Sit, Stay, Love

by Debbie Burns

  As she drew closer, Tess noticed that the man was tall. She often thought of people over six feet tall as ones who swam in a different gene pool, and this guy was well over that mark. He also had a defined, athletic build and was broad-enough in the shoulders that some innate, subconscious part connected to her reproductive system responded by emitting a spurt of adrenaline. “Way too imposing,” she repeated under her breath as she closed the distance between them.

  He was also sans dog, she reminded herself, which was why she’d left the cover of the bus stop.

  “Just stay here, okay? If you stop trying to close in on him, I think he’ll stop moving away from you. What’s his name?”

  “Hers,” he said, taking in Tess’s puddle-splashed boots and clothes. “It’s Millie. And please, give it your best shot. She goes berserk off leash. She’s my neighbor’s, and she doesn’t like me on a good day, but even less in the rain. She slipped her collar.”

  He offered her the leash, but Tess shook her head. A sudden gust of wind blew the chilling drops sideways, causing her to shiver. “Thanks, but she’s watching. Do me a favor and act like your attention’s not on her for a minute. I’ll head down the park next to the street to keep her from heading back out there. Once I’m far enough away from you, I’ll see if I can get her to come to me.”

  “Yeah, sure. And thanks,” he called as she hurried toward the edge of the park.

  Tess kept watch of the little Westie in her peripheral vision. She headed west along the curb at the edge of the park until she was parallel to the animal. Millie had stopped advancing west and was alternately dashing in crazy circles and stopping to bark in the guy’s direction.

  Maybe it was because Tess was better with dogs than the imposing guy with the sling was. Maybe it was because frightened and overexcited dogs often found women more approachable than men. Whatever it was, Tess found the little Westie much more accommodating than the guy had.

  As Tess moved toward the dog, she kept her gaze averted, approached at a slow, even pace, and offered calm and continuous praise. She stopped walking when she was still a good four or five feet away. She knelt in a squat and offered a treat in her outstretched hand. Millie zoomed over, stopping a foot and a half in front of her. The little dog sniffed the air and wagged her tail, then trotted over easy-peasy. The Westie was quick but gentle at taking the treat. Once Millie had munched it down, Tess dropped another one onto her open palm but didn’t extend her hand as far.

  As Millie munched the second treat, she let Tess rub a warm, wet ear. When Millie leaned into the scratch, Tess worked her way lower, then locked her hand around Millie’s scruff. Once she had it, she nodded to the guy who was watching intently fifty or sixty feet away.

  “I’ll take that leash now,” she called as the soft glow of success filled her. At least one thing has gone right today.

  A bus had come and gone while she was over here. Tess suspected it was the line she was supposed to be on and that she’d be waiting another half hour for a new one. It didn’t matter though. Catching the cute little Westie and keeping her safe was more important than getting home and warming up.

  When the dog showed no resistance or fear, Tess scooped her into her arms and stood.

  “Hey, well done!” the guy called as he jogged over, brushing rain from his forehead.

  “Thanks. I’ve had practice.” It hit her a second time what a physical anomaly this guy was, too fit and all-American to blend into any crowd. His hair was a wavy light brown and his eyes were a striking blue-green. He had a smile that belonged on a poster, white teeth, and a deep dimple on his right cheek that was visible even with a few weeks of stubble.

  “I owe you big time. If anything would’ve happened to her, I’m pretty sure I’d have been murdered in my sleep—not that I’d have been able to sleep,” he said, grinning. “She’s a master at slipping her collar. Usually, I’m one step ahead of her, just not today.”

  Tess laughed as Millie both growled and wagged her tail at the guy. “She seems not quite sure what to think of you.”

  “You can say that again. My neighbor had knee surgery, and I’ve been taking her out when I’m home, sometimes three times a day. Just when I think we’re good to go, she goes all Mr. Hyde on me.”

  “Does she bite?”

  “No. Just barks and runs about like a Ping-Pong ball.”

