Rowena paled at the image the deputy painted in her mind. Her hand clenched around the strap of the tapestry bag. “But he didn’t.”
“This time,” Lawless asserted grimly. “Now I don’t care how many aliases you and those bleeding heart animal lovers at the shelter give this monster. He’s a menace. And it’s my duty to make damned sure he doesn’t get another chance to break someone’s hip.”
“But you don’t have any legal recourse,” Rowena said with an edge of desperation. “He didn’t bite anybody. Besides, it’s his first offense.”
Lawless rolled his good eye. “And Charles Manson just crashed a few parties. Like I told you, Ms. Brown, Destroyer—”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This is just a case of mistaken identity. The dog in question isn’t this Destroyer maniac you keep running on about. The dog you picked up is my dog, Clancy. He’s had all his shots. All his registration stuff is filed. I’ll pay for whatever damage he did to Miss Marigold’s tea shop.”
“You sure will. You’re legally liable,” Lawless said. “Once you take a look and add up the cost of what Destroyer’s done you’ll probably be begging me to take the dog back to the shelter. Any sane person would.”
“And I’m not sane, is that what you’re implying? Because I think an animal’s life is worth more than—than a bunch of old china teapots?” Rowena craned up on tiptoe, peering around the room in an effort to find her dog. “I’ll buy the woman new ones.”
“She doesn’t want new ones. Some of those had been in Ms. Marigold’s family since the Revolutionary War. If you had seen that poor old woman picking up all those bits of broken china, crying her heart out…”
Rowena fretted her bottom lip at the picture Lawless painted, but a long, mournful howl from somewhere nearby drove back anything but fear for the animal in such danger. She edged around the deputy and tried to make a break toward the sound. But his hand closed around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Rowena started at the feel of his callused palm against her bare skin, his fingers imbued with a more powerful authority than even the badge pinned on his shirt-pocket gave him.
“I know this is hard,” Deputy Lawless said. “But there are plenty of other dogs in the world who need homes. This one is hopeless.”
Rowena pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Even a dog that really attacks someone gets a second chance! This was a mistake! Just a mistake!” Like the ones you’ve been making lately? her older sister Bryony’s voice nagged in her head. “But then, I suppose you’ve never made one before, have you, Deputy Lawless?”
The man glanced away, something sparking in his eyes. Regret? Bitterness? It was gone before she could tell.
“Ms. Brown, I’ve had a very bad day.” He enunciated so carefully she could almost feel black ice cracking under her feet. “Ten minutes before I got off duty I was called to Miss Marigold’s Tea Shop to investigate a burglary in progress. I entered the premises with my gun drawn, and got a door slammed in my face. By a dog who proceeds to smear my uniform with the colored frosting for three birthday cakes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I have to haul Destroyer—”
“Clancy.”
“Whatever. I had to haul that demon dog back to the station so that I could file a mountain of paperwork which made me late to a very important appointment.”
“An appointment for what? The Cruella de Vil Fan Club?”
The man’s jaw clenched so hard, Rowena bet he could have snapped a bullet in two between his teeth. Keep your smart mouth under control, Rowena, she thought. Pulling the man’s chain more than you already have isn’t going to help. Deputy Lawless looked as if he’d gone terminal when it came to a sense of humor.
Rowena strained up on tiptoe, finally seeing a familiar mountain of black fur in what must be some kind of holding cell. Clancy strained to squeeze his muzzle through the bars in an effort to lick the stout man next door who was obviously sleeping off last night’s bender. Her heart twisted, eyes stung. Even here the Newfie was trying to take care of whoever was within reach.
“Ms. Brown, I’m responsible for protecting the people of Whitewater County,” Deputy Pompous said, as if she were a recalcitrant two-year-old. “I’ve called the shelter and told them Destroyer is coming.”
Her chin bumped up. “Well, you’ll have to call them back. This is my dog Clancy Brown, Deputy Lawless, and I’ll fight you for him in any court you can name to prove it. And what’s more, I’ll win. Microchips don’t lie.”
“Micro what?”
“Take him to any shelter in the country and they’ll wave their magic wand over him and—bingo!—my name will bleep up on their nifty little scanner screen. Any competent veterinarian can verify Clancy’s identity under oath. If you persist in persecuting my dog—”
“Persecuting?” Lawless scoffed.
“—you’re going to be spending an awful lot of time doing that paperwork you hate, preparing for a case you’re going to lose. Is this unfortunate little grudge of yours really worth spending the taxpayers’ money on?”
Rowena could see the deputy’s control slip another notch. Steely eyes held hers for a long moment in a wrestling match of wills. She didn’t like confrontation, but damned if she was going to back down. Lawless blinked first.
“Fine,” he said at last through gritted teeth. “Take the damned dog. That is, if you’ve got enough nerve to take legal—and financial—responsibility for any damage he causes in the future.”
