THE GIRL OF HIS DREAMS
Susan Mallery
Book #1 in The Triple Trouble Series
SYNOPSIS
MORE THAN FRIENDS?
A VETERINARIAN SETS OUT TO CONVINCE A SPUNKY DOG GROOMER THAT FRIENDSHIP AND ROMANCE ARE A GREAT COMBINATION….
Kayla Bedford had lofty visions of running off to Paris and marrying the prince of her dreams. But before she left, she needed to find a significant other for her conservative boss and best friend, Patrick Walcott….
And who better than her older –– by twelve minutes –– identical sister? Kayla was sure they’d get along famously. But as the seconds ticked down for her sister’s big date with Patrick, a wave of jealously washed over Kayla. Suddenly it seemed her Prince Charming had been right beside her all along. But how was she going to convince Patrick that she was the girl of his dreams?
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”YOU LOOK GREAT”
Kayla mumbled as her sister left the room. “Patrick will be blown away.”
Kayla slumped on the sofa and pulled a pillow close to her chest. “It’s not fair. Patrick never asked me out to a romantic dinner by the water. He’s never asked me out at all. Not that I wanted him to. We’re not a couple. But still, he could have….”
Her voice trailed off. Confusing feelings swirled inside her. Why was she jealous? She’d invited her sister specifically to meet Patrick. They obviously got along—he’d asked her out within minutes of meeting her. Kayla’s plan had worked. Everything was turning out exactly as it should.
So why did she feel so empty inside — and why was her heart aching?
First Published 1977
Chapter One
But Mr. Cookie has never spent the night away from home,” the woman in the waiting room wailed.
Kayla Bedford overheard the conversation and rolled her eyes. “Mr. Cookie needs to get out more,” she said to herself as she turned on the water and began rinsing the large, soapy sheepdog in front of her.
Duchess endured the bathing stoically, staring mournfully at Kayla, as if silently asking how someone who claimed to love animals could stoop so low as to bathe them.
Kayla tilted the dog’s nose up so she could rinse her forehead without getting soap in her eyes. “Don’t give me that sad little look,” she said. “You smell bad. If you’d stop rolling in the mud, your owners would stop bringing you in for a bath. It’s your own fault.”
Duchess accepted her responsibility in the matter with a sharp bark and a swipe at Kayla’s nose. Kayla laughed and ducked back to avoid the pink tongue, not to mention the dog’s breath.
“You’ve got to start flossing, kid,” she said.
She finished rinsing Duchess and unhooked the short metal leash that kept her charge in the tub while she worked. She grabbed an oversize towel from a rack on the wall and stepped back. Duchess liked to give herself a good shake before submitting to drying.
“But I haven’t seen all the facility,” the Mr. Cookie’s owner said. “What’s in there?”
“Our dog-grooming facility. But you shouldn’t go in there. Kayla is working with a—”
Kayla heard her boss speak, but it took her a couple of seconds to react. Unfortunately, that was one second too long. The door opened, and a woman stepped into the room. Her clothing obviously cost more than Kayla made in a month. Mr. Cookie’s owner had perfectly groomed hair, perfectly done makeup, and enough jewelry to support a family of four about two years.
Mr. Cookie wasn’t too bad himself. He was a tiny Yorkshire terrier with a blue bow between his ears.
“Wet dog,” Kayla said quickly, positioning herself between the well-to-do customer and Duchess.
She was too late. Mr. Cookie spotted Duchess and barked. The huge sheepdog pricked up her ears. Doggie eyes met. If it wasn’t love at first sight, it was something darn close. Mr. Cookie jumped out of his mistress’s arms at the same moment Duchess leaped from the tub.
“That hideous creature is going to hurt Mr. Cookie!” the woman shrieked.
Patrick Walcott, Kayla’s boss, took the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Kane, there’s nothing to worry about. Duchess is a well-behaved dog. Mr. Cookie is fine. See?” He pointed at the two dogs, who were sniffing noses. The terrier made low sounds in his throat, as if the moment were too much for him.
