Home Is Where the Bark Is

by Kandy Shepherd

  The humiliating episode was something she’d rather the beyond-handsome Yorki-poo owner did not pick up on. Darn that dumb love-heart toy.

  She cleared her throat. “So far, so good,” she said as she continued to watch the dogs.

  Had he noticed the mortifying way she’d cringed when he’d stepped too close, too quickly? Surely after all that counseling she should be over that kind of reaction by now?

  She stole a sideward glance at the tall, muscular hunk. He caught her gaze, and she forced herself to meet it. Even to pull her lips back in a smile. He was a potential client, and she had to act as professionally as possible.

  “So far, so good,” he agreed, indicating the dogs with a nod. “No need to worry about these two.”

  Bessie rolled over on her back in a total pose of submission to Snowball, whose flag of a white tail was wagging furiously as he trotted around her. Serena could swear he was grinning and her forced smile widened to something heartfelt. She reached down to pat her beloved pet.

  “Good boy,” she murmured. The little Maltese had earned his treats for the day. With bonus.

  Delighted by the animals’ behavior, Serena dared a full-on gaze into Nick Whalen’s chiseled face. “If Snowball could talk, I think he’d beg Bessie to stay. I guess you could call it love at first sight. That is, if they weren’t both, uh . . . altered.”

  Ohmigod, there she was stumbling over that word again.

  “That is, if you attributed human emotion to dogs,” he said.

  Was that a challenge? If so, she chose not to meet it.

  The love-heart incident might already have him thinking she was a teensy bit weird. He balked at the term “dog-kid.” If she argued too fiercely in defense of the concept of dogs falling in love, she could lose herself a new client.

  “Which of course you do not,” she conceded with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “And I . . . I respect your belief.”

  Though she certainly didn’t agree with it.

  Imagine him not realizing that dogs had real feelings and formed lasting bonds with other dogs—not to mention humans? To her that was incomprehensible. She knew from experience that dogs loved and grieved with real emotion.

  “Their behavior looks like plain old instinct to me,” he said, “neutered or not.”

  She bit down on a defensive reply. “Instinct? I guess you could call it that.”

  This guy was definitely a stranger in a strange land when it came to dog world. Except for that fussy bow on the Yorki-poo’s forelock. That still did not add up.

  She took a deep breath. “Whatever your opinion might be on doggy emotion,” she said in her best dog-professional voice, “Bessie has proved herself to be one well-socialized little animal. I’m with Snowball on that.”

  “So she’s passed her temperament test?”

  “So far with flying colors. Now all I need to see is how she copes with the playroom and meeting the other dogs. Want to bring her through?”

  Serena stepped past the powerfully built man, careful to keep a more-than-shoulder-brushing distance away.

  But it was only as she escaped into the adjoining room that the realization struck her: in that long moment when her hand had been trapped by his much bigger, stronger one, she hadn’t panicked.

  No. In such intimate proximity to the Yorki-poo owner, her heart had been racing and her breathing tight for an altogether different reason.

  Immediately after Nick stepped into the playroom he was assailed by the smell of dog. Not dirty dog. Or dog mess. Just dog. You either liked it or you didn’t. And the good, clean smell of dog had only happy connotations for him.

  But to him dogs were animals that earned their keep. They guarded property. Worked on farms. Used their superior senses to sniff out contraband.

  Yappy little lapdogs were pure indulgence.

  Hold your fire there, Whalen.

  He was in real danger of forgetting he was undercover in the persona of an indulgent lapdog owner. He had to go along with whatever nonsense was thrown his way. Mask his real reactions. Curb smart comments about animal emotions to the lovely doggy day-care director. Smile more.

  He grit his teeth. It took real application of his skills to act like the kind of guy who would own a Yorki-poo.

  Yorki-poo! He found it difficult to get his tongue around the name of the designer hybrid breed without laughing. Let alone go all mushy over her.

