Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After

by Krista Phillips

  “Maybe I would have if Cujo hadn’t not knocked them out of me.” A sliver of amusement darted through those amazing eyes and his gruff tone was now smooth like melted caramel.

  “Cujo was a St. Benard. Just sayin.” Emma Kate, leave well enough alone.

  He paused and eyed her again. “Mmm…hmm. That’s what’s important here.” He pinned Creed with a sharp glare. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have urine-stained clothing to take care of.”

  “I hope you mean the dog’s.”

  His lady friend made the gaggy face. But Mr. Money chuckled as he left her standing, leash in hand and Creed panting on her wrist.

  She cupped Creed’s face. “Of all the men you had to knock down, why would you pick him? You’re lucky he’s not suing.” He probably had an arsenal of attorneys. Not that he’d get much from Emma Kate. She frowned and rubbed his muzzle. “P.S., you’re grounded.”

  Griffin Noble collapsed against the door and laid a hand on his chest. Arrhythmia. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. That dog came out of nowhere. Like a beast. He slipped his shoes off and pawed at his face.

  “You need a drink, Griff?”

  He needed to live in a dog-free world. He hated dogs. For good reason. “I’m gonna change my clothes.” He couldn’t be sure if the little southern spitfire with that sassy drawl was serious about the dog urine or not. He wasn’t taking any chances.

  Cujo was a St. Bernard. He snorted and half-laughed.

  Upstairs in his room, he dropped his clothing in the dry cleaning hamper and then jumped in the shower, letting the steam wash over him, and the water pound against sore muscles. He needed to work late tonight, but Evie was downstairs. Not for long though. Griffin had a major pitch coming up and needed to be on his A-game. If he failed…well that wasn’t an option. He had to secure the contract from Surf N Turf Resorts to build an unparalleled resort in St. Thomas.

  Hopefully, it’d bring respect and admiration from Dad. For once.

  This contract would bring them to a whole new level of business. And since he did some of his best thinking in the shower, here he stood. But he couldn’t seem to remove the mental image of the dog-walker, Kate. Kate—yes, he’d heard one of the Kent’s call her that before. Didn’t he?

  She was petite but curvy. Several evenings he’d seen her walking that horse of a dog. Carrying on a conversation with it as if it understood, and smiling. She had one of those Julia Roberts smiles. Pretty in a girl-next-door-kind-of way. Maybe in a different environment he’d have introduced himself. But probably not. He was married to work. No time for commitment, and she seemed like a commitment-type-of-girl.

  He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt, then headed downstairs. Evie had helped herself to a glass of merlot. “You have that look, Griff.”

  “What look is that?”

  “Get out of my hair; I need to work.” She grinned, full red lips. “I have a case to prep for anyway.” She stood. “You really should say something to the neighbors about the dog-walker. If she can’t control it, she shouldn’t be doing it.”

  Valid point. But he doubted dog-walkers made much money, and he wasn’t keen on taking away someone’s livelihood. “It’s over now.” Thank God.

  “You finished with your pitch ideas for that family friendly resort in St. Thomas?”

  “No.”

  Family friendly. What did Griffin know about that?

  Nothing.

  His family had only looked good on Christmas cards and in a church pew on the major holidays. Griffin and his little sister Giselle had grown up with nannies. 24/7. It had royally sucked.

  “You heard from your father today?”

  “Two emails checking in on the meeting coming up.” Couldn’t even call from Italy. Sounded about right.

  Leaving her wine glass on his coffee table, she collected her purse from the foyer table. “I don’t know why he has you running this company if he’s going to micromanage you. I think it’s pretty clear you know what you’re doing.”

  Noble Construction Company was well-known and worth millions. Griffin had a hand in garnering some of that money in the past decade since he’d come on board at Dad’s request. Always the good son. But the economy wasn’t great, and this resort contract would lead them into other business ventures. “Thanks, Evie.” He kissed her cheek. She seemed disappointed but he wasn’t serious about her. He’d made that clear. Ten minutes after she left, the door bell rang. Did she forget something? He peeked through the window.

