by Brooke Moss
THE END
If you enjoyed Kisses, check out “What’s Better than a Book Boyfriend?” in Valentine Kisses box set.
Shy librarian Charlie Bishop has spent every Valentine’’s Day in the company of her beloved book boyfriends.
Charlie is absolutely certain she has nothing common with hunky construction worker Hank Carter.
So how far will Hank have to go to prove to Charlie he’s better than any of her book boyfriends?
https://www.amazon.com/Valentine-Kisses-Kiss-Last-Lifetime-ebook/dp/B01N4M1GZI/
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Vance-Tompkins was born in a small town in northern Michigan. She received an MFA in Film Production from the University of Southern California, and went on to work in feature film development. Prior to film school, she wrote and produced radio and television commercials. A working writer, she has been paid to write everything from obituaries and press releases to breathless descriptions of engagement rings. She and her husband, The Handsomest Man Alive™, live in Southern California with three cats.
Website: http://www.sarahvancetompkins.com
Facebook Home: https://www.facebook.com/sarahevance
Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/sarahvancetompkins
Twitter: https://twitter.com/sarahvtompkins
Instagram: https://instagram.com/sarahvantom/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sarahevance/
Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Vance-Tompkins/e/B00QSTJ3HS/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
More Than Puppy Love
Kitsy Clare
OTHER ROMANCE BY KITSY CLARE
AND FICTION AS CATHERINE STINE
Kitsy Clare romance:
Model Position
Private Internship
The Art of Love (boxed set)
***
USA Today bestselling Catherine Stine fiction:
Heart in a Box
Witch of the Cards
Fireseed One
Ruby’s Fire
Dorianna
More Than Puppy Love
Copyright © 2018 Kitsy Clare/Catherine Stine
All rights reserved.
DEDICATION
To my beagle Benny, and my hubby who I humor
with my dog obsession.
CHAPTER ONE
I’m bubbly with anticipation as I turn off the highway and onto a country road in the Poconos. This winter was brutal in more ways than one. At a New Year’s Eve party, I broke up with my cheater boyfriend, Van, after I caught him with the hostess in her bathroom. In January, I nursed my mom through a broken leg. A blinding, February snowstorm knocked a birch tree onto my apartment roof. It cracked the shingles and roofing material underneath. At first snowmelt, a massive leak turned my wall of framed, professional pet photos into a warped runny mess.
But I survived and it’s June!
I reprinted and reframed the photos. My mom is walking all over and is back to doing her yoga, and the landlord repaired the roof. Things turned around even more when I bought my car and picked up my puppy from the breeder.
Finally, it’s balmy enough in Philly to lounge on the apartment balcony in shorts and sandals. I have the summer off from teaching college lit and have more time to work on switching careers. I’m headed to a rental cottage on Lake Wallenpaupack where I’ll meet Tinsley, my BFF from the University of the Arts. It’s a pet-friendly place and she’s bringing her ten-month-old yellow lab, Lyric. I can’t wait for Tinsley and Lyric to meet my feisty, beagle pup, Bart. He’s crated safe and sound in the backseat of my new Rogue Sport. Will there be puppy love between her girly, blonde pup and my black, furbaby with dappled tan paws? Will Tinsley approve of Bart? Hey, since she writes songs for a living, maybe she’ll write one for Bart. A song comes to me:
Bart the beagle chomps on sticks
That is how he gets his kicks.
Every day it’s something new
Wires, trash and shoes he’ll chew.
I’m no Tinsley. These lyrics make me sound twelve.
Following the commands of the digital navigator, I drive up a narrow road past a ramshackle red barn, Jenson Auto Body, and an assisted living facility ironically called Joy! Then, I pass a diner in a silver trailer with a sign across its front door–Permanently Closed.
I’m running late so I step on it. I picture Tinsley already there, pacing around in the yard. I listen for Bart’s snores or rustles but it’s awfully quiet in the back. Hopefully, he’s snoozing like most dogs do in moving vehicles, but I worry since it’s been over two hours with no peep. I’ve only had Bart for a few weeks so I don’t completely know him, yet. Well, I know he likes to cuddle in my lap while I watch TV. I know when he’s bored, he chews on computer and lamp cords. I know he bays at the UPS guy like the hound dog he is.
