Paws Up for Love

by Stephanie Rowe

  Paws Up for Love

  A Canine Cupids Novel

  Stephanie Rowe

  SBD Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Newsletter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy Rides a Motorcycle

  Sneak Peek: A Real Cowboy for Christmas

  Sneak Peek: Unintentionally Mine

  Sneak Peek: Darkness Seduced

  Books By Stephanie Rowe

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Paws Up for Love (a Canine Cupids novel).

  Copyright © 2017 by Stephanie Rowe.

  ISBN 10: 1-940968-62-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-940968-62-9

  Cover design © 2017 by Kelli Ann Morgan, Inspire Creative Services.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, disseminated, or transmitted in any form or by any means or for any use, including recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the author and/or the artist. The only exception is short excerpts or the cover image in reviews. Please be a leading force in respecting the right of authors and artists to protect their work. This is a work of fiction. All the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel or on the cover are either products of the author’s or artist's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or the artist. There are excerpts from other books by the author in the back of the book.

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  Chapter 1

  There was no way Buddy's brother lived in this mansion.

  Unless he'd murdered the owners and taken over the place.

  Which wasn't entirely unlikely, given that he shared Buddy's genes. If prison, fraud and thievery were hereditary, she needed to be prepared to face the man who'd taught her loser ex-boyfriend everything he knew.

  Especially since she was here on a hostile mission.

  Hostile. The word made her stomach congeal in a sodden lump.

  She was no good at hostile.

  Being a nurturing wimp who anyone could walk all over and take advantage of? Now that, she was brilliant at. If there were a Nobel Prize for being a pathetic, useless creature with no backbone whatsoever, she'd win it so many times they'd retire it in her name.

  Or, rather, the old Josie Harper would. Not the new one. The new Josie Harper was a kick-ass tough chick every man would fear.

  Well, that was her goal. She wasn't exactly there yet. Though signing the paperwork to finalize the divorce from her wandering ex-husband had been a good start.

  Or so she'd thought. Rebounding into the arms of a thieving ex-con who stole her savings, her car, and her waffle iron hadn't exactly been a sign of female empowerment.

  But hitting rock bottom left nowhere to go but up.

  And up was where she intended to go, to a world where she reigned supreme, where she would never let herself fall victim to another man just because she thought she couldn't live without their gender.

  Nope. From now on, no relationships allowed. Casual sex maybe, but no relationships. Not until she'd lived on her own for at least three years, thereby displaying the inner fortitude necessary to discern between an actual good man and one just pretending to be good so he could take advantage of her.

  And to kickstart her new life, all she needed to do was track down her latest mistake, and reclaim her belongings. Of course, she would rather be starting the new life of Josie-the-badass with her best friend Bev Ryan by her side, but no, Bev had chosen this particular time to take a two-month honeymoon in a no-cell-area of Africa with her new husband. Great for Bev, not so great for a woman who needed her bestie.

  Yes, she still had a support team around her, but none of them were the kind who she'd ask to march up to the house of a stranger in hopes of reclaiming her life. So, she was here alone, which, in some ways, felt kind of empowering. Who needed a sidekick? Not someone who was capable of handling it on her own, right?

  Which is why she was here, at the mansion of the thieving crook's brother, hoping Buddy was hiding out in the servants' quarters, sitting on her money, with her waffle iron on his counter and her car in the garage.

  And if Buddy or his brother showed any violent inclinations that she'd expect of an ex-con and his brother...well...no more playing the victim for her.

  Josie felt in her pocket for the bottle of pepper spray as she worked her way up the long walk, wheeling her bicycle along beside her. She was ready. Prepared. Tough. A warrior woman.

  I am woman. Hear me whimper.

  Dammit! That was wrong! Stupid Freudian slip there.

  I am woman. Hear me roar.

  Much better.

  Josie tightened her grip on her handlebars and stared up at the house.

  Very.

  Big.

  House.

  Way out of her league.

  Why couldn't Buddy's brother live in a gross little apartment with rats peeking out of the walls? Now that, she could handle. Not this ostentatious display of wealth and sophistication that was such the antithesis of everything the Dorsett genes represented.

  Even her legs were trembling. And not from the twenty-nine miles she'd just ridden from downtown Boston to his sprawling suburban mansion.

  It was fear.

  Because she was a wimp.

  Okay, so the transformation into an empowered woman wasn't exactly instant. Very annoying.

  She had two choices.

  One, abandon her little venture, go and return to a life where her only goal was to be a good little wife supported by a husband, and sit around and wait for some man to make her whole.

  No way.

