Baby, Hold On

by Stephanie Bond

  She stood and extended a slender hand. He shook it, startled by the strength he felt there. But then again, hadn’t the doctor said she was a groomer?

  From the floor, her dog yapped a greeting, straining at the leash she’d reined in.

  “Sit,” she said, and the terrier obeyed.

  And so did Sheridan.

  Mike clenched his jaw, but saw his opportunity to get rid of the pink plaything. “Here’s your dog’s toy. Sheridan, drop it.”

  Again, only whining. Exasperated, Mike reached down to take hold of the stuffed toy. “Sheridan, release.”

  He wouldn’t. When Mike pulled, Sheridan pulled back until they were in a tug-of-war—which Sheridan won when Mike lost his grip. He was incredulous at his dog’s behavior.

  “He can keep it,” Lacey said.

  “That’s not the point,” he said evenly. “When I tell him to do something, he’s supposed to do it.”

  “He’s a search and rescue dog?”

  He nodded, surprised.

  “I recognized the decal on his collar,” she said, gesturing. “Is he training at the local academy?”

  “Yes…I mean, he will be. As soon as he’s well.”

  The woman crouched until she was face-to-face with his dog.

  Mike shifted uncomfortably.

  She angled her head. “He’s not sick. He’s…afraid.”

  Unable to contain his skepticism, he scoffed, “Oh? You’re a dog psychic?”

  She pushed to her feet, a little wrinkle marring her brow. “No. I’m a dog groomer.”

  “Well, when Sheridan needs a haircut, I’ll bring him to see you,” Mike said pointedly. “Otherwise, I think I’ll let the real doctor figure out what’s wrong.”

  Her face blanched. “Of course. I didn’t mean to interfere.” She turned to Dr. Greenwood. “Which exam room should I take Chaz to for his rabies booster?”

  “Room one is fine,” Dr. Greenwood said.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Nichols,” she said cheerfully. “And good luck.”

  He watched her and her friendly little dog go, as if she couldn’t wait to leave the room he was in. Disappointment warred with irritation as she swished away—he hadn’t asked for the kooky woman’s input, so he had no reason to feel guilty about refusing her so-called help.

  His dog didn’t need a damn shrink.

  Dr. Greenwood coughed politely. “Let me know if you notice any changes in Sheridan—good or bad. Otherwise, I’ll call you when I know more.”

  Mike nodded and led Sheridan to the door, frowning down at the pink stuffed bone clamped in his dog’s jaws. Yet another step backward.

  He was starting to regret coming to this place called Sweetness.

  Chapter Three

  “The doc will figure out what’s wrong with him,” Barry Ballantine said.

  Mike wiped sweat from his brow. Even with a prosthetic lower leg, his former military buddy was setting a brisk pace for their morning run across Clover Ridge. Barry was an ex—Navy SEAL who ran the newly built dog training facility. Next to them ran Sealy, Barry’s German shepherd mix, and Sheridan, who showed no signs of fatigue…and still held the stuffed pink bone clamped in his mouth.

  “What’s with the girlie toy?” Barry asked with a grin.

  Mike frowned. “Some eccentric lady and her dog were at the vet’s office, and her dog gave it to Sheridan. Now he’ll only put it down to eat, and then he guards it like a damn treasure.”

  “Eccentric? Curly blond hair, pretty?”

  Mike shrugged. “She’s cute, I guess. Fluffy name.”

  “Lacey Lovejoy.”

  “Yeah, that’s her—lady’s got a screw loose.”

  Barry laughed. “People around here think she can communicate with animals.”

  “I know,” Mike said with a scoff. “She tried to psychoanalyze my dog.”

  “What’d she say?”

  Mike stopped running and massaged a stitch in his side.

  Barry stopped, too, then threw a mock punch. “You’re getting soft, man.”

  Mike gave a little laugh. “Shut up, man. I feel like crap. I got no sleep last night—Sheridan woke me up every couple of hours, howling.”

  “Bad dreams?”

