Tails of Love

by Lori Foster

  Martha peered out the door. “Poor thing. It looks starved.”

  Adam faced her. “What should we do with it?”

  Émile sniffed. “Maybe some lemon sorbet to cleanse his palate before the second course?”

  Adam laughed with his staff. Even Chien gave a grudging smile before suggesting, “Chocolate soufflé for dessert?”

  “Chocolate is dangerous for dogs.” Martha glanced away from the stray. “I learned that volunteering at the animal shelter on Caridad Street. That’s where you should take it.”

  “They’d just put it down,” Adam protested.

  She shook her head. “Rescue Me is a no-kill shelter.”

  Ten minutes later, Adam was driving the five city blocks to Rescue Me, with a muddy, smelly dog sitting in an empty banana box on his newly detailed BMW’s leather seat.

  “You reek of Dumpster-diving, little buddy.” He kept his voice soft to avoid scaring the nervous dog. Adam lowered his car windows several inches to let in the rich scent of the area’s ethnic restaurants—a wonderful mix of exotic spices and fried foods. He inhaled deeply as his passenger’s nose twitched.

  He maneuvered past double-parked vans, delivering shipments from around the world to this eclectic neighborhood. Adam braked for a man pushing a two-wheeler stacked with Dos Equis beer. Down the street, two Asian women chatted anima tedly as they examined produce boxes. The area’s amicable quirk iness appealed more to Adam than the ritzier parts of the nation’s capital.

  Storefronts grew shabbier as he turned right onto Caridad Street. The short block held two parking lots, an Indian grocery, and Madame Magda’s Tarot Card & Palm Reading Parlor. Between the lots was a sooty, two-story brick building with a cheery green sign over the front door. The sign featured a cartoon cat and dog bracketing the words RESCUE ME.

  Adam parallel-parked in front of the building. After pumping a few quarters into the parking meter, he retrieved the box from his passenger seat and locked his BMW. Hopefully the car would still be there when he got back.

  Inside the carton, the pathetic animal shivered and pawed catlike at the tablecloth he’d used for padding. Thanks to the dog’s hairless state, Adam could see its ribs. What if the little thing was too sick to save? He blocked the thought.

  “Hang in there,” he reassured the animal. “We’ll fix you up.”

  Adam held the box in one hand as he opened the shelter’s front door. A bell tinkled when he stepped into an empty waiting room. The furniture was the olive metal and vinyl of government surplus. A hallway led toward the rear of the building.

  “C’mon back,” a woman called from a room off the corridor.

  Adam started down the hall. He peered through the first open door into an examining room. A woman wearing kitten-themed doctor scrubs leaned over a stainless steel table reading a chart. Her chin-length, light brown hair concealed her face.

  Then she straightened, turned, and offered her hand. “Welcome to Rescue Me.”

  Recognition struck Adam with the force of the defensive tackle who’d ended his career. His lungs scrabbled for air, and he resisted rubbing his chest where his heart had taken a direct hit. Claire. It was Claire. Her beautiful brown eyes met his, and it seemed like seconds instead of years had passed since he’d made the biggest mistake of his life.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dr. Claire Mendelsohn froze, her hand extended toward Adam—the man she’d prayed she’d never see again. The icy shock of his appearance stuttered her heart and closed her throat.

  What was wrong with her? She’d known this day would come, when she’d heard he’d returned to D.C. and opened a restaurant practically in her backyard. But, God help her, knowing hadn’t prepared her for this emotional jolt. Claire dropped her hand and forced the best smile she could muster. “Hello, Adam.”

  “Um,” he began, looking as stunned as she felt. “I didn’t know you worked here. I mean, I read in the University of Virginia Alumni News you’d gotten your vet degree . . .”

  Her stomach roiled. Was he, too, remembering that awful night after their UVA graduation? It’d been ten years since he’d delivered his ultimatum—go with him to San Francisco or take her scholarship to Cornell veterinary school—but the pain was scalpel sharp. She quashed thoughts of that bitter argument and kept up her end of their oh-so-polite small talk. “Three years ago, I moved back to D.C. to be closer to my parents. I opened this shelter instead of joining an established practice.”