“Absolutely.” Rowena tried not to think about what her mother would have to say about her promise. But Dr. Nadine Brown’s features swam into Rowena’s consciousness, her mother’s brow creased with all too familiar exasperation. What are you thinking? That’s a legally binding document he’s talking about. You don’t even know how you’re going to pay for the tea shop debacle, let alone the next disaster!
But Rowena would have signed a deal with the devil himself to keep animal control from sticking a needle in Clancy’s vein. The moment she had glimpsed his big dark eyes from behind the bars of the cage in “doggie death row” half an hour before he was scheduled to be euthanized, she’d felt a shock down to her toes. A wild, desperate need to swoop him into her arms, save him.
And that would be different from the way you react to any animal in trouble exactly how? Rowena imagined her sister Bryony taunting.
But Clancy was different. There was something special about this dog. Rowena felt it in her bones. A life he needed to live, work he was destined to do, a future he had to have or else…
“Ms. Brown?” Lawless’ voice snapped Rowena back into the sheriff’s office to face yet another disapproving frown. “I’m beginning a new file on the dog. If he ever gets loose again, I’m going to have him legally declared a public nuisance. And from that point on, I’ll take every step the law allows to see that he’s off the streets permanently. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” She wondered if he was smart enough to know she meant it as an insult.
Apparently so. His cheeks darkened. “You’ll have to fill out some paperwork before I can release him.” He checked his watch again, an even deeper frustration darkening his face. “Which means I can pretty much kiss my appointment goodbye. They’ll be closed before I—”
“It’s an appointment,” Rowena fired back, her temper flaring. “People reschedule them all the time, Deputy.”
“Is that so?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. This isn’t the end of the world. You aren’t going to jail because of it. Small children aren’t going to die because of it.”
Whoa! Rowena took a step backward at the rage in Lawless’ eyes. What was she doing, poking him with a sharp stick? Clancy didn’t have his get-out-of-jail-free card yet. Did she want Deputy Whiplash to change his mind?
She swallowed the rest of her anger and reached for the firm tone she used to calm hostile animals. “Listen. Obviously we’re not going to agree on this. Just show me where to sign and Clancy and I will get out of your way.”
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The deputy sat down at his desk.
“Couldn’t we let Clancy out first before you whip out his release papers? I hate the idea of him behind bars.”
“And I hate the idea of him back on the street. Looks like we’re both going to have to get used to disappointment. When I open that cell, all I want to see is the door hitting him in his backside. Give me any more time and I might just change my mind.”
Rowena opened her mouth, closed it. Could the deputy do that? Keep Clancy here if Lawless decided to turn stubborn about it? She didn’t know the legalities, but she didn’t dare risk it. She sank down on the chair across from him and turned her attention to something she figured couldn’t get her in trouble, digging the leash she’d brought with her out of her bag.
Satisfied with her concession, Lawless retrieved a set of forms from his desk and began to fill them in. After twenty-some minutes, he shoved them across the desk to her. Taking out her favorite pen, she scrawled her name in bright green ink.
“There,” she said, adding a flourish. “As to the damages and such, you know where to find me if you’ve got any questions about—well, anything. My shop is—”
“I know where it is. If there isn’t a law against building a pet shop across the street from an elementary school playground, there should be.”
Rowena compressed her lips. “If you want to change the law you’ll have to take that up with your alderman or councilman or whatever you have here. But it’s only fair to tell you that they were pretty much thrilled when they heard a new business was coming to town.”
“That was before they knew—”
“Knew what?” Rowena dared him to finish the sentence, even though she could have filled in the gist of it herself. Before they knew some big-city nutcase was moving in. But Lawless didn’t rise to the bait, probably heeding some office policy about insulting the locals only when necessary.
“Never mind. Let’s just get this over and done with.” The deputy pushed himself to his feet and started toward the back of the building, nabbing a set of keys on the way. She followed him, straining to get a better view of the holding cell beyond his rigid silhouette.
Her heart leapt as she glimpsed the Newfoundland busily scratching at the wall to the cell next door, a worried look in those big brown eyes, as if Clancy knew something was wrong with the drunk on the other side. There was no way to tell the dog the human’s problems were self-inflicted. Or that, at the moment, she and Clancy had enough trouble of their own. Still, she couldn’t help but be grateful to the deputy—asshole though he was—for releasing her dog in the end.
“You won’t regret this, Deputy Lawless,” she said, itching to throw her arms around the Newfie.
“I already do.”
Rowena swallowed hard. What could she say? “You’ll never see either one of us again.”
“Ms. Brown, I’m just not that lucky. In fact—wait.” He pressed his fingertips to his temples, closed his eyes in a mock trance. “I’m peering into the future…I see…”
“I don’t see into the future,” Rowena cut in. “I just feel—” She stopped, cursing herself for a fool. Why did she even bother to attempt to explain her gift? She’d tried it before. But that was what had started the whispering behind her back, triggered the abrupt silences when she walked into a store or passed someone on Whitewater’s streets.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Rowena said, trying hard not to hurt.
