by Loree Lough
“That’s a great idea. What do you bet by the time we get back here, he and Rose will have one tacked to every sign and lamppost in Vail?”
The dog had been found in Denver, and Dave’s weeks-long search hadn’t produced the dog’s owners. Chances that anyone in Vail would respond were slim to none. And that was a good thing. A very good thing since, in his opinion, Summer needed the dog as much as the dog needed a loving home.
He’d give them a day, maybe two to bond, and then he’d tell Summer the truth. If finding out he’d deliberately withheld information upset her, well, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it.
As planned, the vet gave the dog a thorough exam. Summer seemed disappointed when he announced he didn’t find a microchip, but brightened up when Casey said, “We’ll have more information about his health when the blood work comes back, but from everything I’ve seen, he’s perfectly normal. Clear eyes, healthy teeth and gums, no parasites, skin lesions or signs of abuse.” And although he couldn’t specify a breed, the vet felt the stand-up ears meant part Border Collie, part Husky. “I’m guessing three years old, but he could be a year or two older. Good combination if you’re looking for a smart, sociable mutt.”
She cupped the dog’s chin in one hand, patted its head with the other. “Did you hear that? You got a clean bill of health from Dr. Casey!”
Copper-colored eyes moved left and zeroed in on the vet. And when he looked back at Summer, a smile turned up the corners of his black-rimmed lips.
Zach explained how they’d post flyers and put an ad in the local papers in the hope of rousting out the dog’s owners. Then he opened his wallet and said, “How much, Doc?”
“No charge,” Casey said, patting the dog’s head. “Consider the exam my contribution to this guy’s new lease on life.”
Summer spent most of the short drive back to her house facing the backseat, alternately petting the dog and crooning words of comfort. And from what Zach could see in the rearview mirror, the dog was eating it up.
“I’m a terrible, selfish, coldhearted person,” she said, frowning.
“Why?”
“Well, what would you call someone who hopes the owners never respond?”
“If Smiley back there had been chipped, he’d be home by now. Maybe it’s best he can’t go back to his irresponsible pet owners.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Summer nod. “I hope they don’t respond, too,” he said.
She turned in the passenger seat. “Why?”
“If they really cared, wouldn’t they have gone to the trouble of at least hanging a tag round his neck? What else did they neglect to do?”
Another nod. “There could have been a car accident. Maybe he got scared and ran. Or belonged to some sweet old lady who passed away without a will.”
“I once knew a couple, used their cat as a weapon the way some people use their kids. The woman fought for catstody, or whatever it’s called, for no reason other than to hurt her ex. A month later, her upstairs neighbors called the cops, complaining about all the meowing. Turned out she’d gone on a world cruise and left the Siamese alone in the apartment. And to make a long story short—”
“Too late for that,” she teased.
“So maybe ol’ Happy Face is the product of a bitter divorce.”
Shoulders slumped, she said, “How sad.”
“And stupid.”
Summer sighed. “But if his owners don’t show up, we’ll never know why he’s homeless, will we?”
He reached across the console, gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thanks to you, he isn’t homeless.”
Zach didn’t know how to explain her hesitation. He’d already decided that if she didn’t want to keep the dog once she’d heard the whole story, he’d take it, himself.
The dog hopped off the pickup’s backseat and rested his chin on the padded console. She laughed softly. “Just look at that face! You’re a keeper, I tell you!”
On the heels of a quick gasp, she ruffled the inch-long fur atop his head. “I think that’s what I’ll call you…Keeper! What do you say to that?”
The dog’s pointy ears stood straight up, and he gave a breathy, approving bark.
“Keeper,” Zach echoed. “I like it, too.”
“Would you mind stopping at the pet shop on Gore Creek? I’d like to pick up a few things for him.”
He’d expected her to be inside ten minutes, tops. When Summer knocked on the passenger window, he realized he and Keeper had dozed for half an hour. And when saw the full cart behind her, he got out of the truck.
“Did you leave anything for any other pet owners?”
“I had to wait while they stitched his name onto his collar.” She opened her hand to show him the bright silver tag. “But I made this, myself, using that cool machine at the back of the store.” It said KEEPER above Summer’s address and phone number.
Zach felt good, knowing his idea had made her so happy. But would she still feel this way after she found out she’d been duped?
As he loaded things into the truck’s bed, she explained every purchase: stainless food and water bowls because some dogs were allergic to plastic. Four squeaky toys and two balls with bells inside them. A bite-proof stuffed dog to cuddle with. And two quilted beds. “One for beside my bed, one for the family room.”
Her parents had told him she had a knack for managing money. What would they say if they saw everything their daughter had bought for a dog she wasn’t sure she could keep?
“I know this arrangement might be temporary,” she said, climbing into the truck. “But I want him to feel welcome. If his owners call, I’ll let them take the stuff home.”
He slid behind the steering wheel. “You’re a big girl. You don’t owe me any explanations.”
Her confident smile said, “You’re absolutely right!” It was all he could do to break eye contact long enough to slide the key into the ignition.
“So did you miss me?” she asked.