  Police.

  He opened the door to an officer with unruly red hair and a woman dressed in a gray business suit with soft ebony skin.

  “Mr. Noble? Griffin Noble?” the officer asked, sympathy in his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “Is your sister Giselle Opal Noble?”

  Giselle. Of course. “What has she done now? You pick her up on drug charges again?” Not that he was much of a praying man, but he prayed it wasn’t prostitution this time.

  The officer cleared his throat. “No sir. I’m sorry to inform you that she died.”

  Blood whooshed in Griffin’s ears and pulsed in his temples. His throat tightened. “Are…are you sure? How?” He clutched the door frame, immediate guilt eating at his stomach. He’d kicked her to the curb almost two years ago. Right after he’d let her back in his home again, and she’d robbed him blind. He’d put her in rehab off and on since she was seventeen when Dad gave up on her, right after Mom died.

  She was only a baby. Twenty-three.

  Maybe he’d made a mistake. Maybe tough love hadn’t been the right decision.

  “Sir?”

  Griffin cleared the fog from his brain. “I’m sorry what was that?”

  “A neighbor heard the baby crying for some time and got the Super to open up. I’m afraid Miss Noble overdosed.”

  The woman stepped up. “I’m Regina Jones. Social worker for the Department of Children and Family Services. Mr. Noble, you’re the next of kin. We’d like to put the child in relative placement with you. It’s always better if family is able to take the child, and we couldn’t contact your father.” Typical.

  Child? Relative placement? Griffin shook his head. “I’m sorry. What baby? I don’t have a…a…”

  “A niece. She’s nine months old.”

  “Impossible. I would have known if I had a niece, Ms. Jones.” Although, Griffin had told Giselle not to call. Not to show up. The dozens of times she had called, he’d ignored her. She wanted money. A place to live. Nothing about a baby.

  “I understand this is a big pill to swallow, Mr. Noble,” the social worker said. “But she did have a child. She’s in foster care at the moment but if you’re willing, we’d like to do a home assessment and place her here. With you.”

  Shock ravaged his veins. His brain wouldn’t wrap around the situation. Giselle was dead. “Where is the father?”

  “Deceased.”

  “What about his parents?” Griffin couldn’t take a baby into his home. He didn’t know anything about babies. His life wasn’t conducive to children. This was a horrible idea. He was not the best choice. Not in a million years.

  “There’s no one else, Mr. Noble.”

  No one else. But he worked fifty hours a week sometimes. He traveled often. He was going to spend the rest of the year in St. Thomas overseeing the resort if he got the contract.

  “What happens if I refuse?”

  “Many foster families want to adopt. Especially infants. We won’t have any trouble placing her for adoption but—”

  “Then go that route. Thank you for informing me of my sister’s death. If you’ll give me the information I’ll make arrangements for her burial.”

  He couldn’t take this baby. He’d fail.

  Embarrassment flushed his neck as Ms. Jones gave him a disapproving look. Even rejection from this stranger stung.

  The officer gave him the information he needed.

  Ms. Jones handed him her card. “Proc
ess what’s happened. If you change your mind, call me. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  He closed the door and slunk to the floor. His sister was gone. If he’d have known she was having a baby, he would have helped her financially. He could have been there for her. But he’d made it clear last time that he was done.

  She’d struggled alone. Had she been clean at all? Was this baby even healthy?

  Griffin hadn’t even thought to ask the baby’s name. Which proved he wasn’t daddy material. Not even guardian material. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. A dull thump formed behind them.

  Memories flooded him. The numerous pranks they’d played on their nannies in hopes they’d quit. Nine times out of ten they did. Giselle dreamed of their own Mary Poppins which prompted most of their schemes. Griffin never believed one existed being ten years older than Giselle. But he enjoyed the mischief and making his sister laugh. Laughter wasn’t a common sound in the Noble home.

  The first moment he’d laid eyes on her, held her in his arms, he’d fallen in love. Resolved in his little boy heart he’d protect her. Cherish her. With Dad gone, Griffin had taught her to swim, ride a bike, blow bubbles in glasses of milk, and to shoot a three-pointer.