  She couldn't do it. She'd made the decision the day her ex-husband had told her he'd fallen in love with his glamorous colleague at the hospital, an obstetrician with a hot body and a brilliant mind. So what if Dr. Homewrecker beat out Josie in all categories? Josie had value of some sort or another, and she was determined to prove it to herself and every other man who might try to take her for granted and trounce all over her.

  So, that left option two: get over her wimpiness and take control.

  "The jerk stole my waffle iron." A gurgling anger bubbled up inside her. She'd really loved that waffle iron. Bastard.

  Channel that anger. Take control.

  Josie leaned her bike into a perfectly coifed flowering bush of some sort and marched up the stairs, chin high, hands clenched into fists, heart strong. Up the brick walkway, over to the door, lift her fist, grab the doorknocker, and pound.

  H
ard.

  Again.

  She stuck her index finger in the doorbell and rang, growling at how much her hand was shaking. Would an Amazon woman tremble before going into battle? Never.

  Okay, so she wasn't an Amazon. She was an out-of-shape destitute blob, armed with pepper spray and a sports bra that had lost its elasticity.

  Give her a month.

  She'd be binding her breasts and carrying a bow and arrow, knocking down men left and right.

  Footsteps echoed in the house, and Josie's knees weakened. Okay. Game over. She couldn't follow through. She'd have to find another path toward empowerment.

  But when she tried to run away, her feet were glued to the ground in stubborn disobedience.

  Great. She couldn't even boss around her own body. What hope did she have of controlling her own destiny?

  The doorknob turned, Josie's feet sunk deeper into the bricks, and she had no other choice than to lift her head and prepare to face the dark lord upon whose steps she knelt.

  Okay, so she wasn't kneeling.

  Nothing wrong with a little creative liberty to try to keep her sane.

  The door opened a sliver, then an inch, then four inches...like death by slow torture. "Just open it!" Whoops. She hadn't meant to scream that aloud like she was a raving lunatic. That little nugget was for her information only. It wasn't like she was always totally insane. Usually she was relatively normal, but this Buddy thing...it had pushed her mighty close to the edge.

  The door opened the rest of the way to reveal... Holy cow. There were no words to describe him other than "a god." Surely this couldn't be Evan Dorsett, the man she was determined to hate? He was wearing a pair of cutoff sweats, athletic socks, and running shoes. Nothing else. Sweat dripped off his defined chest, trickled over his massive shoulders, coming together in a dark patch in the waistband of his sweats. His dark hair was cut short, but ends stuck out in a few directions, as if it resented being so constrained. A scar under his right eye winked at her, and his eyes, a startling blue, were laden with an emptiness that made her shiver, even though it was a humid July day in Boston.

  Unlike Buddy and his shifty eyes, this man caught her gaze and locked on, an arrogant defiance trying to penetrate her defenses.

  As if that would take much effort. Defenses were not her strong suit. She'd be more likely to take out her heart and lay it on the ground for the running of the bulls. There were so many hoof marks on it already, she wouldn't even notice another hundred million.

  Yes, she would! That's why she was here! To clean off the damage already done and stop herself from doing it again. Josie tried not to look at this man's ridiculously fit body, or think about how her hormones had suddenly started repeatedly chanting the phrase "sex god." She cleared her throat. "Are you Evan Dorsett?"

  The man raised one dark eyebrow. "Who wants to know?"

  "I do." Well, duh.

  One tiny corner of his mouth flickered. "I figured that. Who are you?"

  "Josie Harper."

  "If you're selling Girl Scout cookies, I'll buy them. If you're selling insurance, I'm covered." He wiped the sweat off his forehead. "I don't mean to be rude, but I'm in the middle of a workout..."

  "Umm..." She could pretend she'd been selling a Quicko-Veggie chopper, walk away, and go on with her life...but that wasn't the point of her trip, was it? The objective of her marathon bike ride had been to start the process of changing her life.

  Which meant she had to stop being a milquetoast. Josie narrowed her eyes and stared at the man with whom Buddy had claimed kinship. Clad in almost nothing, he appeared unarmed.

  But with someone related to Buddy, one could never be too careful.

  So she tightened her grip on the pepper spray and slid it unobtrusively out of her pocket. "Mr. Dorsett?"

  He cocked an eyebrow at her formality. "Yes?"

  "Are you harboring a fugitive by the name of Buddy Dorsett?"

  "A fugitive?" Evan blinked. "He's not a fugitive."

  True. "Only because the police refuse to investigate."

  "Investigate what?" A twitch in his cheek was making the scar under his eye pucker. An indication that he was listening to voices ordering him to chop up the next blond woman who appeared on his doorstep? Perhaps her bicycle helmet would be more useful on her head instead of hanging on her handlebars...