  Adam nodded, and the tension in the room grew palpable. Claire wanted to weep at how coldly formal they’d become.

  She tried not to catalogue the ways he’d changed from the shaggy-haired, twenty-one-year-old she’d loved. But how could she not compare this muscular, well-dressed man to that jeans-clad college kid? Adam’s mahogany hair was shorter and expensively cut. Was it still as silky to the touch? And his blue eyes were just as intense today as in her memories. When they’d made love in his fraternity room, he’d stared into her very soul. . . .

  Claire cleared her throat. “I read that you’d opened a restaurant. The reviews have been great.”

  Adam shrugged. “I hired the right chef.” He was silent for a moment, then added, “I’ve never seen you at Nuclear Fusion.”

  “I haven’t been, yet.” Yeah. Like she’d willingly put her heart through a grinder by visiting his restaurant. She glanced away. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

  “Claire—” He stopped as a pitiful whine came from the box in his hands. “Damn, I nearly forgot.” He set the box on her examining table. “I found this dog behind my restaurant. Can you help it?”

  One look at the shaking animal, and her professional instincts kicked in.

  “Oh, poor baby.” Claire soothed the animal as it hesitantly wagged its tail. She retrieved several treats for toy-sized canines and offered them to the waif-thin creature. The dog accepted the food after some cautionary sniffing.

  Conscious of Adam watching, Claire smoothed her hands over the dog’s tiny limbs and torso, then inspected its head, eyes, and mouth. There didn’t seem to be any injuries, and the dog tolerated her examination without whimpers of pain.

  Her jack-rabbiting pulse calmed as she went through the familiar routine. Claire started a chart on the dog, recording her observations. After warming her stethoscope on her palm, she checked its heart and lungs. No concerns there, either.

  She glanced at Adam, who looked more like a worried pet-owner than a man who’d rescued a stray. “There aren’t any obvious problems besides malnutrition. But I’ll keep an eye on him for a few days, while I search the missing dog reports.”

  “Did starving make his fur fall out?” He stroked the matted tuft on the dog’s head, his tanned hand as large as the animal’s body. “He’s only got hair left on his head, ankles, and tail.”

  Claire smiled. “He’s a Chinese crested hairless dog.”

  Adam’s jaw dropped, and his fingers stilled on the animal’s back. “He’s supposed to look like this?”

  Despite their unhappy history, Adam’s incredulity tickled a laugh out of Claire. She rubbed gently at the dirt streaking the dog’s sides. “Give the little crestie a break. Once I wash the mud off him, he won’t look so bedraggled.”

  “I’ll take your word on that.” He met her eyes, and the air thickened again. “Can I come tomorrow and visit, uh, the dog?”

  No. She almost said it aloud, but she only had her personal reasons to object. So she nodded. Her assistant, Lucia, could take Adam to see the dog, while Claire did what? Hid in her office? Avoiding him for a decade hadn’t killed her feelings.

  Absently, she patted the dog, her hand brushing Adam’s fingers. Claire registered the warm, familiar feel of his skin before jerking her hand away. The last thing she needed was to remember this man’s touch. So she picked up her clipboard and made a note to call the crestie rescue group about missing pets.

  “What do I owe you?” Adam asked.

  There’s a loaded questio
n. Claire bit back a response about long overdue apologies and explained the shelter’s policy instead. “We don’t charge people who save lost or abandoned animals. But if you’d like to make a donation, there’s a jar on the receptionist’s desk.”

  Adam nodded. Then he smoothed his thumb under the dog’s chin and spoke softly to it. “See you tomorrow, bud.”

  Claire watched the man who’d broken her heart walk down the hall, where he pushed some bills into her donation jar before leaving. Her treacherous mind was bent on torturing her today, noting how fine he looked from the back as well as the front. Why couldn’t Adam have turned into an unattractive toad with an obnoxious personality? Instead he was a sexy champion of strays.