  “Pain, more likely. I’m afraid it’s something serious, but I’m trying not to worry until Dr. Greenwood gets back to me with the test results.”

  Barry nodded. “So what did Lacey have to say about Sheridan?”

  Mike frowned. “She said he was scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. What a crock.”

  “Maybe,” Barry agreed. “But she comes to the training center to groom the dogs, and she’s good with them—even the bad-tempered ones.”

  “Sheridan isn’t bad-tempered.”

  “You know what I mean—the difficult trainees, the ones that are hyper or antisocial. Lacey has a way with them.”

  Mike lifted his water bottle for a drink, then poured a few splashes over Sheridan’s head, since he couldn’t seem to put down the toy long enough to pant and cool himself down naturally. The dog skittered sideways, which only irritated Mike more. “This is why you asked me to bring Sheridan here, to see this Dr. Dolittle lady?”

  “Of course not. Like you, I thought Sheridan was just getting lazy, being rebellious.” Barry nodded to the black Lab. “But it’s evident something’s wrong—he’s a different dog than I remember.”

  Mike chewed on his tongue. “Like you said, Dr. Greenwood will figure it out.”

  Barry clapped him on the back. “Probably. Let’s head back.”

  They jogged back across the ridge at a slower rate. Far below them were the buildings that made up the town of Sweetness. Straight ahead in the distance lay another mountainous ridge.

  “The town is sitting in a bowl,” Mike observed.

  Barry nodded. “That’s why the first tornado did so much damage when it touched down. The mountain ridges contained it and the longer it spun, the more powerful it became.”

  “You saw it?”

  “I saw it coming,” Barry said, his expression tight, “after the warning alarm was sounded from the water tower.” He shook his head, obviously still moved by his memories. “The size and the force of that monster is still indescribable. It’s something I hope I never see again.”

  “How did you ride it out?”

  “I ran to Moon’s Grocery and Mr. Moon herded everyone into the basement. When the storm was over, though, we were trapped, buried alive.”

  Mike’s step faltered. “Seriously? How’d you get out?”

  “Emory Maxwell and Porter Armstrong were home on leave from the Army. They dug us out with little more than their bare hands. And there were stories like that all over town. I still can’t believe no one died that day. The town looked like a pile of matchsticks.”

  “I saw the pictures—they’re brutal.”

  “When my family left town to move to Atlanta, I didn’t think Sweetness would ever be habitable again, but the Armstrongs have done an amazing job.”

  “Wait a minute—you said the first tornado. There were others?”

  “I wasn’t here, but last year another twister set down, not quite as powerful as the previous storm, but by all rights, it should’ve done some serious damage.”

  “It didn’t?”

  “Only minor stuff—a testament to how structurally sound the new buildings are. The training facility is as solid as a bunker.” His voice resonated with pride.

  “You’re happy here, I can tell,” Mike offered.

  Barry didn’t bother hiding his grin. “I am. If I hadn’t come back after my injury, I wouldn’t have met Lora again, or become reacquainted with the Armstrong brothers. They donated the land to build the dog training center on the condition that I would run the place. I feel like I hit the jackpot.”

  “You’ve worked for everything you’ve got, and sacrificed more than a man should have to. You deserve a good life.”

  �
��Thanks,” Barry said. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Anyone special back in Columbus?”

  Columbus, Georgia, was where Mike was stationed at Fort Benning. “No. You know how it is—too busy, and the travel is erratic.” And now he was too worried about Sheridan to even consider a serious relationship. He was afraid if he took his eye off his dog for even a few minutes, Sheridan would slide further away.

  “All I know is that one of these days, a woman is going to bring you to your knees.”

  “Hey, just because Lora has you in a bind doesn’t mean you have to wish it on me.”

  “Lora has me exactly where I want to be,” Barry said with a goofy grin. “You should be so lucky. Aren’t you up for reenlistment soon?”

  “Six months,” Mike confirmed.

  “I hear they’re offering nice bonuses.”

  “Yep.”

  “What do you think you’ll do?”

  Mike took another drink of water. “I might reclass.”