But isn’t silence a sign a dog is up to no good?
A peek couldn’t hurt; to make sure he’s napping and hasn’t suffocated under his mat or swallowed a loose wing nut from the crate. I check in the rearview mirror first. The blue plastic crate’s slats are way too narrow to see his black fur between them. Next, I slow the car to fifteen miles per hour and whip my head around. My chest prickles. I still can’t see him. Shouldn’t I see something? A fleeting glimpse of the black fur, his cute white stripe? The sheen from his wet nose?
I turn my head forward and concentrate on driving for another minute or two. Though, I can’t shake the growing buzz of anxiety in my chest. Shouldn’t I give it one more look? Another super-quick peek.
I crane my neck around and take a longer look. A moment later, I jolt forward and the car slams to a halt. It crashes with a screeching grate of metal on metal. My flutters of panic flare into full-fledged stabs of terror.
I spin forward again to see the passenger side of my car butting up against a pole on the right side of the road. No! Holy crap! I put the car in reverse and try to back up. As I do, the car drags and makes a loud scraping sound.
Before I get out to see what kind of fresh hell I just got myself into, I turn around to look at Bart. Now, I clearly see my black furbaby curled into a peaceful ball at the very back of the crate. What the hell? He’s absolutely fine and slept through the whole accident!
I’m offended because it was out of concern for him I turned around in the first place. But then, I face the truth.
“You did something really effing stupid, girl!” I yell at myself. “Never take your eyes off the road. Not for two seconds. Not even for your puppy dog! Arianna, stop being a reckless idiot!”
I crack open my door and step into the sunlight. How dare it be gorgeous during such a scary ordeal? This kind of accident should happen in a snow squall, not on a perfect June day. I shake off my nerves and anger as I walk around to assess the damage. My wheel is off-kilter. It looks like I have a flat. The decorative molding around the wheel has been knocked out of its notches. No obvious body damage. The front light is still in one piece, I note with a breath of relief.
I passed an auto body place a mile back. If I try to drive there, it could damage my axle. Then, I remember the AAA membership card in my wallet. Jeez, my mind is not functioning at full capacity. Shaking, I pull it out and dial the number.
They tell me someone from Jensen Auto Body will be there in half an hour. I turn around to check on Bart. Still sleeping innocently as an angel! I chew on my nails and stew, then, I lock the car and run across the road to take a desperate pit stop at Betty’s Nail and Hair Emporium, a tiny saltbox of a place. My nostrils ping with the sharp ammonia smell of hair dye. They generously wish me well, and I race back to wake Bart and see if he needs a potty break, too.
Bart is sniffing every which way when the Jensen Auto Body truck arrives. It’s a tall, freckled guy, barely out of high school with nametag that says Bobby. He puts the ‘donut tire’ on I had in my trunk. Good, I’ll still get to the cabin on time to meet Tinsley and Lyric. I’ll just leave the spare on during the vacation and fix it when I get back to Philly. No biggie. Won�
��t even put a dent in my plans.
“This’ll just get you to Jensen Auto Body or another service place, Ma’am,” he says with a nod to the donut tire.
“You mean I can’t drive it to Lake Wallenpaupack?”
“No. That’s a good ten miles. It’s only meant to go a very short distance.”
My stomach drops. “Okay. Which way is it to Jensen Auto Body?”
He gives me directions, I fork over a generous tip and he barrels off in his truck.
The kid wasn’t lying. When I crate Bart, get back in my car and try to drive, it is all but impossible to steer. I veer wildly across the road with my heart pounding as I desperately grip the wheel. “If I wasn’t dead before, this’ll kill me,” I mutter with rising hysteria.
There’s a fair amount of traffic on the road now, which exacerbates the problem. I’m going about three miles an hour and there’s a growing line of frustrated drivers behind me. I flick on my hazard lights and wave the cars around me. By the time I get to the auto shop place, a highway patrolman is escorting me.