  He’d been the one to answer the door on her first date and stumble his way through giving her “the talk.”

  But while Griff was working to be the obedient son and the rule follower, Giselle chose a different path to gain their father’s attention and love.

  Trouble. Parties. Drugs.

  Griffin had failed her. He hadn’t been enough to keep her on the smart path. Eventually, he’d stopped enabling her and given her tough love.

  And it had gotten her killed.

  Through blurry eyes, he studied the business card lying on the floor. “God help me, Giselle, I know I owe you. But I’ll screw it up. You don’t want me doing this.”

  Griff had clearly done a terrible job with Giselle. Now that he ran the family company, he worked tirelessly, traveled often. History would repeat itself. Giselle wouldn’t want that. He didn’t want that. This child deserved a two-parent home filled with love and a father whose work brought him home for dinner every night. A dad who could tuck her into bed and make all her dance recitals or basketball games.

  She deserved a mom who would read her bedtime stories, bake cookies with her and explain the birds and bees without butchering it. Their mom, God rest her soul, hadn’t been that kind of woman. And Griffin wasn’t even married.

  There wasn’t enough time in the day for committed relationships. There was too much work to be done. Dad expected Griffin to succeed far beyond his own accomplishments. Griffin wasn’t going to let him down. He couldn’t.

  Dad. He had to call him.

  To Griffin’s shock, he actually answered. “You hit a wall with the pitch?”

  “No. I have…bad news. It’s not about work.”

  “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

  “Giselle overdosed. She’s…she’s gone.”

  Silence hung on the line.

  “I’ll arrange a burial, but you should know that she has a baby. A girl.” Griffin waited for Dad to say something. Anything. Still silence. “They want to place her here. With me.”

  “The baby?” Now he spoke, his voice shaky.

  “Yes.”

  “And surely you said no. Griffin, what are you going to do with a baby? You have no wife. No experience.”

  “I know,” he muttered. “I said no.” His heart thumped in his chest.

  “We’ll make sure she’s taken care of. I’ll get started on a trust fund. One that can’t be touched by anyone but her until she’s twenty-five.”

  Griffin’s stomach knotted. Guilt ate at him. “Of course. It’s…well…she’s family and I don’t know…”

  “It’s a ridiculous thought, Griffin. To take this child. Exactly like those guitars you used to build. Great hobby, and still is, but it wouldn’t have secured you a living. Once again, you need to listen to me. I’ve never steered you wrong.”

  “You’re right.” And the good son cowered again. He hated it and yet couldn’t seem to say no. Never had. “Will you come home for the burial?”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Seriously?

  “No promises though.” Of course not. Dad hung up.

  Griffin closed his eyes. Something deep tugged in his soul.

  See her.

  He could do that. Make sure she was being provided for while Dad worked on a trust fund.

  He couldn’t take her. He couldn’t.

  Chapter 2

  Emma Kate massaged her aching lower back. Only three o’ clock and she was exhausted. She’d refilled the doggie cocktails, cleaned out the doggie water fountain, and exercised a dozen pups. Not to mention organized the Paint Your Pet Portrait night for next month. Some people had no business with paint and a blank canvas, including herself.

  The phone rang. “Fur De Leash, Emma Kate speaking.” She picked at her shirt covered with dog hair under the logo—a fleur de lis with a dog leash running through it. Someone inquired about the doggie mixer. “I’m sorry that was two nights ago. Next month though…No, BYOB doesn’t mean bring your own beer…or wine. It’s bring your own bone. For the dogs, yes.” What human gnawed bones? She sighed. “Thanks for calling.” She hung up and ran to the back room for a broom. A few minutes later, Charlie, her coworker, found her.

  “Um…there’s a guy here to see you. He’s shifty. I see a dog snatching about to go down.” Charlie gave her a look and nodded. “I bet he’s here for the Samoyed.”

