For Keeps

by Donna Ball

  His eyes were soft-bright, deep and penetrating. "Why?"

  The remnants of passion still flushed his skin, and dark blond curls clung damply to his forehead. It was all Lyn could do to keep her hand from lifting, and smoothing back those curls. She tightened her hands into fists; she forced steadiness into her voice. She said, "Because—this is ridiculous. It's too fast. I—I don't even know you."

  And then Casey remembered why. He remembered the danger of moving too fast, of wanting too much. How easy it was to forget with Lyn, how hard it was to turn away. But when he smiled, and lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, that was exactly what he intended to do. Turn away.

  He heard himself saying instead, "I know how to fix that. Come work for me."

  "I—no." She forced herself to turn away from his caress, taking a deep breath.' 'I told you, I don't want to get involved." She looked at him, making her tone as firm as she could. "I don't think this is a good idea, Casey."

  His smile was too gentle, too patient. "Think about it."

  "No." She took another breath. "The rain has stopped. We should start back."

  She reached for the butterfly cage at the same time he did. Their hands brushed, and she automatically jerked back. His smile deepened. "Think about it," he repeated.

  "No."

  But she knew even before she looked into his tolerant, amused eyes, that she would think about it, and think about it a great deal. And she knew, as much as she tried to deny it, what her answer would eventually be.

  Casey knew it, too, and he was not at all certain whether he was glad, or sorry.

  **************

  FIVE

  For the next three days, Lyn did nothing but think about Casey Carmichael. He called, but only to ask her to feed the animals while he did the television commercial. She managed without incident, and did not see him. He didn't ask whether or not she had reconsidered his job offer, and she certainly was not about to bring the subject up. Casey Carmichael was a dangerous man, and the less she saw of him, the better.

  She went to bed early, she slept late, she watched daytime game shows and flipped through magazines. She talked to Pat twice long-distance and told her everything was going fine. With no new pet-sitting jobs on the horizon she had hours and hours of nothing to do, which was exactly what she wanted. And she filled most of those hours thinking about Casey.

  She knew what he was doing, of course. He didn't want to be accused of forcing her into anything, so he was biding his time. She would come to him on his terms, or not at all. And Lyn had no intention of playing that game. She wasn't interested in Casey Carmichael, or his job. She liked her life the way it was.

  But when the phone rang with an offer of a pet-sitting job not too far from Pat's house, Lyn leaped at the opportunity with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. Anything to take her mind off smiling emerald eyes and strong caressing hands.

  The woman who had called identified herself as Jane Crebs, and said that she bred Himalayan cats. She had a chance to go to California for two weeks and needed someone to check in on her cats once every other day while she was gone. Although Pat had no objection to taking on new clients, especially during the slow season, she had warned Lyn to make certain she did not commit to any new jobs over the phone. So Lyn made an appointment to see Mrs. Crebs and her cats that afternoon.

  The Crebs house was in an older neighborhood, across the street from a small lake and shaded by big live oaks that were rare in the citrus section of Florida. The first thing Lyn noticed as she pulled into the driveway was a black-and-white dog tied to a tree, and she was mildly dismayed. The woman had not said anything about a dog.

  When she got out of her car, her dismay grew. The dog did not get up, or bark, and as Lyn walked closer she saw why—the chain to which it was attached was so short Lyn doubted the animal could stand up. It lay with its ears flattened and its tail tightly hugging its body, watching Lyn with wary, suspicious eyes. Lyn did not know enough about dogs to realize that such behavior could often indicate a biter, so she walked over to it, speaking softly.

  Fortunately the dog was either too weak, dispirited or tied too tightly to bite. It made a low sound in its throat that could have been a whine or a growl, thumped its tail once, and closed its eyes as though in submission to whatever Lyn cared to do to it.

  The dog's coat was filthy and matted, its eyes were runny, and she could see the shape of his ribs beneath the fur. There wasn't a water dish anywhere in sight. "You poor thing," Lyn murmured, and bent down to stroke the dog's head.