“Thanks, officer,” I say when I exit my dinged-up car.
“Stay safe,” he answers. “Good luck repairing your vehicle.”
Yeah, I’ll need it. Before I get out of my car, I text Tinsley.
Running late. Sorry! A bit of car trouble. Will keep u posted.
She doesn’t text back right away so she must still be driving. That’s good.
I leash Bart and walk unsteadily to the Jensen Auto Body office.
Behind the counter is a tall, well-built man with curly dark-brown hair. He’s got the apple-pink glow of guys on TV commercials hawking farm fresh corn and green beans, and he’s wearing a snug royal-blue fleece that sets off his lake-blue eyes. He gives me a long, appreciative look. Then, as if he’s realized he’s stared too long, his eyes drift down to Bart. He flashes a fetching, lopsided grin. “That’s a beagle you’ve got, right?”
“Why, yeah!” I’m partial to guys who like dogs, and even better if they know the breeds. One of the many conflicts between my ex and I was I wanted a puppy. Not him. He was way too protective of his European designer shoes and leather couch. “How did you know it was a beagle?”
“I breed beagles.” Blue-Eyed Hunk looks over at me with shameless enthusiasm.
Ooh, I’m loving it! “Cool! Well, mine’s a small-sized beagle.”
“I can tell,” he says. “There are thirteen-inch and eighteen-inch ones. Mine are the thirteen-inchers, too.” Another type of thirteen-incher wafts into my filthy mind. My neck heats up. Is it obvious I’m blushing? Woo boy, I guess my body is letting me know I’ve been celibate too many months. I smile broadly as I push the thought away. He reaches for his smartphone in his pocket and scrolls through. “Here,” he says, holding it out. “My female beagle, Wilma.”
“She’s a dark beauty,” I say.
“For sure.” He scrolls to another photo and holds it up. “Fred, the male.”
“Aw! A beagle with a white stripe down his snout like Bart! Your guy is brown and Bart’s mainly black, but they could be cousins.”
The guy’s laughter is like refreshing water rushing along in a brook. “True,” he says. “I named them after the old cartoon, the Flintstones.”
“I’ve seen it on YouTube. It’s hard core wacky, like me.”
“Oh?” Blue Eyes regards me again, with a deeper look. I worry for a moment I’ve turned him off, but then, he rewards me with another of his apple-cheeked smiles. “Yup, good stone-age laughs,” he says and holds out his hand. It’s big and rough and darkened in spots with oil-stains though he’s tried to wash it off with a strong, lemony soap I catch a whiff of. “I’m David Jensen. You?”
I shake his hand. “Arianna Jordan.”
“What brings you in today, Arianna?”
For god’s sakes! I almost forgot about my dilemma. “I banged into a pole up on the road back there—Route 50? Um, I landed cattycorner to Betty’s Nail and Hair Emporium. AAA called your company to go out and pop a spare tire on my car. Like forty-five minutes ago?”
“Sure, sure.” Dave Jensen looks out the window at the Rogue. “How’s it faring now? Did my guy do a good job?”
“Yes, but uh, there’s something else wrong with it. I could barely steer it. I could only drive about three miles per hour. Something’s really off with the car.”
Bart strains at the leash and barks mournfully, as if he knows something’s not right.
“No worries, little hound,” David Jensen says, patting Bart. He grabs his hat and some random tools. “C’mon, let’s go have a look.”
While he’s kneeling down to examine the car’s right side, I check him out from the back. Nice wide shoulders veering into a narrow set of hips. No spare tire, pun intended. His work boots are satisfyingly scuffed—nothing like my ex’s flawless designer loafers. And this guy is working with tools. Somehow, this titillates me. My chest flutters with private delight. What could be sexier than a man who knows how to fix things, likes dogs, and is a healthy country sort, who probably grows all of his food in a backyard garden? Bart likes him, too. He sniffs around Dave’s boots, and jumps up on him. Dave doesn’t scold Bart. Instead, he guides him away with a patient, gentle hand. Holy moly. What is wrong with me? I’m acting like a moony twelve-year-old schoolgirl. Well, it’s been five months since the breakup and I’m lonely. Truth be told, I felt alone the last five months I was with Van, so make it ten months of actual solo time.
