s shoulder, guiding her toward the elevators. “Sarah is fine.” Then he removed his sunglasses from their perch on his head and stared at her chin.
She didn’t like his scrutiny and she wasn’t at all prepared for him to reach over and pull a piece of napkin free.
“Ouch!” Sarah shivered—partly because that freaking hurt, and a little bit due to his close proximity. He made her nervous, plain and simple.
“It looks pretty deep,” he said, as if she’d done it on purpose. “Maybe you’d better come up and clean it out.”
“I’ll be fine,” she squeaked before backing into the table.
“Please, Sarah?” Bella asked. “We can watch cartoons and my daddy could make us grilled cheese sandwiches.”
Pushing away from the table, Sarah pressed the napkin to her chin, wishing she had something to hide her blushing face. “I’ll be okay, really. And I have to get back to work.”
Bella set Paisley on the ground, keeping her hand on the puppy’s pink leash. “What do you do, Sarah? My mama was an actress. She had allergies.”
Sarah glanced at Franco before answering Bella. “Nothing as glamorous.” She pointed to her shorts and ankle boots. “I help animals. I’m here because Mrs. Drummel just adopted a cat from my shelter.”
“Can we get a cat, Daddy?”
“You have a puppy, Bella.” Franco’s eyes traveled from the top of her head to her feet, then came up again to read the Pet Rescue logo at her left shoulder. “That’s enough for now.”
“Don’t forget your pet store full of designer puppies,” Sarah said, wondering why she needled Franco. Maybe she wanted him to feel as unsettled as she did.
“Designer? What does that mean?” Bella asked, looking up at her dad.
She immediately saw that any empathy Franco might have been feeling toward her over her injury was gone. He blinked, all hard edges once more. “Time to go, Bella. You and I can finish this conversation another time, Sarah. I’ll be calling.”
Great. An ass-reaming she probably deserved.
“Looking forward to it,” she said, wishing she hadn’t lost control. “Bye, Bella. Franco.”
He used his tone to draw a line in the sand. “That is Mr. de Silva to you.”
Sarah’s chin stung but not as much as her pride. She pushed open the door that led outside and stomped to her truck. I know better than that.
*****
“Daddy, are you mad at Sarah?”
Franco seethed inside the elevator. “No, honey.” Mad was way too tame a word for how he felt about Sarah Murphy.
“You sounded mad,” his daughter insisted.
“I was worried about her chin.” There’d been an instant, a second, that Franco wanted to help Sarah. Offer her comfort. Touch her arm, her hair—then she had to go and say what she did about his “designer” puppies.
What was that about? He’d been prepared all week for battle if she stepped into his store, right down to the dialogue they’d exchange. And somehow, in his traitorous mind, their heated argument always ended with a passionate kiss. She hadn’t come in. She’d sent her assistant, Martin, instead.
He clenched his fists at his side.
She was so competent, Sarah. Catching Miss Priss before the cat landed on the marble tile and was hurt, despite the injury to her chin. Bianca would have let the cat fall before letting it near her precious face. Directing the situation without seeming to take control. Her kindness to Bella.
Franco couldn’t reconcile her decency as a person with her dislike of him. I can’t get her out of my head.
“When you call her, you can ask how her chin is.”
Damn it. Bella heard him say he’d be calling. And once Bella had something in mind, she was tenacious.
“I’ll remember. Now, how about a snack?”
“Oatmeal cookies?”
“You bet. Do you have homework?” It seemed ridiculous to him that a seven-year old had homework, but her teacher insisted it was important.
“Spelling.” Bella stuck out her tongue. “I don’t like spelling. I’d rather do math.”
Franco laughed. “That’s what we have spell check for on the computer, princess. I am not so good, either.”
They walked into the apartment, Paisley dashing for her water dish. The puppy had healed very nicely, and none of the other pups in the batch were affected. Unlike what Sarah might believe, he would never sell damaged goods.
That wasn’t how you got return customers, or more importantly, built a good reputation. After the fiasco with Bianca, he didn’t want his daughter tainted by any more negativity.
“Why don’t you go
change out of your school uniform, and I’ll get the mixing bowls out.”
“Okay, Daddy. Maybe you should call Sarah?”
Like a bull dog, with a bone clamped in its teeth. “Later.”
He wished he hadn’t said anything. But that woman got under his skin like a tick. Annoying. Demeaning. And dangerous.
Perhaps if he got Bella involved with the cookies, she’d forget.
He wanted to forget all about Sarah Murphy himself.
Chapter Four
A half hour later, Sarah had deposited the check into her bank account, put a bandage over the gouge in her chin, and raced toward the little Publix on the corner to get the baking supplies. One recipe called for peanut butter, which might be interesting, and the thought of Benny with a mouthful made her laugh. Sarah definitely wanted to try some pumpkin, which was supposed to help with canine digestion issues.
She grabbed a red basket by the front door and quickly headed toward aisle 5.
“Sarah!”
She turned around at the sound of a young girl’s voice, and sure enough, there was Bella standing near the baking supplies. Of course, Franco was there, too. Lean and sophisticated, a male model artfully lost among the sugar. Just hanging out with Betty Crocker.
“Hi!” Sarah smiled at Bella, who clutched a bag of chocolate chips in one hand and butterscotch in the other—she couldn’t be any cuter, purple shorts and all. She didn’t let her gaze settle on Bella’s father as she said slowly, “Mr. de Silva.”
Franco flinched and folded his hands behind his back. He’d changed from his black polo to a fitted black t-shirt, more casual but he still emanated money. Class.
Bella ran over and showed her choices to Sarah. “What do you like best? Chocolate?”
It was obvious from the way that Bella only lifted the bag of chocolate which one was her favorite.
“Chocolate?” Sarah guessed.
“Yes!” She ran back and put the butterscotch on the shelf. “See, Daddy? Chocolate is the best.”