  After slipping another treat to the crestie, Claire strode to her reception desk and looked into the collection jar. Three hundred-dollar bills lay among the pennies and nickels. She sighed. The man made it hard to hold a grudge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Adam drove on autopilot toward his Northeast D.C. home. Despite the work waiting for him at the restaurant, he needed to think. Why had seeing Claire again rattled him so badly?

  The cell phone in his pocket played “Neutron Dance,” and Adam sighed. He regretted the day he’d let Émile program his phone with the ’80s hit. But his maître d’ had decided it was an appropriately named ring tone for the owner of Nuclear Fusion.

  He slowed for a red light and answered his cell.

  “How’s the patient?” his bookkeeper asked.

  He should’ve known Martha would be waiting to hear. “Dr. Mendelsohn said he just needs some food and attention. She’s going to check for reports of missing cresties.”

  “That hairless stray was a Chinese crested?” Martha laughed. “You know, they often win the Ugliest Dog Contest.”

  Adam almost snapped that the poor animal wasn’t ugly, just half-starved. Instead, he reined in his unexpected irritation. “Well, Claire will get him fixed up and find his owners.”

  “Claire, is it? You move fast, Nuke,” Martha teased him.

  Damn. Just because he’d dated a few starlets in his years with the 49ers, he had a rep as a player on and off the football field. And now his friends figured he was always on the make. Before his nosy bookkeeper could pry any further, Adam changed the subject. “Listen, I’ve got some errands to run, so I won’t be in until six. Can you hold down the fort?”

  Martha assured him she could, and he ended the call. The last thing he felt like doing was explaining how he knew Claire.

  Besides, he didn’t really know this woman, this competent, compassionate veterinarian. The Claire he’d loved in college had been a shy bookworm, the exact opposite from the blond party-girls his fellow jocks had dated. But Claire had been anything but quiet with him . . . especially when they’d made love.

  Regret clenched his gut, and he gripped the steering wheel with whitened knuckles. He’d had his share of bed partners over the years, enough to know now how special Claire was and how good they’d been together. If only he’d realized it in college.

  The streets became residential and affluent, as he drove in silence with his remorse. By the time he pulled into his drive and punched in the code to open the gate, Adam was cursing the arrogant kid he’d been. How could he have pushed Claire away?

  He parked the BMW in his garage and let himself into his McMansion—his parents’ nickname for the stone Colonial he’d purchased several years ago. Thanks to a decorator, the main floor was furnished and comfortable, but the only livable room upstairs was his bedroom. The place had great security and was convenient to his restaurant, but it’d never felt like a home.

  Adam took the stairs to the second floor two at a time, then strode to the small bedroom at the end of the hall. Inside was a jumble of boxes he hadn’t unpacked since leaving San Francisco. He found the carton labeled “UVA” and placed it on the window seat by the room’s large, mullioned windows.

  He stared at the box, then opened the dusty flap. Why was he doing this? It was hard enough seeing Claire today without this painful trip down Memory Lane. Still, like a glutton for punishment, he shuffled through the carton until he found the picture frame. Picking it up, he peeled off the bubble wrap.

  The photo had been taken at their college graduation. Both Claire and he wore caps and gowns, and they were laughing at something he couldn’t recall. But it was the way she looked at him with such love in her face that made his chest ache.

  He brushed his finger across her image. This young Claire had longer hair than the sophisticated cut sported by Dr. Mendelsohn. In college, she’d tie it back in a ponytail when she had ridden in his old Mustang convertible. Would she be surprised to learn he still had that car—now totally restored?

  In the photo, Claire’s shapeless graduation gown hid her lean limbs and delicate curves. Today, despite her boxy scrubs, the good doctor was even more attractive, with a woman’s fuller body and confidence. How would she feel in his arms now?

  Damn, he was a fool for even imagining such things. He’d hurt Claire badly. After signing a football contract that meant more money in a year than he’d thought to earn in his lifetime, Adam had expected Claire to forget her dreams and follow him to California. When she hadn’t jumped at his request, he’d issued an ultimatum. And he hadn’t even offered marriage in return.