  “It kind of seemed like she was playing. Maybe that’s what she needs. A good bout of play at a dog park.” Tess nodded toward the leash. “Do you mind snapping that back on while I hold her? I don’t want to risk setting her down first. Or can’t you in that sling?”

  “My hand’s fine. It’s my shoulder.” He stepped in closer than Tess was expecting, and she caught his scent. She didn’t know guys’ colognes, if it was that and not a shave gel, but his smell reminded her of a walk through the woods with maybe a hint of sandalwood and lemon. Whatever it was, the rain likely accented it. Tess would’ve liked to bathe in it.

  He also had really good hands, she noticed as he clipped Millie’s dark-pink collar on. Tess tested the collar with her free hand. It was a bit too loose. She could slip more than the suggested two fingers underneath.

  “I can tighten it,” he offered, voicing her thoughts.

  “That’d be good. They tend to work themselves loose over time from pulling and all.”

  He stepped in even closer as he whirled Millie’s collar around and worked at pulling the extra collar through the tri glide. This close, all that stubble drew her attention like a beacon to his lips and white teeth.

  Tess couldn’t help but notice that he wasn’t wearing a ring.

  Odds are a zillion to one that he’s got a girlfriend, Grasso. And he’s not even your type.

  Only, Tess wondered, if you had to remind yourself someone wasn’t your type, how could you be sure they weren’t?

  He’s sporty. You like bookish. Besides, getting lost in those arms would be like hugging a tree trunk.

  He finished and stepped back, and Tess had to blink herself back to reality. “I’ll, uh, put her down now, I guess. You could maybe suggest a martingale collar or a body harness to your friend. Westies are notorious for slipping their collars with those stout necks of theirs.”

  “I will. Listen, I’d like to thank you, but I’m not sure how. Not only did you catch her, you’ve gotten soaked in the process.”

  Tess set Millie on the ground, then stood and shrugged. The little Westie sniffed her wet boots, seeming as calm and content as if she’d never gotten worked up at all. Her tail wagged with the constancy of a reliable clock. “It’s all in a day’s work, and I was pretty soaked when I got over here.” She glanced at the clouds. “I thought it was going to let up, but now it seems like it might get worse. I’d better grab my things and run. Thanks though.”

  She held out a hand, hoping to look more confident and self-assured than she felt. It didn’t help that she was shivering. She didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that her lips had become an attractive shade of blue. All the while, Mr. Sporty wasn’t in a jacket and the raindrops were beading up and rolling down his water-resistant shirt.

  “Oh, come on.” He closed his hand around hers but didn’t shake it, which caught her off guard. “Are you parked close? Let me walk you to your car. I didn’t even get your name.”

  “I’m, uh, bussing it actually.” Bussing it? Is that even a word? She needed to pull her hand away, only he wasn’t letting go. His skin was warm, and his grip was inviting and strong. Her knees were practically melting into her shins.

  She glanced down the sidewalk at the spot where she’d stashed her suitcase and backpack and blinked unexpectedly. The slightest hint of panic nudged in. She scanned the landscaping for a sign of them, only there wasn’t any.

  “You’re bussing it?” he was saying. “Where are you going? I’ll give you a ride.”

  He must
have moved them behind one of the evergreen bushes. Surely that was it. Only he’d been at least ten feet from them and she’d swear he’d never moved until he’d walked in her direction. Only, would she have known if he had? She’d been zeroed in on Millie. Aside from a woman with a poodle at the opposite end, the park was deserted. But had it always been?

  “Did you see my stuff?” Panic was flooding in so quickly it was as if a dam had broken. “My suitcase and backpack. Do you know where they went?”

  Tess pulled her hand away and hurried down the sidewalk toward the middle of the park where she’d come in. He followed, having no trouble coaxing Millie along. The little dog trotted willingly beside Tess. By the time she reached the bush where she’d set her things, she was in a jog. Her suitcase was filled with her success stories. All of them. And all those dollars’ worth of thoughtful purchases. And then there was the laptop in her backpack. The one with all her research. And every single treasured photograph she’d downloaded from her trip to Europe. Dear God, why hadn’t she gotten around to backing her stuff up on the Cloud? Her cell phone too. And the cell numbers of dozens of amazing people she’d met while away. All of it. Vanished.