  Barry’s eyes widened. “Change your specialty? Give up dog handling?”

  Mike shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for a change.”

  “You’re letting this situation with Sheridan get to you. If he doesn’t return to service, it has nothing to do with your ability as a handler.”

  Mike worked his mouth back and forth. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  Barry gave a little laugh. “Now who sounds eccentric? You and Lacey Lovejoy might have more in common than you think. Come on, old man, pick up the pace!”

  Dismayed by his buddy’s comment, Mike dug in, glad to suddenly be running too fast to necessitate a reply.

  *

  By the time he walked through the door of Molly’s Diner for breakfast, Mike had almost put his conversation with Barry out of his mind. He and Lacey Lovejoy had nothing in common.

  The thought was reinforced when he spied her sitting at the counter, chatting with the bald cook, Clancey. Indeed, the woman was hard to miss, since she resembled a parrot with a perm. Inexplicably rankled, he took a seat at the opposite end and buried his face in a menu. But even from here, he could hear her tinkling laugh as she and the man discussed the similarities between, of all things, men and dogs. From the cook’s conversation, he was obviously gay, and the two were having a grand time one-upping each other with their jokes, prompting supportive comments from other customers sitting nearby, mostly single women.

  “He’ll do anything for a treat,” Lacey said.

  “He’ll bury his bone anywhere,” Clancey interjected, to uproarious laughter.

  “He barks when another dog comes into his yard.”

  “He’s loyal when you’re around, but roams when you’re gone.”

  “He sniffs all your friends,” Lacey added, eliciting a burst of applause.

  Mike frowned, not amused at the woman’s sense of humor. He glanced at his watch. Besides, didn’t she have a business to run? Maybe she wasn’t as much in demand as she was purported to be. Maybe she was all smoke and mirrors. Thankfully, the volley ended when Clancey returned to the grill, allowing Mike to peruse the blue plate special in relative peace.

  “Good morning.”

  He looked up to see Lacey standing there, in living Technicolor—a flowing turquoise skirt, a yellow peasant blouse, a flowered scarf that did little to contain her riotous curls. Her face, he realized with a start, was actually quite beautiful, once a person got past all that hair. Her cheekbones were high and chiseled, her nose fine and flaring, her mouth a pink bow. And her eyes were the strangest color of pale green, almost ethereal—probably contacts, he mused, to foster the perception she was “mystical.”

  “Hello,” he said coolly.

  “I was just wondering how Sheridan is feeling.”

  “He seems better,” Mike lied.

  “That’s good,” she said cheerfully. “The fresh air up here is good for every living thing, don’t you think?”

  He grunted.

  “See you around,” she said, then left on a breeze of some citrusy scent that tickled his nostrils.

  He rubbed his nose and watched her leave, collecting people as she went along, who apparently wanted to talk about their pets. Outside, a dozen or so dogs of all shapes and sizes were tied up along a railing, food and water within easy reach. When she walked out, tails wagged and ears perked and they all began to bark in a canine symphony. Lacey stopped to pat and coo to each one, moving down the line like a celebrity receiving her fans.

  Mike pushed his tongue into his cheek. It was as if she was the Pied Piper of Pooches.

  When she stepped into the sun, brilliant rays of light glanced off her white-blond curls, setting them afire. For a moment, she did look a little magical, he conceded. Then his mouth went dry. Because starkly silhouetted against the voluminous clothes she wore was a surprisingly willowy, womanly figure.

  Lacey Lovejoy had secrets, all right. She was hiding a hot little body under all that useless fabric.

  She bent over, tilting a pretty spectacular behind into the air. His body responded to the way she moved, and erotic images popped into his head. An Irish setter was licking her smiling face, and Mike was struck with the most absurd pang of…jealousy?

  The sound of a man clearing his throat brought his head around. Clancey, the cook, was standing there, staring at him pointedly. “See something you like?”

  Mike realized with a start that his mouth was open and his tongue was practically hanging out. He straightened and closed the menu. “Blue plate special.”