  A fresh wave of self-disgust flooded him, and Adam returned the frame to the box. Those days with Claire were the happiest of his life. He’d never been able to recapture the same sense of peace and completion with anyone else.

  He’d picked up the phone to call her countless times over the years, then chickened out. What if he’d reached her and she’d refused to forgive him? What if she’d married and built a life with someone else?

  Adam looked around the dusty room. All he had from his NFL days was a bum knee and come-ons from women more interested in his money than in him. And too many regrets to count.

  Claire wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. The thought pushed through his mental pity party and sparked a flame of hope. Was it possible? Could he convince Claire to give their relationship another shot? Adam fisted his hands. Quitting hadn’t landed him in two Super Bowls. And he wouldn’t throw in the towel on this challenge either.

  He just needed a game plan.

  Adam grinned, feeling the familiar, powerful resolve that had served him so well with the 49ers. If there was a chance in hell for him and Claire, he was going for it. And with the help of his little crestie buddy, he’d play to win.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “It’s great to have you back.” Claire smiled at her college intern, currently manning the shelter’s reception desk. “How was Spring Break? Tell me you didn’t end up in a Gone Wild video.”

  Patty laughed. “I spent the week building a Habitat for Humanity house. We kept our shirts on, except the guys. They made it difficult to concentrate.” She handed a photo to Claire.

  In the shot, eight grinning people stood in front of a partially constructed house. Several were muscular, shirtless young men. Even dirt-streaked, the guys were eye candy. Claire gave an appreciative hum before handing the photo back to Patty.

  The shelter’s front door opened, and Adam strode in, buff and gorgeous in a body-molding shirt and jeans. Claire forced back the appreciative hum that wanted to resurface. She’d meant to be in her office, in case he stopped by. But when he met her gaze and smiled, her plans to avoid him evaporated like steam.

  “Hi.” Adam walked up to the desk. “How’s the patient?”

  “The crestie’s doing fine.” Claire’s voice was steady despite her racing heart. Would she feel this attracted to Adam if they’d just met, or was this some sort of lost-love lust?

  She introduced the intern, who gave Adam the once-over as they shook hands. But his focus stayed on Claire, and she hid her unexpected pleasure at his attention.

  “I’ll show you to our dog runs.” Claire led him past the examination rooms and her office, so aware of the man by her
side that her skin actually prickled. What was it about Adam that made her want to forget the past and their bitter words?

  Claire concentrated on her tour. “We rent this building and have a year left on the lease before the landlord sells it.”

  Adam stopped. “Where will you go?”

  She sighed, already dreading the move. “We’re looking at places in Maryland.” Claire continued walking. “We divided this building’s storage area into rooms—the largest for the dogs and cats. Feral animals, like raccoons, are isolated in case of rabies. Sometimes we get exotic animals people kept as pets.”

  She opened the heavy door to the canine section and watched Adam’s eyes pop when he heard the cacophony of barks and yips. “They’re happy to see you,” Claire teased. “Thanks to these thick walls, most of the noise is contained in this room.”

  She gestured to the runs, several housing a dog. “Each run is built with an inside area, a doggie door in the wall, and a similar outside run, where they can go in good weather. The outside enclosures were built on the old parking lot, which allows us to hose down the runs to clean them.”

  Adam couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the assortment of dogs. “What’s going to happen to them?”

  Claire walked to the first run, slipped her fingers into the mesh surrounding the pen, and petted the terrier inside. “We have volunteers who walk the dogs and play with them. And some foster-parent the dogs or cats,” she explained. “They let us know how social and stable the animals are, whether they’re good with children, that sort of thing. Then we hold adoption fairs and place as many as we can with good homes.”

  “You must go through a lot of kibble,” he observed.

  Claire nodded. That was an understatement. “Food, kitty litter, chew toys . . .” She moved to the next run, where a battle-scarred boxer snuffled her hand before licking it. “We hold fund-raisers, bake sales, etcetera to cover operating expenses.”

  Adam glanced down the row of runs. “Where’s Buddy?”