  Gone.

  A sharp, chilly gust blew so hard she had to adjust her footing. Rain, in smaller droplets but quadrupled intensity, pummeled sideways into her, stinging her face and neck. Not liking the increased voracity of the afternoon storm, Millie began to whine.

  Somehow, impossibly, all of it was gone on a wind she’d never seen coming.

  Chapter 3

  Mason became completely sure of one thing as the girl bent forward, gripping her knees like she’d just taken a bat to the stomach. Whoever had taken her things better watch out. Anyone who picked on a rescuer in the middle of rescuing had it coming.

  He’d hardly been paying attention to her at first and had paid none to the fact that she’d dumped her things. With the craziness as of late, he’d been bombarded nearly every time he’d stepped out of his building.

  But ever since the accident, his face had been plastered over the news more than it had during his best weeks of the season. It was hard to go anywhere, especially wearing the sling, without being noticed.

  Those first few seconds, he’d had no reason to think she was anything other than a fan who was coming over hoping for an autograph or to flirt. But she didn’t seem to have a clue who he was. She was only interested in talking dog.

  She was also soaked to the bone and shivering. He was rapidly getting that way too.

  He scanned the park, looking for a glimpse of someone hurrying away with her luggage. A woman was jogging away from the park, leading a long-legged poodle, but she wasn’t carrying anything. There were a few businesspeople darting in and out of the buildings on the other side of Chestnut Street. Some had umbrellas and briefcases; others didn’t. He scanned the shrubbery for someone hiding behind the dense brush. He caught a glimpse of motion at the southeast edge of the park.

  “Hey, take the leash, will you?” Mason pressed the leash into her hand and dashed off before she could ask why. Millie, inconsistent as always, barked after him as if she hated for him to leave.

  At the far corner of the sculpture park was a popular hollow metal sculpture of a giant head lying sideways. Mason had caught a glimpse of someone stepping into its hollow neck, though his view had been partially block by barren limbs.

  He was nearly there before he realized he couldn’t identify the girl’s stuff. If the guy had something suspicious, he’d drag him back to her. Only when he reached the open neck end of the statue did he stop, swiping raindrops off his forehead and out of his eyes. Someone had, in fact, gone in out of the rain. A homeless guy. He’d been hauling a ratty, military-grade duffel. He seemed oblivious to Mason’s arrival as he pulled off a jacket he’d been wearing. He wore layers of dirt like clothing, and Mason would put him in his late forties. His clothes were worn out and soiled, and his shoes, an old pair of Converse, were falling apart.

  “Hey,” Mason said, leaning his head inside the neck but not crawling in. “I’m with a girl on the other side of the park. Someone just stole her stuff. Did you see anyone with a suitcase and a backpack?”

  The guy stopped undressing to look at him, then cleared his throat loudly. “Think this is an airport? You gotta watch your own stuff around here. It’s them Iraqis you gotta watch for. Got three tours notched in my belt, and, by God, I swear you can’t trust an Iraqi.”

  The guy had a far-off look in his eyes. Mason suspected he was only half-aware of the world around him. He reached into his pants’ pocket for his wallet but remembered he didn’t have it. “Hey, want to tell me what size shoe you wear, guy?”

  Mason didn’t get an answer this time. The man was too busy filling the air with all the reasons he wouldn’t trust an Iraqi, and none of them were reasons Mason wanted to hear.

  “Hey.” Mason knocked on the metal to get his attention. The knock reverberated through the hollow head and circled back. “Stick around here a little while. I’ll come back. I’ll bring you some shoes. Got that?”