  “Coming right up.” The beefy bald man gave him the once-over, then sauntered back to the grill.

  Mike frowned at the man’s back, then chanced another glance out the window. A sun-bathed, shimmering Lacey was walking away, and all the dogs at the railing were straining against their leashes to follow her.

  Mike felt the pull of her on his own body…and acknowledged, with a disturbing twinge, that he was no better than the other hounds. He dragged his gaze away from her and murmured, “Down, boy.”

  Chapter Four

  Lacey eyed the twelve-foot stepladder with trepidation. The spotlight overhead had burned out and needed to be changed, but the landlord wouldn’t be able to get to it until tomorrow. And she had a fear of heights that left her shaky even on mall escalators.

  But without the light, her grooming area was too dark for her comfort level when dealing with shears and clippers. Besides, the ladder felt sturdy and this seemed as good a time as any to overcome her phobia. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the bottom rung. Slowly she inched her way up the ladder, giving herself a pep talk throughout, and coaching herself not to look down. When she reached the top, she felt good.

  For two seconds.

  Then she wobbled and vertigo clutched her stomach. She gasped and the lightbulb she held slipped out of her hand, hitting the floor in a splintering spray of fragile glass. Lacey gripped the ladder until her knuckles turned white. She made the mistake of looking down at the pile of sparkling shards and froze, unable to go back down.

  She hadn’t thought to bring her cell phone up the ladder with her…not that she could let go long enough to actually use it if she had.

  The grooming room was adjacent to the front room, out of the line of sight of the storefront windows, so she wouldn’t be able to get the attention of a passerby.

  And she didn’t have an appointment for another hour…although the thought of someone having to climb up the ladder to rescue her was more than a little embarrassing.

  *

  Her sweaty hands slid on the metal sides of the ladder, and her heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wing. She took deep breaths, willing her pulse to slow, but her knees felt weak. She squeezed her eyes closed and wondered how much longer she could stand there. An hour stretched ahead like an eternity.

  At the sound of the bell chiming on the front door, her heart leaped with relief.

  “Hello?” she called.

  “Hello?”
a male voice returned.

  “I’m in the back,” she said, hoping it was her landlord. “I need a hand.”

  But when she saw a black Labrador come around the corner carrying a pink stuffed bone in its mouth, a hot flush started at her knees and worked its way up. Please, no.

  Sure enough, at the other end of the leash, Mike Nichols appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders taking up much of the space. He looked up. “Hello.”

  She used the tip of her tongue to whisk away the perspiration on her upper lip. “Hi, there. Keep Sheridan back—I dropped a lightbulb.”

  “Sheridan, stay,” he said, then walked forward. “Where’s your broom?”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “In here?” he asked, pointing to a closet.

  She supposed it did make sense to clean up the glass before she climbed—or fell—down. “Yes.”

  He opened the closet and emerged with a broom and dustpan. Lacey hung on to the ladder for dear life, chancing a glance down occasionally as he cleaned up the pieces of glass. She had a bird’s-eye view of his broad shoulders and back as he moved with the easy agility of a man who had full command of his body.

  And what a body it was. His Army-green T-shirt molded to his well-built torso like an old friend, while his worn jeans encased long, muscular legs. Lacey’s sweat glands kicked into overdrive.

  After he dumped the last dustpan of debris into a waste can inside the closet, he announced, “Done. I assume you need another bulb?”

  “Yes,” she managed to say. “From the box on the shelf.”

  She heard rather than saw him retrieve the bulb and walk to stand beneath the ladder. When she glanced down, he was holding the bulb up to her. He was so tall and she was so short, all she had to do was let go and reach for it…yet she couldn’t. Her stomach swayed again, mostly at the thought of toppling headfirst and embarrassing herself—more—in front of this man. She leaned into the ladder and clung to it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I…uh…I’m kind of…stuck.” It was easier to talk now because she wasn’t looking at him.

  “Stuck?”

  She tried to laugh, but the noise came out sounding a little strangled. “I’ve always had a problem with heights.”