  Bessie was the last dog he would ever choose to own. But his great-aunt Alice adored her. When he’d agreed to house-sit Alice’s place in Sausalito while his aunt was out of town, Bessie came as part of the deal.

  She was a harmless little creature, sweet in her own imitation-cat-like way. Importantly, she gave him legitimate access to Paws-A-While. He had to make certain Bessie got accepted for day care so he had an excuse to spend time here. The contract with the insurance company was a lucrative one. Crack the identity-theft scam and the future of his and Adam’s new business would be right on track.

  The subtle presence of Serena’s scent—identifiable even over the aroma of dog—reminded him that the too-perceptive proprietor stood next to him. Ill-timed references to his true opinion of her business might lose him his opportunity to infiltrate her organization.

  “This place is really something,” he said as he looked around him.

  Serena’s smile showed she took his comment as a compliment.

  Her smile. It lit up those honey-colored eyes. Warmed the hint of anxiety from her expression. He liked the feeling it gave him to know he could make her smile. But he had to remind himself that the most villainous of perps could have the most charming of smiles.

  The doggy day-care director could well be the mastermind behind a criminal scam that was defrauding decent people. Stealing their savings. Trashing their homes. Jeopardizing their futures.

  If Serena Oakley was in any way involved, it was his job to bring her to justice.

  No way could he let slip even a hint of his attraction to her.

  He forced himself to turn his attention away from the allure of her smile to the Paws-A-While playroom.

  Never had he seen so many dogs together in the one place, maybe fifty of them, he guesstimated. The large, open room was fenced off with dog-escape-proof pool fencing and accessed by gates at either end. A number of staff watched over their charges.

  The owners of these dogs were paying exorbitant dollars to keep their animals here. It would take a lot of guard-dog wages to recover a week’s fees. But then, the owners weren’t worried about counting their change—they were big earners. Which made them vulnerable to identity theft and fraud.

  The more he saw of the setup at Paws-A-While, the more convinced he was that there was something here worth investigating.

  A blond girl wearing a Paws-A-While T-shirt came to the nearest gate where he stood with Serena, Bessie, and Snowball.

  The girl smiled at him and then pointed to Bessie. “Is this little cutie the newbie?” she asked Serena.

  Serena nodded. “Name’s Bessie Whalen.”

  The girl nodded to Nick. “And you’re the proud dad?”

  Before he could formulate a rejoinder, Serena swiftly cut in. “He’s Bessie’s owner, yes.” She turned to Nick. “Okay if Kylie takes her in?”

  Again Nick grit his teeth and endured. Proud dad to a dog. Now he’d heard it all.

  But—like it or not—he had to remember his undercover persona. A schmuck who thought nothing of wasting hundreds of dollars on pampering a mutt that would be happier playing catch with a stick and eating table scraps.

  He smiled a doting dog-daddy smile to Kylie. “Sure,” he said.

  At the sight of a new animal and a new human, a number of day-care dogs had rushed to the gate. They pressed their noses through the gaps between the metal palings, tails wagging, eyes bright with curiosity.

  Nick noted that although most of them were small- to medium-sized, there were a number of big dogs, too. Big dogs for whom Bessie would be but a
tasty morsel.

  “She’s rooming with those guys?” He couldn’t mask the concern from his voice.

  Serena looked up at him, her expression iridescent with sympathy. Her eyes were the color of dark honey and her voice had the same soothing quality. “I know it can be hard for you to leave your . . . your pet for the first time but—”

  In the nick of time she had stopped herself from saying “dogkid.” He just knew it.

  “I’m not worried about me—it’s them,” he said. He pointed to a pair of large Weimaraners and a thickset English bulldog. All three dogs had stopped what they were doing and were looking through the bars at Bessie with great interest.

  Serena looked in their direction and laughed. “Those boys? They’re cream puffs. We don’t accept aggressive dogs for day care. And I limit the number of big animals. Though don’t be fooled as to size. Little dogs can be far more argumentative, believe me. They can hold their own.”