  Just then the front door opened, and a voice called out, "I wouldn't touch that animal if I was you. No telling what kind of diseases he's got."

  Lyn straightened up and started up the steps. "Mrs. Crebs? I'm Lyn Sanders with Pet Pride."

  Mrs. Crebs was a large woman in a too-short muu-muu who returned Lyn's handshake with a single perfunctory pump. "Good to meet you. Come on in."

  "You didn't mention you had a dog."

  Mrs. Crebs cast a disinterested glance over her shoulder. "What, that mangy old thing? It's not mine. Some old stray that been digging up gardens and turning over trash cans. My husband wanted to shoot it, but I caught it this morning and tied it up. Just waiting for the pound to come pick it up now."

  Lyn started to timidly point out that the dog had no water and its chain was too short, but just then more pressing concerns took her attention.

  The moment she walked into the house the odor was overwhelming. As Mrs. Crebs led the way to the back room the reason immediately became apparent. The woman didn't just have cats; she had cats, dozens of them. They were stacked like canned goods against the walls in cages no bigger than airline carriers, from the floor upward, one on top of the other. Some of them yowled, some of them hissed and spit as Lyn walked by, some of them were sleeping in their litter and didn't seem to be able to manage more than a dull, disinterested glance before closing their eyes again.

  Lyn's stomach turned as she looked around. Water dishes were clouded with bits of food or empty altogether, coats were tangled, kittens were crowded four and five to a cage. She managed, in a somewhat strangled voice, "You—breed these cats? For a living?"

  Mrs. Crebs gave a short nod. "Easiest thing in the world. Cats don't need much looking after, you see. Fill up their food and water dishes once in a while and when they're empty, fill them again. That's why I think you'll only need to come by once every other day. Ten dollars a visit, did you say it was?"

  Lyn barely heard her. Her eyes were moving in slow disgust from cage to cage. When she thought about Casey's luxury condos for his cats, the expensive diet formulas, the spotless living quarters, this charnel house seemed even worse than it was. She felt slow outrage boiling inside her. "And people—pay you for these kittens?"

  Now Mrs. Crebs began to look a little insulted, "Well, of course I have to spruce 'em up a little before I take them out, but I sell three-quarters of every litter. There's a lot of money in cats, if you do it right. Now, I plan to be gone from the first to the fifteenth. The food is in that cabinet over there, and some fresh litter if you need it. You did say ten dollars a trip, right?"

  Lyn told herself it was none of her business. She was not going to get in a brawl with this woman over the ethical treatment of animals. It wasn't her job to tell people how to live their lives, not anymore. She wasn't going to threaten to call the SPCA, she was not going to bring in the health department, she was not even going to tell the woman what she could do with her lousy ten-dollars-a-visit job. She had heard about places like this, the puppy and kitten mills that churned out sick, mentally unbalanced pets like factory toys, and they were everywhere. As long as there was a market for the product, people like Mrs. Crebs would stay in business, and there was nothing Lyn could do about it. She couldn't change the whole damn world, could she?

  So she looked at the other woman, forced a sweet smile, and said, "Yes, that's right. Ten dollars a visit— per animal."

  Mrs. Crebs eyes widene
d. "But—I have twenty cats!"

  "That would come to two hundred dollars a visit," agreed Lyn pleasantly. "Every other day for two weeks, that's—"

  "Fourteen hundred dollars!" gasped the other woman. "That's outrageous! That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard! Why, my whole trip to California won't cost that much!"

  "I'm so sorry," Lyn replied innocently, "but that's our price. You pay for quality, you know."

  "But they're just cats!"

  Lyn forcefully clamped down on a reply. Smile frozen in place, she extended her hand. "I'm so sorry we couldn't do business. I do wish you luck in finding someone else."

  The other woman ignored her hand. "But I'm leaving tomorrow!"

  "I'm sorry," Lyn repeated, and turned toward the door, walking quickly before she gave in to the temptation to do something she would regret.