“Your dog is going to be fine, Mrs. Kane,” Kayla said quickly, “but you’re not. Please step back before Duchess decides to—”
Suddenly Duchess braced herself on four stiff legs and shook. Water flew everywhere. It was like getting caught in a rainstorm. Blast that thick coat, Kayla thought as the spray soaked through her smock and T-shirt, down to her skin.
Mrs. Kane yelped and jumped into the foyer. Her high heels narrowly missed Patrick’s right foot.
Mr. Cookie endured the downpour, and when Duchess bent her head low to sniff his face, he swiped at her with his tongue. Duchess returned his affection, her long lick nearly knocking him off his feet.
She eyed the smitten couple and shook her head. “Just like Romeo and Juliet. You guys are doomed.”
Abruptly Mrs. Kane swept into the room, bent down and picked up her soaked dog.
“Mr. Cookie is a purebred terrier,” she announced in the same tone British broadcasters used to point out the queen. “I can’t believe you would let a mutt like that roam free in this establishment. This will never do at all. I’m taking Mr. Cookie on vacation with me.”
With that, she turned and walked away.
Kayla stared after her and tried to suppress a laugh as Mr. Cookie struggled in his owner’s arms. Obviously, a life of luxury was nothing when compared with Duchess’s earthier charms. The dog yipped in protest as he was carried from the building.
Kayla cleared her throat and tried to look suitably regretful. “I’m really sorry, Patrick,” she said. “If I’d known she was going to open the door, I would have kept Duchess on her leash.”
“It’s okay, Kayla. I warned her not to come in. She didn’t want to listen.” He winked. “Frankly, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for Mr. Cookie.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t be a problem. We would ask the Andersons if Duchess could spend the weekend, then we’d put them in a cage together. They would have a wonderful time.”
He touched the tip of her nose. “Wicked child. Don’t you know Mr. Cookie is a pure bred?”
Kayla crouched on the floor and wrapped a towel around Duchess. “So is she. She even has papers. Don’t you, sweet girl?”
Duchess licked her cheek.
Kayla grinned at Patrick. “The dog really needs to start flossing regularly. I’ve told her, but she doesn’t listen. I think you should give her the ‘healthy gums and teeth’ lecture.”
“It works better if I tell it to the owners.”
A petite blonde walked toward them. “Dr. Walcott, your next patient is ready.” She handed him a chart.
He took it and thanked her, then turned back to Kayla. “What time are you going to Sunshine Village?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. “In about forty minutes.”
“I want to come with you. Their resident cat needs to be vaccinated.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t think of telling them to bring the animal in here.”
“Of course not.”
“You don’t bill them, either, do you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you angling for an accounting job?”
“Smooth way of telling me to mind my own business, Doc.”
Patrick waved and headed for the examining rooms. Kayla stared after him for a minute. She’d known Patrick since she was a freshman in college, seven years ago. He was by far the nicest man she’d ever known. And not bad-l
ooking, she thought, leaning out the door and watching his long-legged stride. His cotton lab coat covered his behind, but she’d seen him in jeans enough to know it was pretty impressive. She’d teased him once that there were probably women who had shrines to his butt hidden away in their closets. He’d brushed her comment off with a self-deprecating wave.
So why wasn’t he married? she wondered. In the time she’d known him, he’d dated a lot of women, but no one seriously. What was his problem?
***
“So what’s your problem?” she asked nearly an hour later as they sped down the freeway toward Sunshine Village. The late-afternoon sun drifted toward the horizon, making the ocean glitter as if dusted with golden sparkles.
Patrick drove the van with an easy confidence. He’d abandoned his lab coat and now wore a dark blue T-shirt tucked into jeans. One elbow rested on the open driver’s-side window. His skin was tanned.
He glanced at her, his blue eyes nearly as dark as the T-shirt. He had nice eyes, she decided. They were the best part of his face. Well, except maybe for his mouth. He had a good mouth. Firm, well-shaped lips that nearly always curved up into a smile.