  Their precious Biscuit? Emma Kate frowned. Dog owners who divorced weren’t above kidnapping pets. It had happened before. She peeked out the door leading to the doggie boutique and groaned. “I assure you he’s not going to abduct any of our dogs.”

  Mr. Money stood close to the door as if he might bolt any second. Dressy jeans. Another dress shirt rolled to the elbows. This one was a light blue color. “I know him.”

  “You do?” Charlie asked. “He seems a little…ritzy for your taste.”

  She huffed. “He’s probably just here to sue. I’ll handle it.” Emma Kate put on her game face and stepped into the boutique area. “You want that dry cleaner money after all?” she asked as she approached him.

  He glanced up. “Kate.”

  Emma Kate. But she let it go since he had half of it right and it shocked her pants off, not to mention his buttery tone was breathy and…why did he know her name-ish?

  “All the dogs are put up, right?” Concern quivered through his voice.

  “No four-legged friend will knock you on your butt today. At least not in here.” She fidgeted with her pony tail. “Why exactly are you here?”

  “I need to enlist your services.”

  “What services?” Couldn’t possibly be dog sitting. He didn’t seem to be the dog type and that garnered immediate distrust.

  He rubbed his brow. “I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”

  “Pretty sure you got off both your feet yesterday.” She swallowed a snicker. He didn’t smile. Sweet Lord, help me bridle my tongue better. “Sorry.” Time to backpedal. “You’re right, we did.” She did the professional thing and held out her hand. “You seem to know my name.” Half of it anyway. “Do you have one?”

  Soft, large hands enveloped hers and shook. “Griffin Noble.”

  Noble. How did she know that name? Money. Aston Martin. Watch that cost as much as a car. “Noble Construction?”

  He gave a quick, tight smile. “Yes. That’s me.”

  Oh yeah. He was loaded. What did he want with her?

  He scanned the room and squinted. “Is that…doggie clothing? And strollers?”

  Emma Kate glanced at their merchandise. “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Noble. I see why you’re so successful.”

  Frowning at her sarcasm, he turned his attention away from the apparel and accessories. “My sister died. Yesterday.”

&nbs
p; She covered her mouth, a pinch formed in her chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.” He rubbed his ear lobe. Seemed to be a tick. “She left me her baby. Cora. I need full-time care for a month.” Desperation laced his voice. “I’ve seen you with the Kent’s dog. I know you’d treat her well and I’m confident you’ll do a good job seeing to her needs.”

  Emma Kate didn’t know what to say. For a guy that didn’t appear to love dogs, she’d give him a few points for loving his deceased sister enough to care for her fur baby. She blew a tuft of hair that had escaped her pony tail.

  “I’m out of my element here. But I’ve agreed to take her, and I work long hours. Sometimes well into the night.”

  Emma Kate scanned the room, spotted Charlie eavesdropping from the back room. “Mr. Noble—”

  “Griffin.”

  “Griffin. It sounds like you’re asking for exclusive around-the-clock care.”

  “I am.”

  She scratched her head. “I have employment. Here. I can’t take a month off to be Cora’s caregiver.” His panicked expression softened her heart. He was in a mess and grieving. “I guess you could always leave her here with us. And you could hire me out if you work late—if it doesn’t interfere with me sitting another dog.”

  There he went again with the ear rubbing. “No. No, I don’t want her here around all these dogs. Something might happen to her.”

  Okay. Apparently, his late sister’s dog was temperamental. She couldn’t say yes even if she did want to help him. That was a lot of time to ask off for.

  But her heart went out to him. His sister passed away and he was reaching out. He could have called anyone, but he’d chosen her.

  “Is it the money?” he asked.

  “Well, I do have to pay rent and eat.”

  He smirked. “If you come do this, I’ll make it worth your while. One month. Maybe less. Other arrangements are being made.”

  Oh. So he’d only chosen her to meet his temporary needs. He’d chosen someone else to be the permanent caregiver. It shouldn’t bother her, but she couldn’t help but think she was once again the crust. Okay, she was being ridiculous, and the way he searched her eyes, he was as lost as a goose. Sweet Lord, this man is a mess. What do I do?