Dave gets to his feet and brushes off his hands. “Do you mind if I take a look at the wheel my guy took off? Maybe I can patch it.”
“No problem.”
While Dave removes the tire from my trunk and hauls it into his garage, I walk Bart. He’s eager to scurry around in jagged circles, smelling everything in sight—the border hedges, the waiting room door, the broken parts of the driveway asphalt, even the gas pumps.
Dave returns with a frown. “I thought you had a flat, but it’s really weird…”
“What?” My heart is pounding hard again.
“The tire is fine,” he reports, “It’s the rim that’s damaged.” He leads me to the garage with Bart trailing after us. “See? Whatever you hit poked a large hole in the metal rim.”
“Yipes! What does that mean exactly?”
“It means you aren’t going anywhere with your car today—or for a little while. The rim needs replacing and I suspect you also have damage to your ball joint, the wheel pole and most likely more issues underneath. It may take a while to locate the Nissan parts. Not sure the dealer here stocks all of what you need.”
Panic closes my throat. “Do you know of a car rental place around here?” I squeak. I need to text Tinsley again. This will take longer than I thought.
“Most of my cars are out. I’ve got one more.” He nods to a dark-blue sedan parked to the right of his garage.
“Thanks, yes, I’ll rent it!”
While he asks me for my license number and credit card info and fills out a form, I sigh with relief. Bart seems to have finally calmed down, too. He’s sitting peacefully by my feet. I pet his soft forehead and floppy ears.
“Where are you staying up here?” asks Dave.
The fluttering in my chest returns big-time. “By Lake Wallenpaupack. On 500 Lakeview Drive. I’ll be here for a couple of weeks,” I reveal.
“Good. I’ll call the dealer to see about those parts. And by the way, you’ll be around for a dog thing we do by the lake there.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, Pooch Palooza is on one of the pet-friendly beaches. We do games, contests and the whole nine yards.”
“So, I could bring my puppy!”
“Absolutely. Bart might even win the Best Baying Hound round. The more, the merrier.” Is that a flicker of interest in Dave’s blue eyes? “Can I get a contact phone number for you?” he asks, pen poised. If he’s intrigued, he hides it by getting very involved in jotting down my address and cell phone number. He has me sign the rental car agree
ment and hands me the keys.
“Thank you so much. Will you check out my car in the meantime, and let me know what parts are needed and how much they’ll run me?”
“Of course. I’ll give the Nissan dealer near here a call on Monday. Are you intending to go through your insurance? If the repairs and parts run more than $500, you may want to. The damage appears to be extensive. And if so, you’ll need a damage assessment from the insurance company.”
“Yikes. The insurance. I totally zoned it out. Yeah, I have Geico. It’s just that… I haven’t had an accident in many years.”
“Gold star, Miss Safe Driver,” he jokes. “They can send someone out here and since your record is clean, they’ll probably grant you accident forgiveness.”
“Huh?”
“No raise on your rates.”
“Right. That’s a relief.”
Bart is up again, and Dave pats his back before walking me out to the rental car. It’s an old Ford Focus, which has seen better days and smells of cigarettes, but hey, I’ll take it. It means I’ll have to return back to Jensen Auto Body. Maybe even twice: once to meet the insurance assessor, and again to drop off the rental car and pick up my patched up Nissan. Who knows? Maybe, I’ll get to that Pooch Palooza. Maybe, Dave will even invite me over to see his beagles.
Something tells me this vacation might be way more fun than I imagined, even with the scary smack up.
CHAPTER TWO
Halfway to Lakeview Drive my phone starts pinging like crazy. Before I read the texts I pull off the road and come to a full stop. Lesson learned—forever!
It’s Tinsley.
Where are you? I’m at cabin, let myself in. Still have car trouble?