  If the guy would, Mason didn’t know. He jogged back through the rain and cutting wind until he reached Millie and the girl. She was walking the dog his direction, her shoulders hunched from the wind. Beside her, Millie’s tail was tucked, and she looked thoroughly ready for the cozy warmth of the plush bed waiting in her owner’s loft.

  “Dead end. Homeless guy.”

  The girl nodded, swiping a soaked strand of dark-brown hair back from her face. She was shivering hard and clearly on the verge of crying. Mason had to hold back from touching her in reassurance. She was petite in her soaked leggings and tall leather boots. Her heart-shaped face was pale from the cold, but her lips were enticingly pink.

  “I’ll go with you, if you want to report it. There’s a police station a couple of blocks from here.”

  “I don’t…I don’t know that it’d be any good.” Her lower jaw was starting to quiver. “I should go.” She offered the leash his way and glanced across Market Street in the direction she’d come. “Oh…”

  Her face fell even lower, and Mason was pretty sure he knew the direction of her thoughts. “Is your wallet gone?”

  She pressed her lips together and swallowed. Not wanting to upset her any further, Mason did the talking instead.

  “Look, my place isn’t far. I’ll grab my truck and give you a ride home, but first, we’ll circle the side streets and alleys around here. Pickpockets are notorious for dumping extra weight as fast as possible. Maybe we can recover some of your stuff.”

  She folded her arms tight across her chest and looked around, as if searching for a second option. “Thanks, but I don’t want to put you out.”

  Mason turned his right palm skyward as if he were trying to catch the drops. It had slowed to an even, steady drizzle. “Putting me out would be to ask me to hang around here to see if the rain will soak into our last still-dry crevices. Come on. It’s this way.”

  He started off toward the northeast corner of the park. After a few seconds of hesitation, she followed. If his left arm wasn’t immobilized, he’d have to work hard not to loop it around her back. She was devastated but holding it together admirably, which made Mason want to help her even more.

  Rather than press her into conversation, he listened to the peaceful, lulling drone of the now-steady rain and the patter of Millie’s soaked paws as she scurried along in front of them, leading the way with the confidence of a dog who knew her home range well.

  Mason wasn’t one to get cold easily, but he could feel the chill setting in. Beside him, the girl was walking with her arms folded over her chest, and her fingertips were turning blue.

  “Just another two blocks.”

  “Thanks,” she said, “for helping me.”

  “You were doing a favor for me and someone stole your stuff. If I left you out in this rain to fe
nd for yourself, that would group me with the worst of the worst.”

  “Would you mind if I used your phone to call someone?”

  “Not at all. But it’s up there. I’m on the top floor. So is Millie’s owner, Georges.” He pointed to the top floor of the six-story redbrick building that used to belong to a high-end fountain pen company that went out of business in the early ’80s. The building had been used off and on for storage until it was purchased by a real estate developer in 2005. That company had gone out of business in 2009, a year after the twice-postponed construction of twelve upscale lofts was supposed to begin. A new developer bought it after it sat empty for several years.

  Mason had been the second person to buy into the twelve-unit development, just after Georges. Then he and Georges had bought the rest of the units and become co-owners of the building. Despite Georges’s many eccentricities and their many differences, they were also good friends.

  They reached the entrance none too soon. When his fingerprint proved too wet to be read by the scanner that unlocked the lobby door, Mason entered the six-digit backup code. The red light over the panel switched to green and the magnet that held the door locked released.

  Switching Millie’s leash to the hand of his slinged arm, he pulled the door open and nodded for her to go in.

  She stepped back a foot. “Thanks, but I’ll stay out here.”

  The concrete awning overhead that was a part of the swell underneath the second story windows kept most of the rain out of the building entryway but not all of it, and she was clearly freezing.

  “In the rain? I get you’ve got no reason to trust me, but at least come in where it’s warm.” He motioned toward the furnished lobby that often felt like a waste of space. The twelve-unit building was too small for a doorman, and most of the residents came and went through the building’s basement garage. Aside from when one of the tenants was waiting for a ride to show up or a guest to arrive, hardly anyone used the lobby.