  He looked from shrimp-sized Bessie to the outsized Weimaraner. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Sure I’m sure. Dogs are pack animals. We work with the dynamics of the pack. Our policy is to only introduce two new dogs a day, max. From what I’ve seen of her, Bessie won’t be asking for trouble. She’ll quickly find her place. Watch and see.”

  Kylie held the day-care dogs back while Serena opened the gate. Snowball trotted through first, followed closely by a more cautious Bessie. Serena ushered the dogs through and closed the gate behind her.

  In the big room, Bessie looked tiny and vulnerable.

  Fists clenched by his sides, Nick scoped out the animals in the immediate vicinity to the little Yorki-poo.

  An enormous black beast lay resting nearby with its wolflike head on its plate-sized paws. It had lopsided ears: one cocked and the other flopped down. But though its tawny eyes were watchful, it looked peaceful enough. Mellow even.

  Not like that thickset German shepherd with a metallic studded collar. Or that bulldog with its drooling jowls and powerful jaw. Potential troublemakers, both of them.

  Muscles tensed, Nick primed himself to vault over the fence at the slightest sign of aggression. He narrowed his eyes, gauging the time it would take for him to get between Bessie and a possible assailant. To scoop her in his arms to safety.

  But the Yorki-poo didn’t seem bothered by the canine attention she was generating. She stayed still, ears alert and tail wagging as she let the other dogs sniff over her at their leisure.

  Nick was gratified to see that, in fact, tails were wagging all around. Even that bulldog’s stumpy butt was in motion. He ratcheted his alertness level down a notch.

  Then a Doberman bounded toward Bessie with a tad too much enthusiasm. Nick reacted instantly. Went into overdrive. Sprang toward the fence. Prepared to hurdle over.

  “Stay.” Serena snapped the order with the power of a cracking whip.

  Nick froze, one foot in midair.

  Took seconds to realize her order was for the Doberman. Slowly, Nick lowered his foot, as if he were testing the sole of his size-thirteen oxford. The dog skidded to a halt. Sat panting at Serena’s feet.

  Nick shoved his hands deep in his pockets. He rocked back on his heels and looked anywhere but in Serena’s direction. If he could get away with it, he would have whistled to underscore his nonchalance. He sure as hell hoped she hadn’t noticed how he’d jumped to the command of her soft but authoritative voice.

  How long until he sat panting at her feet?

  From nowhere came an image of what she would be like taking charge in bed. Riding him. Her dark hair tumbling around her face, her cheeks flushed—

  He fought his body’s instant arousal, angry with himself.

  This was insanity.

  He could not let this woman guess how she affected him.

  But Serena’s attention was focused entirely on the dogs, her energies on ensuring Bessie was safe. Nick Whalen, Yorki-poo parent, was not even on her radar.

  She was in charge. A boss lady. Controlling the dogs with confidence and authority. If a situation developed, a mere former fed would not be needed to intervene.

  He wasn’t sure he liked that feeling. It was second nature for him to be the one taking charge, acting the role of protector.

  Then, as if at a signal visible only to canines, Bessie shook herself and scampered off after Snowball without a backward glance.

  Serena turned toward Nick. “See? No need to worry.”

  He shrugged. Like he’d been worried?

  “Sure,” he muttered.

  “But we’ll still keep a close eye on her,” she said. She turned back to say something to Kylie.

  Good.

  He didn’t want attention focused on him. Or his attention focused on her. He was here to do a job. And Serena Oakley was proving a distraction he had not counted on.

  But he couldn’t stop his gaze straying to where she stood with the dogs. She was laughing at something Kylie said. He stared, transfixed by the animation of her face, the bell-like peal of her laugh. Strained to hear the sound of her voice above the doggy babel. For one extraordinary moment he felt he knew her from somewhere else. Surely he had to have met her before to feel so strongly, so quickly?

  She leaned down to pat the Doberman, now slobbering slavishly by her side, desperate for the attention of her touch. As she fondled behind the dog’s pointed ears in exactly the right spot, it grinned a doggy grin of bliss.