“My problem?” he asked.
“How old are you? Thirty-one, right?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I’ve known you seven years. In all that time, you’ve never dated a woman more than a couple of months. Why is that?”
“Gee, Kayla, stop being subtle and get to the point.”
“So I shouldn’t have asked?”
“Why do you want to know?” His question neatly avoided both of hers.
She leaned back in the seat and pointed to their exit, which was coming up. “I’m not going to be here much longer,” she said. “Two months, sixteen days. Then you’ll be on your own. I worry about you. Maybe you should rent my apartment to someone really cute.”
“There’s something to think about,” he said easily. “I’ve always been partial to redheads.”
Kayla frowned. Although she wanted Patrick to find somebody wonderful and be happy, she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of a dazzling redhead taking over her apartment. Kayla rented the one-bedroom unit above Patrick’s two-car garage. It was small, but suited her needs. She’d had it since she graduated from college.
“What if I want to keep renting my place?” she asked. “You know, as a temporary home when I’m between travels.”
“No problem. Just let me know what you decide.”
“I hate it when you’re agreeable,” she muttered.
“Why?”
“Then I come off as the cranky one, and I’m not.”
He gave her a slow, knowing smile.
They pulled into the parking lot at Sunshine Village. The two-story building looked more like a collection of villas than a retirement home. Red tile roofs and gleaming white stucco contrasted with lots of grass and trees. In back was a huge garden tended by several residents. In addition to flowers, they grew vegetables.
Kayla jumped down and went to the rear of the van.
Three large dog cages sat in the back. She opened each cage and clipped a leash on the occupant. Patrick collected his medical bag and joined her.
“I’ll get Trudi,” he said, taking the dalmatian’s leash. Barely two years old, the black-and-white dog still acted like a puppy. After trying to leap up and lick Patrick’s face, she danced at the end of her lead, barking with excitement as they moved toward the building.
Elizabeth, a seven-year-old collie, followed more sedately. “Always a lady,” Kayla said. She carried Rip, a small black poodle, in her arms.
They walked into the large gathering room downstairs. Several of the residents were already waiting for their arrival. The animals were greeted by name. Patrick handed her Trudi’s leash and went in search of the oversize tabby who made her home there.
“You trap that boy yet?” Mrs. Grisham asked as Kayla led Trudi to the large, dark-haired woman sitting on the edge of the sofa.
“Not yet,” Kayla said, grinning at the familiar question. “I’ve tried seducing Patrick, but he’s immune to my charms,” she teased.
“Then you’re not trying hard enough,” Mr. Peters said, and wiggled his eyebrows. “A lovely young lady like you? Why, in my day—”
Mrs. Grisham cut him off with a wave of her hand. “We’ve heard about all your days too many times already. I think Kayla’s playing hard-to-get.”
“Patrick and I are good friends. I swear. I’ve known him for years.”
“Uh-huh. Who are you trying to convince with that sorry tale?” Mrs. Grisham said.
Kayla-laughed. “But it’s true.”
She moved closer with the dogs. The dalmatian recognized Mrs. Grisham and strained to get closer. Kayla held her off and commanded her to sit.
“Oh, don’t worry. Trudi jumps a little, but I’m used to it.” Mrs. Grisham petted the dog’s smooth head. “How’s my pretty girl?” Trudi wriggled with excitement. Mrs. Grisham took her leash.
Once Trudi was settled, Kayla released Elizabeth. The collie was well behaved. She circled the room, stopping at each resident’s side. Some were favorites, but she tried hard to play fair.
Kayla left the two dogs and headed for the stairs. Once on the second floor, she walked to a suite of rooms at the back. The door was partially open, and she knocked as she entered.
Sarah looked up from the book she was reading and smiled. “Kayla, what a surprise.”
Kayla kissed the older woman’s wrinkled cheek and set Rip on the bed next to her. The tiny poodle stepped carefully onto Sarah’s lap and stared at her happily.