Zach opened his mouth to say, Yeah, I missed you. Way too much to be healthy! But the dog beat him to it with a quiet yip. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Summer and Keeper had been together for months, if not years. It made him think of the flyers that Alex would have distributed by now. Again, he reminded himself it wasn’t likely anyone would respond, but even a 1 percent possibility was too high. He considered sneaking out after dark and tearing down all the notices. But on the off chance Keeper did have a loving family out there somewhere, it would be cruel to get in the way of a reunion.
A line from his mother’s favorite song pinged in his brain. What will be will be, he thought, pulling into Summer’s driveway.
Keeper hopped down from the truck and followed her inside without a backward glance, making it tough to believe this well-behaved mutt had run off on his own. While she tended to the dog, Zach carried in the things she’d bought. He made himself a cup of coffee and watched as she introduced Keeper to each item, and considered where to put them. If she put that much effort into making a stray dog feel at home, how much more would she devote to a husband and kids?
He scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned inwardly at the thought. So much for hoping that once Summer got into a routine, caring for the dog, he wouldn’t feel the pull to watch over her. Her neediness, which was pretty much nonexistent now, had little to do with his feelings of protectiveness. She’d never asked for his help, and she’d succeeded in pushing that dark night farther and farther into the past. She reminded him of a butterfly, struggling to escape its cocoon, then spreading its beautiful wings to fly, high and free. How sad was it that a small part of him wished she did need him, just a little bit?
Knight in Shining Armor Syndrome, four, he thought. Zach Marshall, zip.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“WELL, KEEPER,” SUMMER SAID, “now that you’ve been here two whole weeks, how do you like it?”
As usual, he sat quietly, watching her. Already, she’d fallen for his thoughtful, expressive
face. “Well, I like it enough for both of us!”
Tail wagging, Keeper sauntered into the family room, flopped down on his thick doggy bed and began gnawing on a rawhide bone. His way of saying, “It’ll do.”
Once a day, he brought her his leash, and they went for a walk. Keeper taught her how to recognize the signs that he needed a moment or two in her fenced backyard, and quickly made it clear that he preferred privacy. The behavior prompted a cursory search for doggy doors, but upon realizing she’d have to hire a stranger to install one, she never placed the order. Keeper also taught Summer the proper way to play fetch by dropping a toy at her feet then darting to the opposite side of the room. She’d always remember how, when she figured it out and played along, he high-fived her.
He sensed her moods, too, running in circles when she was happy, curling up beside her when a nightmare woke her or worries that she’d never work again kept her awake, as they had last night. She’d been unemployed two years now. Would she ever get another voice-over job?
Only one way to find out…
She grabbed her cell phone, scrolled to the Ds, and dialed her agent’s number.
“Well, if it isn’t Summer Lane!”
She laughed. “Have you ever answered the phone with an ordinary hello?”
“I’ve been called many things, but ordinary has never been one of them,” Chris Dickerson said. “So what can I do ya for, sweet cheeks?”
“You can get me some work.”
“Good to hear you’re ready to get back on the proverbial horse. Gimme a couple of days to see what I can scare up. So tell me…how are you?”
She could almost see him, squinting into the haze of a cigarette, reading glasses atop his bald head, the iconic Fedora within easy reach. The image made her smile.
“Better than I’ve been in two years.”
“Well, now, that’s the kinda news that warms this hard old heart. Glad to hear it. Told ya you’d bounce back, didn’t I?”
“Bet you didn’t think it would take this long, though.”
“Listen, sweet cheeks. We all do what we gotta do to get by. Time is irrelevant. Does anything else matter?”
Almost word for word what Zach had said. She heard the squeak of his desk chair, followed by a quiet slurp, and wondered if he was sipping black coffee from the enormous mug she’d given him for Christmas a few years back. World’s Best Agent, it said.
“So do you want to dive in headfirst with a long-term product deal, or just stick a toe in the water with a couple of onetime deals, see how things feel?”
“I suppose that’ll depend on what sort of jobs you line up.” Keeper rested his chin on her knee, and she stroked his silky head. “Do you have any contacts here in Colorado?”
“Aha!”
“Aha?”
“Okay, out with it. What’s his name?”
Over the years, she’d spent almost as much time with Chris as she had her parents, so it shouldn’t have surprised her when he figured out why she would prefer a local job.
“His name is Keeper.”
“Is that his first name or last?”
Laughing, Summer said, “He’s a dog. Literally wandered into my life, and if his owners call to claim him, I’ll be a mess.”
“Aha. You know what they say…you can’t fool an old fool. No way I believe you sound this way because of some mutt. Now out with it, unless you’d rather I call your folks.”
Summer groaned. “You wouldn’t!”
He answered with a sinister snicker.
“You can’t see it, but I’m waving the white flag. I’ve been calling him Mr. Couldn’t Be More Wrong for Me.”
“No way I believe that. Not if he got close enough to make you want to plant roots.”
Because Zach wasn’t wrong for her. More like the other way around…
She heard Chris’s ballpoint, clicking on, clicking off. It used to drive her to distraction, but after all these months, it was music to her ears. It meant he had more to say. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be Zach-related.
“So what does Mr. Wrong do for a living?”