  Lucky dog. Nick would be grinning, too, if she were stroking him like that. How would it feel if she—

  He wrenched his gaze away from her. Right now, he was Nick Whalen the investigator. Not Nick Whalen the man, stirred by the laughter of a beautiful stranger.

  This insanity was a first for him. He lived by the motto He who travels fastest, travels alone. That meant respectful, mutually pleasurable relationships that ended at the first sign of possessiveness. Not this feeling of something already out of his control.

  He switched to doting-doggy-daddy mode and observed the other end of the playroom. But even then, out of the corner of his eye, he was way too aware of Serena Oakley.

  Three girls were supervising different groups of animals. One group was chasing after balls that they retrieved and dropped back at the feet of the attendant. Another group was jumping over hurdles, leaping through hoops, and crawling through a long flexible tunnel.

  Quantico had nothing on this. It was combat training canine style, and the recruits were having a ball.

  Whatever scam might be going on here it wasn’t to the detriment of the dogs. The enthusiastic yipping and barking that echoed around the room testified to that. Paws-A-While advertised premium pet care; from what he’d seen so far that was just what they gave.

  Serena Oakley, as proprietor, was his prime suspect in the identity theft scam. But there were staff to consider, too. Any one of them could be involved. And then there were the dog owners—around forty of them if he didn’t include the identity fraud victims.

  Bessie was in for a quite a spell of day care.

  He looked across to see the Yorki-poo, now scampering about with a group of other small dogs. She didn’t look like she had any objection at all to her induction to Paws-A-While. In fact he couldn’t help but feel a tad affronted at how quickly she’d trotted away from him.

  As he watched, Serena made her way through the gates toward him with her graceful, long-legged stride. He couldn’t help a feeling of anticipation. Although there were four other women in the room, he had no idea what they looked like. She eclipsed every other female.

  She closed the gate securely behind her. Hit him with that smile again. He suppressed an inner groan. Didn’t she realize that dowdy clothes and downplayed looks did nothing to disguise her seductive beauty? The woman was hot.

  And he had to throw cold water on his attraction to her.

  He cleared his throat. “So Bessie is in?”

  Serena nodded. “I’d be happy to welcome her to day care.”

  “She seems
to like it.”

  She smiled again. “Dogs are sociable animals. Not designed to stay at home alone while their owners are out.”

  Her shirt had loosened at the top, revealing a hint of cleavage, a tantalizing swell of breast. That strand of hair had fallen across her face again. He had to stop himself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear.

  “These guys are here all day, every day?” he said, nodding to indicate the playroom.

  “Some of the apartment dwellers. But most of our clients come just a few days a week. The basset hound is here while her owner is in hospital. Others visit for the day spa side of things. They spend most of their time in the treatment rooms.”

  “Treatment rooms?”

  She indicated with a wave of her hand a door at the end of the room. “I’ll go through the treatments we offer once we get Bessie completely settled.”

  Nick had already checked out the menu on the Paws-A-While website. Had reeled back from the screen in disbelief. Pawdicure. Fur Coloring. Clay Body Wrap. And other total-waste-of-money indulgences. But if he wanted to see how that side of the operation worked, he’d have to sign Bessie up for something. He’d check out his cheapest option.

  He sure as hell hoped his business partner wouldn’t query his expense account.

  “Yeah. That sounds good.” He had to force his voice to sound genuinely interested. Delete any note of skepticism.

  “What about Doga or Pawlates?”

  This time he couldn’t mask his reaction quickly enough and his expression must have given her the answer.

  “Uh, I take it that’s a ‘no’?” she said.

  “I . . . uh . . . might consider Pawlates at a later stage.” Whatever the hell Pawlates was.

  Serena rewarded his in-character-as-doting-dog-owner reply with a disbelieving lift of her dark brows.

  A small group of dogs had followed Serena to the gate. Now they poked their noses through the bars. She leaned down to pet the closest. “I know I shouldn’t have favorites,” she whispered, “but I’m so fond of this particular little gang.”