“I’ve missed you, scamp,” Sarah said, petting the small dog. She held out her free hand to Kayla. “And you.” She squeezed Kayla’s fingers. “Pull up a chair. My daughter sent me the scrapbook.”
Kayla dragged over a lightweight metal chair and settled next to Sarah. “She found it, then?”
“Yes, right where I told her it would be.” She pulled open her nightstand drawer. A faded, dusty book sat on top. “You get it, dear.”
Kayla drew it out of the drawer. The pages were twelve inches square and bound with ribbon. The cover was plain except for the word Memories scripted in tarnished gold. She set the book between Sarah’s hip and the edge of the bed.
Sarah turned to the first page. Grainy black-and-white photos showed a young couple ready to board an old-fashioned plane.
“I wasn’t much older than you are now,” Sarah said. “Danny, my husband, wanted me to see Paris. It was 1950 and he’d spent some time there during the war.”
“Great hat,”Kayla said, leaning close to study the picture. Sarah had been wearing a wool dress and a small, stylish hat. Her hair had been dark then, falling to her shoulders in smooth waves. The young man at her side was dapper in a pin-striped suit. His grin embraced the world, and he held his wife as if she were the most precious part of his life.
She sighed. “You look very much in love.”
“We were. Oh, there were bad times, of course. But I loved Danny with all my heart. I still do.”
Kayla knew Sarah’s husband had passed away nearly ten years ago. She touched the older woman’s arm. “That’s what I want. Love to last a lifetime.”
“You’ll find it.”
“I hope so. I’m nearly twenty-five.”
“How long?”
Kayla chuckled. “I’ll turn twenty-five in two months and sixteen days. Then the money from the trust fund will be released and I’m off to Paris.”
“We stayed at a lovely hotel near the Seine.” Sarah flipped through the album. She found a postcard of the building and pointed. “I wonder if it’s still there.”
Rip flopped over on his back, begging for attention. Sarah gathered him up in her arms and stroked his soft fur. “Aren’t you a love?” she said, then nodded at the book. “You look through it, Kayla. Paris has changed in the past forty-something years, but it will give you some ideas about what to expect.”
Kayla flipped the pages, sto
pping at photos of churches and museums. She studied the streets of the city, wondering what it would look like now.
“I’m very excited,” she said. “I’ve wanted to go to Paris since I was twelve.”
“And meet a handsome Frenchman?” Sarah teased.
“Actually, I was thinking of Prince Albert of Monaco. His father married an American.”
“Quite right. You’re pretty enough to tempt a prince.”
Kayla glanced down at her faded T-shirt. There were an assortment of stains from a day spent washing dogs. Her jeans showed white at the seams, and her athletic shoes were so old that if they were tires they would be considered bald.
“Ever glamorous. That’s me. Why, just today I was telling Patrick we ought to start serving latte in the waiting room.”
“Oh, stop, child.” Sarah gave the back of her hand a slight tap. “You are a pretty girl. It has nothing to do with what you’re wearing. It’s in your face and the way you carry yourself. If you don’t believe me, ask Patrick.”
Kayla closed the photo album and set it back in the drawer. “Patrick sees me as a dependable employee and a good friend. Pretty doesn’t enter into it.”
“And you’ve never noticed that he’s handsome?”
Kayla glanced toward the door to make sure no one was listening, then leaned toward the other woman and spoke in a whisper. “Not only is he extremely good-looking, but his rear end is perfect. It’s all that jogging he does.”
“So?” Sarah arched her eyebrows. “Why are you going off to find a prince, when you have one right here at home?”
“Patrick?” She shook her head. “That’s silly. He’s just… himself.”
Patrick? Never, she thought. He was her friend. He’d let her cry on his shoulder when a young man broke her heart her junior year of college. She talked to him about her plans for the future, helped him write his grant proposals.
“If there was any kind of a spark, it would have already flared by now, Sarah,” she continued. “You’re going to have to accept the fact that I’m going to marry Prince Albert. But don’t worry. I’ll invite you to the wedding.”
The Girl of His Dreams Page 1