“Let’s try and keep it that way.”
“Deputy Lawless, I promise that Clancy—”
Lawless whipped around to face her, his features grim, the keys jangling in his hand. “Listen, lady, I don’t care how many aliases you give that dog. He’s still the same fence-breaking, tire-chewing, steak-stealing juvenile delinquent he always was.”
“He is not!”
“Destroyer!” the deputy called sharply.
In the holding cell, the Newfoundland wheeled away from the wall and leaped up to plant his plate-sized paws on the bars. Eager canine eyes fastened on Lawless, the dog’s bearlike body quivering in excitement as if to say Here I am! Yeah, that’s me, boss! The Newfie’s tongue lolled out of his cavernous mouth in a goofy grin, his giant tail wagging so hard it could have knocked someone out.
Lawless crossed his arms over his broad chest and pinned Rowena with his pointed glare. “I rest my case.”
CHAPTER TWO
ELVIS WAS PRACTICING his pick-up lines again. Not a good idea, when the after-school crowd was due to burst into the pet shop at any moment. The irascible African Gray parrot’s vocabulary wasn’t exactly G-rated, and the last thing Rowena needed was for a mob of angry parents to storm into Open Arms, ready to burn the local witch at the stake.
If they made up their minds to do it there wouldn’t be any problem finding a public official in Whitewater to light the fire. Deputy Lawless would be happy to donate a whole book of matches to the cause of ridding his town of an unsavory element.
Rowena grimaced. Fortunately for her, even the deputy would have a hard time getting a blaze going today. A miserable cold drizzle had been falling all day, leaving the world beyond her front window soggy and gray. That meant there would be an hour of mopping muddy footprints before she closed up for the night. One could hardly expect kids charging in to see puppies and kittens to stop to wipe their feet.
But while they were leaving all of those damp patches on her floor, she’d just as soon they didn’t pick up any colorful language, courtesy of the store’s most incorrigible rogue. She left off cleaning the gecko aquarium and went to fetch the black drape she used to throw over Elvis’s cage to shut him up temporarily. Not that she had much hope her technique would work any better than her efforts to drive Cash Lawless out of her head.
Time and time again in the three days since she’d left the ill-tempered deputy’s office his chiseled features flashed into focus just when she’d least expected it. Those heavy brows, the arrogant jut of his nose, his mouth drawn into a sneer that almost—almost—negated the sexy shape of his lips. Too bad the man had such rotten things to say to her. Her cheeks heated as she remembered him taunting: Wait…just a minute…I’m peering into the future…
Jerk face.
The name a freckle-faced sixth grader had called his classmate in the shop the day before rose in her mind, the label not particularly eloquent, but describing Lawless to perfection, nonetheless.
He’d made it plain what he thought of her. He’d taken all of ten minutes to form his opinion. Less than that, really. He’d had his mind made up even before he met her. But then her “crimes” against Whitewater’s social order reached even deeper than opening a pet shop across from the school, as far as Lawless was concerned. Like far too many of the people in this small town, he would’ve been happy to deem just being different a crime. And if Rowena was anything, she was different.
Rowena swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in the folds of the cage drape. A familiar awkwardness settled over her, inescapable as the plaster dust when Open Arms was a construction site. Self-doubt crowded her.
What if her move here had been exactly the reckless mistake her mother and sisters had predicted? She’d invested every cent of the legacy her godmother had left her, the money that was supposed to be her nest egg. Knowing that safety net existed had been the only thing that had comforted her mother when Rowena had dropped out of vet school last spring.
She closed her eyes, remembering how the painful scene had ended in the wee hours of the morning, once Nadine Brown had realized there was no budging Rowena from the course she’d chosen.
Gray-faced with exhaustion, bordering on tears the cool and capable Dr. Brown never shed, Rowena’s mother had surrendered.
At least you’ll always have your inheritance to rely on, Nadine had said a week after Maeve’s funeral.
About my inheritance, Mom. While Auntie Maeve was in the hospital, we talked about how I should use it. She said it would help me find my destiny.
My destiny. She didn’t dare say “soul mate” as the irrepressible Maeve had. Just listen, Mom. I’ve thought this whole plan out. You and Bryony and Ariel are right. I can’t save every stray I run across. But just think how many I could place if I used that money to work in tandem with a shelter, helping rehabilitate rescue dogs and cats, finding them homes.
And you’re going to support yourself how?
I could design all kinds of stuff—collars and bowls—and, well, sell fun pet supplies for ready cash, and I’d keep the pets I’m working with at the shop all day, so I can match them with owners. I know it’s a little unorthodox, but—
A little? her mother had exclaimed. Rowena, I’m trying to understand this. I really am. But it bewilders me that a young woman as bright and talented as you are would fling away six years of education to open a pet shop anywhere, let alone in a town where you don’t know a soul, hours away from your family. And with pets someone has already rejected? For heaven’s sake, why?
The Perfect Match Page 2