and floppy ears, barked at him, then leapt at his legs, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Oh, God, it was on him now. Shedding. Kane had no experience with pets. Not unless he counted the one week his mother thought it would be cute to have a pocket pooch, then changed her mind once she realized live dogs actually peed and pooped—and gave the dog to the maid.
This thing was as friendly as a second-place politician desperate for every last vote. Kane took a step back, hands up, his sticks like finger extensions. “Whoa, there, buddy. Get down. Please.”
Undaunted, the dog kept coming, launching himself at Kane in another greeting. Kane reached out a tentative hand, and gave the dog an awkward pat on the head. “There you go. Now go on home.”
The dog barked, plopped his butt on the ground and swished a semicircle into the ground with his tail.
“Go home.”
The dog’s tail widened the dirt semicircle, creating a tiny cloud of dust. He barked disagreement. Stubborn.
“Well, if you won’t, I will.” Kane pivoted, and headed into the cabin. Before he could shut the door—hands impeded by the load of kindling—the dog was there.
Inside.
With him.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Shoo.” Kane waved out the door. The dog stayed put, staring at him. Expectant. “Go home.”
The dog barked some more. This time it sounded like a feed-me bark. Not that Kane would know, of course, but the way the dog was looking at him, he seemed kind of hungry.
“I don’t have any dog food. In fact—”
He didn’t have any people food, either. For a man who lived his life by a schedule and a plan, he’d done a pretty lousy job of planning this one.
It was that woman. She’d gotten him all turned around this morning. Set him off-kilter. If he hadn’t met her, he wouldn’t have forgotten to buy food. Or thoroughly check out his surroundings. Or gather kindling. And then he wouldn’t have this…this creature staring at him.
A creature he needed to get rid of. Kane opened the door, but the dog stayed put. Clearly, reasoning with the animal wasn’t going to work. The dog wore no collar, so Kane couldn’t call his owner. And he certainly couldn’t keep the thing here. So he did the only other thing he knew to do—delegate.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for the woman who had rented him the cabin. “Mrs. Maxwell, do you own a dog?”
Angela Maxwell, an older woman with gray hair and a friendly smile, and most of all, a tendency not to ask any questions once she had a valid credit-card number in hand, laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, dear, I don’t. But there are lots of stray dogs around the cabins. Sometimes they get separated from their owners who are on vacation. And we don’t have much of a leash law ’round here. People kind of just let their dogs go, it being a small town and all. Most everybody knows most everybody else’s dogs.”
“Do you know this one? It’s brown and white. Short. Stubborn.” Kane glared at the dog. It swished its tail and, he swore, grinned at him.
“Well, no, can’t say that I do, but I know who would know. You take that pooch on down to The Sudsy Dog. The owner there, she runs a sort of pet rescue thing. She’ll help you out.”
“The Sudsy Dog?”
“It’s a hot dog wash.” Mrs. Maxwell laughed at the pun. “Just off of Main Street. You can’t miss it. On the sign you’ll see—”
“Let me guess. A hot dog in a tub?”
“You got it. Except, he’s really a dachshund. It’s the cutest dang sign ever. My Orin painted it himself.” Then she hung up.
Kane groaned. He looked down at the dog, who looked back up at him, still wagging. “Looks like we’re going for a ride.”
That got the dog off his feet. He popped to all fours, tail beating a drum of anticipation against Kane’s leg. Kane headed out to his rental car, trying not to cringe at the thought of dog hair all over the leather interior, then opened the door. Before he could say “Lay down on the floor,” the dog was sitting right beside the driver’s seat.
Looked like he was going to have a new best friend for the next few minutes.
Whether he liked it or not.
Susannah latched the wire crate holding Mrs. Prudhomme’s standard poodle, then took off her apron and brushed the bangs off her forehead. “You’re looking gorgeous after your beauty treatment, Fancy Pants. Which is more than I can say for me.”
The white dog let out a woof, then settled down in the cage to wait for her owner to pick her up. Fancy Pants was in here once every two weeks, and though she barely tolerated the manicures, she enjoyed the grooming process.
Susannah glanced at theArc de Triomphe poster on her wall. Nine hundred dogs. Three hundred cats. And now she was there—she finally had enough money saved to take that trip. To finally experience a life outside this little town. To put all those years of French classes into practice. To dust off her never-used passport. And see the world.
She traced her finger down the two-dimensional image of the intricate carving of the Departure of Volunteers on the Arc, imagining herself in a world so much more glamorous than this one. Heck, working almost anywhere would be more glamorous than doing what she did for a living.
The bell over the door jingled and Susannah let out a sigh. Back to work. And back to reality.
“Take this…this thing off my hands. Please.”
Susannah turned around and found first, an adorable brown-and-white dog at her feet. Then, a fuming best man behind him. The same man from the morning, only this time he was wearing shoes—and a frown. “You again.”
“I could say the same thing. You work here?”
She nodded, not bothering to correct him and tell him she owned the business. Susannah bent down to scratch the dog behind the ears. He let out a happy groan and pressed himself against her legs, his tail wagging. “Is this your dog?”
“God, no. He’s some stray who can’t seem to get the hint.”
She arched a brow. “Seems to be a lot of those in town lately.”
Kane leaned an elbow on the cabinet and gave her a smirk. When he did, the facial gestured transformed him, taking Kane from ordinary to…
Well, extraordinarily handsome, almost playboy handsome, like something out of a magazine. A quiver ran through Susannah’s gut, but she ignored it.
“You aren’t talking about me, are you?” he said.
“Not at all.” Susannah’s voice raised into high and innocent ranges. She straightened, the dog remaining by her side. “So whose dog is this? He looks like a Brittany spaniel, or a Brit mix.”
“You tell me. He just showed up at my cabin.” Kane thumbed toward the door, in an easterly direction. “I’m staying in one of the Lake Everett cabins.”