  On the chance that she was incredibly perceptive and not delusionally paranoid due to his genetic ties to Buddy, Josie took a very small step backward and moved the pepper spray behind her back...prepared, yet not provoking.

  "Investigate what?" He repeated his question, the scar pulsing faster.

  "He stole my car and..."

  "No."

  Josie blinked. "No, what?"

  "He didn't steal your car. You're quite mistaken."

  "Am I?" She wasn't so sure she liked the authoritarian tone of Buddy's big brother. Not that it was a surprise. She was prepared to dislike every last bit of Evan Dorsett, even down to the black blood that ran through his veins. "And what about my bank account he emptied?"

  Evan narrowed his eyes. "You say the police won't investigate?"

  "For now. I'm going to continue stalking them until they do. I have the chief's home address, so I'm going to swing by there around midnight tonight..." Actually, that wasn't a bad idea...though she really didn't have time to get arrested, and she certainly didn't have the money to post bail. Perhaps further consideration of other alternatives would be in order...

  "Since the police won't investigate, I suspect you have no case, which means you're wrongfully accusing my brother. I suggest you leave before I have you arrested for slander."

  Well, wasn't that nice? Under other circumstances, she'd admire a man who stood by his relatives and supported his family, even if they didn't deserve it. But these were challenging times, which called for her to display an inner strength she hadn't exhibited since she'd shot Jim Clancy in the eye with a rubber band in second grade after he'd bilked her out of her lunch money. Therefore, instead of falling at Evan's feet and begging him to restore her faith in men, she was going to consider Evan's show of familial devotion annoying and inconvenient. "Buddy is a crook."

  "I take umbrage to people shedding dark shadows on the Dorsett name."

  Was this guy serious? "For your information, Mr. Dorsett, Buddy is casting very nasty dispersions on your family name without any help whatsoever from me."

  His face darkened, and Josie took a step back. Now she could see the family resemblance. She had no difficulty envisioning him leaping out of a dark alley with an Uzi to save his brother.

  "Where's Buddy now?" Evan's voice was like steel, and she was quite certain he was stalling for time while he contemplated the neatest way to dispose of her.

  "I don't know." She shuffled a little further away from him. "I came here to ask you that very question." She leaned to the right to see if Buddy was hiding down the hall, but Evan's shoulders were much too wide. His finely tuned body was the only thing she could see.

  Not that she was noticing.

  Ahem.

  Concentrate on the mission. "Are you providing a safe house for him? Aiding and abetting a fugitive is a crime, you know."

  "I thought you said he wasn't a fugitive."

  "Maybe he isn't yet, but as soon as the police find out about my waffle iron..."

  "Your waffle iron?"

  "Yes, he took that too. Jerk."

  "He took your waffle iron?" Disbelief positively dripped from his words.

  "Of course he did. He's a thief and a liar. Plus, he's a deceptive cad who preys on charming women like me, deluding them into thinking that he has redeeming characteristics when really he's nothing better than a leech with no moral code whatsoever and..."

  "Enough!" Evan's hand snapped out to silence her, and she reacted. Pepper spray up and...

  He knocked her wrist aside, sent the pepper spray flying and anchored her against his chest in a vice grip before she sighed with longing.

/>   She couldn't move an inch, her face smashed up against his bare chest. But she could breathe fine, and he hadn't hurt her at all. She was just trapped.

  Against his chest.

  Which was still as naked as it had been when he answered the door.

  God, he smelled good. A mixture of spice and sweat, like a real man. Like a man who'd spent the day riding the range with his cattle, fighting villains, and taking care of injured calves...

  Whoa. What was she thinking? He was the enemy. Not some hot stud she'd hired for some roughing up before a tumble in the sack.

  Hormones, retreat!

  Josie cleared her throat, trying to twist slightly to see his face...but no luck. She was stuck with a view of tanned skin, flexed pecs, and a sea of dark hair curling against her cheek.

  Hmm...not an entirely unpleasant situation.

  "Any more weapons I should know about?" His voice was cold and not all that friendly.

  "As if I'd tell you."

  "Do I need to frisk you?"

  A shiver ran through her. Now, didn't that sound like an interesting way to spend the afternoon? "If I begged, would you?" Whoops. Not quite sure how that little beauty had slipped out of her mouth.

  "Do I look like I'm amused?"

  "Though you have a very nice chest, it really isn't all that expressive." Did he think she had eyes on top of her head, or had he just failed to notice he still had her face squashed against his chest? Not that she was protesting, because she could most definitely see the positive side of her situation. Nothing like having a plucky attitude!