Summer told him that she’d been taking self-defense classes at Zach’s studio. That she’d met his family.
“Because,” she explained, “Mom and Dad missed another Thanksgiving. And they’ll miss another Christmas, too.”
“Wah-wah-wah,” Chris said. “Stop bein’ a big whiny baby. You’re what, thirty? You want to see Mommy and Daddy? Buy a ticket, pack a bag and go to LA, for cryin’ out loud. Your dad is always bragging that you’re a regular investment whiz, so I know you can afford it, you tightwad, you!” He punctuated the statement with a smoky laugh.
“You really need to give up those cigarettes,” she said. “Smoking will stunt your growth.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grew quiet for a moment then said, “How many years have we worked together now?”
“You got me my first job when I was seventeen. What’s that, thirteen years?”
“Eleven, if you subtract the two you spent wallowing.”
Chris had never been one to mince words. “I stand corrected.”
“Most kids your age would’ve signed with four, maybe five agents in that much time. Tells me you learned the meaning of the word loyal. If Mr. Wrong doesn’t realize that, kick him to the curb and find a guy who’s worthy of you.”
When he said things like that, Summer wished her dad could be more like him.
“Well, sweet cheeks, unlike some people who can afford to live off their investments, I have to work for a living.” As if to prove it, the pen went click-clack, click-clack. “I’ll make a few calls. I’m sure I can find a mom and pop store or some ‘as seen on TV’ manufacturers who need an honest-sounding voice to hawk their junk.”
“Thanks, Chris. And I really mean that.”
“I know you do. Sincerity is something else that makes you a gem. If that guy doesn’t know it, walk away.” Another pause, and then, “Call you soon. Love ya, sweet cheeks.”
If she didn’t know he ended all of his calls that way, Summer might be flattered. “Love ya right back, Dickerson.”
She hung up and patted Keeper’s head. “See what I did for you just now? Asked him to find jobs within driving distance of home, so I can be here to feed you and—”
The dog huffed, as if to say, “Gimme a break.” And either Summer was seeing things, or he rolled his eyes, too.
“It wouldn’t kill you, would it, to at least pretend to agree?”
Keeper chose a toy from his basket, walked three circles on his bed and flopped down to cuddle with his stuffed bear.
The doorbell rang, and when Summer peered through the peephole, she saw Rose holding a plate of…something.
“I hope you know how lucky you are to be a dog,” she told Keeper. “Nobody would call you rude if you turned up your nose at one of her culinary misfires.”
The minute the door opened, Rose handed the plate to Summer and headed straight for the dog bed. “Oh, just look at this sweet puppy!” she said, crouching to pet him.
“I thought you were allergic.”
“I am. To training and dog fur and drooling.”
“Rose! I’m surprised at you!”
Rising, Summer’s neighbor headed for the kitchen. “These are my version of sticky buns,” she said, peeling back the plastic wrap and helping herself to one. “Is there coffee?”
“I had a huge breakfast this morning, so I’ll save the sticky buns for later.”
Keeper repeated his skeptical huff, and Summer decided it was a very good thing he couldn’t talk.
“So how’s it going with this gorgeous mutt?”
“It’s going great. He’s funny and smart and great company.” She sighed. “It’ll be downright painful when his owners come for him.”
“They won’t.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Oh, I know I’m right. Keeper really is a keeper, ’cause Zach doesn’t do things halfway.”
&nbs
p; Summer slid onto a counter stool. “What does that mean?”
Rose leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Can you keep a secret?”
Better than you can, Summer thought.
“Surely you’ve figured out by now that Zach set the whole thing up. Isn’t he just a living doll?”
“Wait. He…what?”
“Uh oh. Didn’t mean to spoil the surprise.” Rose bit into the bun. “I have it on good authority that one of Zach’s ex-marine friends is a Denver cop. Seems he was jiggling doorknobs or whatever when he found Keeper. And since his whole family is allergic—for real—he called Zach to see if he knew anyone who might want to adopt a dog. You were the first person who came to mind, so he drove to Denver, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
Summer remembered that day on the deck, when Keeper and Zach had appeared out of nowhere at almost the same moment. At the time, it had seemed a little weird that he’d attended one of Rose’s soirees when he never had before.
Summer looked up, saw that Keeper had been watching her, his soulful, imploring eyes sending a dual message: Please don’t send me away. I had nothing to do with it.
Her relief that no one would ever claim him was balanced by a strange blend of gratitude and resentment toward Zach.
Summer picked up a sticky bun and took a huge bite, thinking that a mouthful of the dry, flavorless cake was the perfect way to keep her tongue under control.
“What do you think?” Rose asked.
They were stone-cold, but she nodded enthusiastically. “Mmm,” she said as Rose’s wristwatch beeped.
“Well, I have to run. There’s another batch of sticky buns in the oven for Alex to bring to the studio tonight.”
She slurped the rest of her coffee. “I know that’s a lot for just one person, but who knows? Somebody might drop in.”
Somebody, she thought as Rose went out the door, was about to get a piece of her mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“WHERE’S SUMMER?” ONE of the students asked.
“I was wondering the same thing.”