  The other woman trailed after her, muttering things about "highway robbery" and "there ought to be a law" and with every word Lyn's muscles clenched tighter until only the pressure of her nails against her palms reminded her that there was, indeed, a law against assault and battery—which was doubtless what it would be termed if she were to turn around and slap the formidable Mrs. Crebs.

  On the porch she stopped, and the surge of rage caught in her throat as her eyes fell on the dog huddled under the tree. He was a mess. He had no personality, no looks, nothing at all to recommend him to an eager child looking for a playmate. He was malnourished and probably ill. She did not like to think of his chances once he reached the dog pound—if indeed, Mr. Crebs didn't shoot him before he got there.

  Maybe she couldn't change the world, but she might be able to do something about the plight of one poor dog. She turned abruptly. "Are you really going to send that dog to the pound?" she demanded. "Because I think I can find a home for him."

  Mrs. Crebs's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I'm not giving him away."

  Lyn's nostrils flared with a breath but once more she managed to bite back a retort. "How much?" she inquired stiffly.

  The woman did not hesitated. "Twenty dollars."

  Lyn opened her purse and took out two tens. She slapped them into the other woman's open hand with a bit more force than was necessary, then marched down the steps toward the dog without another word.

  **************

  Casey, to Lyn's great relief, was in one of the front exercise yards when she drove up. Two German shepherds were painstakingly working an obstacle course that involved climbing a ladder, crawling through tires, and scaling a wood plank barrier. Lyn watched in amazement for a moment as, under Casey's patient guidance, the two dogs performed feats canines were never meant to accomplish, and then Casey noticed her.

  He waved as she got out of the car, and whistled sharply to the dogs. Lyn's own canine passenger, who was huddled on the floorboard between the front and back seats, did not even prick his ears. Casey led the German shepherds out of the exercise area and into another, enclosed play yard, then came over to her.

  "Hi," he said.

  He was dressed in denim cutoffs and a whale-motif T-shirt, his hair was tousled and his face, already a golden color, showed evidence of the beginnings of a new sunburn. Lyn had not expected the quickening of her pulses when she saw him again, nor had she expected his slow, smiling gaze, as it moved over her, to bring back such vivid memories of his hands on her body, his mouth melding with hers.

  She swallowed against a sudden dryness in her throat and replied, "Hi." She leaned against the car door a little self-consciously, then remembered the white culottes she was wearing and stepped away quickly. "I, uh, brought you something," she said, gesturing toward the back seat.

  With an inquiring lift of his eyebrow Casey moved around her and looked through the back window.

  "Oh, Casey, it was awful," she blurted. "This horrible woman had him tied up to a tree without any food or water and he couldn't even move! They were going to shoot him! And when I offered to take him she had the nerve to demand twenty dollars for him! Can you believe that? She ought to be arrested."

  Casey glanced at her, his eyes twinkling. "Well now," he drawled. "Looks like you got yourself a little involved, didn't you? And a dog's a big responsibility."

  "Me?" She shook her head adamantly. "Oh, no, not me. I brought him for you. You said you got most of your dogs from the pound, and that's where this poor creature would have ended up—if he'd lived long enough. You said mutts made the best workers, didn't you? He's definitely a mutt. I figured you could—" she made a helpless gesture with her wrist "—do something with him."

  Casey's expression was both dubious and amused as he stepped away from the door. "Well, get him out here and let's see what we've got."

  Lyn smiled weakly. "Well, that might be a problem ..." But she didn't want to explain to Casey how she'd almost gotten bitten trying to untie the dog, and how she ended up carrying him to the car in her arms. She didn't think any of that would make a very good first impression. So she squared her shoulders and opened the car door determinedly.

  "Come on, dog," she called. "Come on out."

  The huddled mass of fur and fleas did not move.

  "Here, dog. Come on, pooch—"

  "What's his name?" Casey interrupted.

  Lyn hesitated. "I don't know. I don't know if he even has one."

  "He needs a name, and you should start using it right away."

  Lyn looked at the bundle of matted black-and-white fur cowering on the floorboards and decided, "Rabbit. I'm going to call him Rabbit.''

  Casey cast her a dry look. "Honey, that dog is going to have to work his way up to having as much spirit as a rabbit."

  "I don't care. I had an Easter bunny one time that had those markings, and he kind of reminds me of it. Besides, it's easy to remember."

  And because she could see both she and the dog were losing points in Casey's esteem with every moment that passed, she leaned into the car and demanded, "Come on, Rabbit, stop fooling around. Get out here." . She reached for Rabbit, and he snapped at her. Lyn gave a startled cry and leaped back.

  "Don't let him get away with that!"

  Casey stepped in front of her before she could stop him, whipped a slip leash from his pocket and dropped it over the dog's head. With a single confident tug he propelled the animal out of the car.

  "What are you doing?" Lyn cried. "Be careful!"

  "Don't start out by letting the dog set the terms of your relationship. If he knows he can scare you , he’ll never believe you’re worthy of his trust.”

  He reached into his pocket and took out a piece of something greasy and unappetizing-looking, holding it out to a very suspicious looking Rabbit.

  Lyn said, “What’s that?”

  “Microwaved hot dog slices and a little bit of salmon skin.”

  Lyn wrinkled her nose. “Yuk.”

  “If you were a dog you wouldn’t think so.”

  Casey’s voice was low and easy, and his eyes never left Rabbit. Rabbit, his tail and ears still tucked, stood as far away as the leash would allow, his eyes averted, his nostrils quivering as they caught the scent of the food in Casey’s hand. He held out for about thirty seconds, then crept close and snatched the morsel from Casey’s fingers. Before he could dash away again, Casey’s hand darted back to his pocket and came back with more hot dogs, which he fed to Rabbit piece by piece.

  “Come here,” he said to Lyn, kneeling beside the dog and stroking his head as he continued to feed him morsels. “You try it.”

  Casey poured a few tidbits into Lyn’s palm, and she dropped to her knees, smiling as Rabbit took each morsel from her with shy uncertainty, then gulped it down as if her were starving– which he undoubtedly was. His tail began to wag slowly, and when he had finished everything in Lyn’s hand, he licked her palm, and then, hesitantly, face.

  “What a sweet dog, what a good dog,” she murmured, ruffling his ears with both hands. The dog sat, swishing his tail on the ground, and Lyn turned to Casey triumphantly. “See? I knew h
e was a good dog! You’ll take him, right? I mean, I know he's not much to look at, but neither is that ugly dog on the beer commercials and—"

  Casey laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. "If this dog had the looks of Lassie and heart of Rin-Tin-Tin, he still wouldn't make it to a beer commercial—or anything else. No..." He handed the leash to her. "I figure with a year or so of hard obedience training you might be able to turn him into a house dog—and I say might—but I don't have any use for him."

  Lyn stared at the leash in her hand, then at the immobile dog on the other end of it. "But—but you just did do something with him. Look how well behaved he is now—"

  He shook his head, grinning. "That's not good behavior, that's hunger. I have to pick my animals carefully, Lyn, and I just don’t have the kind of time it would take to get this one in shape. I'm sorry."

  "But—"

  "I'll tell you what," he volunteered. "I'll help you get him cleaned up and give him a quick vet check, then we'll see what we've got. I can't let you take him home like this, at any rate."

  "I can't take him home at all!" Lyn protested, alarmed.

  But Casey had the leash in hand and, once again, she had no choice but to follow him.

  ***********

  Two hours later Lyn was covered with dog hair, splotched with water, and exhausted. She sat beside Casey on his screened back porch while Rabbit, a much cleaner but far more traumatized dog, curled up in a kennel in the sun to dry.

  "Why is it," she complained, "that every time I'm around you I end up filthy and wet?"

  He grinned and handed her a beer. "I lead an active life."

  "So I've noticed."

  Lyn closed her eyes, shuddering a little as the vision of all those poor caged kittens came back to her. "God, Casey, you should have seen it. Those poor cats–filthy, sick—she didn't even have the decency to give them fresh water! And the smell!" She shuddered again. "How can people like that be allowed to have animals? Why doesn't someone do something?"