The Sweetheart Kiss

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  “Oh, no. What did you do?”

  She pushed in and stopped. Her mouth dropped open at the carnage. Stuffing was everywhere. From tiny bits to larger pieces scattered in a creamy beige snow all over the floor, the furniture and the dog were covered. He’d made thorough work of destroying whatever he’d eaten and scattered the entrails far and wide.

  “Wheeler is going to kill you.” She closed her hands over her gaping mouth. “Us.”

  The note had been Heather’s attempt to apologize for the dog. Jess looked down at Spike’s sweet face and tried very hard to be angry at him. He was clearly not sorry. And he was so sweet. She scratched his head and gave up trying.

  “Let’s find ground zero.” It didn’t take long. The leather couch in the living room had given the mutt hours of chewing pleasure. He’d started in one corner and worked his way out across the front, ripping and shredding as he went. There was no way the couch could be saved. “If we clean up the stuffing, maybe Wheeler won’t notice.”

  Right.

  She went to the kitchen to find a broom. “You are one very bad dog,” she said on her way back out, then skidded to a stop.

  Wheeler stood in the open front doorway with a tight expression while Spike happily sniffed his legs. This was not the way to destress after a difficult day at work. If anything, the detective’s stress level had gone up into the danger zone.

  “I’m really sorry. Spike is sorry, too,” she said, her eyes pleading for understanding. “I’ll get you a new couch.”

  Without comment, he walked into the living room and stared down at the ruined couch. There was no way to spin this into a positive. She mentally packed her bags.

  “Spike feels awful.” The dog wagged his tail. “This is all my fault, not his. I shouldn’t have left him alone. I’ll make this okay.”

  “How can you make it okay, Jess? This was a family heirloom from my late grandparents. We used to sit on this couch as a family and watch black and white reruns of The Honeymooners. Now it’s gone. Forever.”

  She looked at the couch, what was left of it. It didn’t look old or heirloom-ish. “Really?”

  “Of course not really,” he snapped and sat on the narrow undamaged part. “Do you know how long it takes to find a perfect couch for watching football? Months. Sometimes years.” He stared up at the large screen TV. “I can’t believe this.”

  Jess made a face. This was all about football?

  Spike walked over and put his head in Wheeler’s lap. The detective glared at him. The dog spun around, sat on his shoes, and looked back over his shoulder as if to ask for a scratch.

  “Come here, Spike.” Jess felt bad for both of them. Wheeler was angry, rightfully so, and the dog just wanted to be loved. She ran her free hand over the dog’s smooth back and scanned the mess. “We’ll go out this Saturday and find you a new couch. How does that sound?”

  Wheeler pushed to his feet. “I just wanted some peace and quiet. Not to come home to Armageddon in my living room.” He left them chastised as he went upstairs.

  The shower sounded above as Jess cleaned up all the stuffing she could find and threw a quilt from the linen closet over the damaged part of the couch. Then she packed her things and carried Spike’s bowls to the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jess turned to find Wheeler standing on the bottom stair wearing black running pants and an old gray T-shirt.

  He was damp and yummy. Too bad this was the last day she’d see him in anything but detective clothes. She’d kind of miss casual Wheeler.

  “We’re leaving.” She hooked the leash on the dog collar. “Taryn said we can stay with her.”

  “You’re not leaving.” He padded barefoot to her. “You’re safer with me.”

  There were so many good arguments about why she could take care of herself. And she could. But with a maniac running around Ann Arbor, she liked having an extra set of eyes watching her back. However, she was not about to return Spike to the pound. He was her dog now. They were sticking together.

  “If Spike goes, I go. And since you are a confirmed dog-hater, it’s best if we find our own place.”

  He scratched his fingertips all over his head and stared down at the dog. “I don’t hate dogs.”

  “Just this one.” She leaned to hug Spike. “I understand completely. He chewed up your couch.”

  Wheeler stared at Spike and crossed his arms. The dog walked over to lean on his legs. Wheeler twitched.

  With his muscles bunching beneath the tight tee, there was no doubt who the alpha dog was in this touching Currier and Ives moment. And he wasn’t canine.

  “Where will you find a rental that takes horses?”

  The man had a point. Spike was not a lap dog and many rentals didn’t allow pets. “We’ll figure something out.”

  He stood for a long minute, his alpha-male desire to protect her warring with his desire to kick Spike to the curb.

  “Don’t go anywhere.” He collected his wallet and keys from a narrow table by the door, slipped into a pair of worn flip-flops, and left the house.

  * * *

  Jess was sitting in the kitchen with Conan the Destroyer lying at her feet when he returned home. Thankfully, Spike wasn’t eating his dining room table and Sam wouldn’t have to find out where Taryn lived, hunt Jess down, and drag her back.

  “I think this is the first time you haven’t done the opposite of what I’ve asked,” he said. “Miracles do happen.”

  “I like to keep the element of surprise in our relationship so you don’t get bored,” Jess said as he put the box down by the laundry room door. “What’s that?”

  “It’s insurance that your mutt won’t destroy my house.” He pried the staples out of the box and pulled out the contents. “It’s a heavy duty baby gate for large dogs. From now on he goes in the laundry room when we leave. I doubt he’ll eat the washing machine, and he can look out through the holes.”

  Relief and a smile lit her face and eyes. She reached for the dog and hugged his thick neck. “Spike and I thank you.”

  “For what?” Sam leaned the gate against the door opening for size and began adjustments. “I still may throw you both out.”

  * * *

  Sam dug up a drill, level, and measuring tape from the garage and added a pencil to the mix. He unloaded all the parts, including the instructions, which he casually set aside.

  “You’re such a guy,” Jess said from behind him. “I bet you don’t ask for directions either?”

  “Don’t need to. That’s what a GPS is for.”

  “My dad used to use something called a map,” she joked. “I think you can find those in a museum now, displayed next to something called a typewriter.”

  Sam wanted to road map his way around her naked body. If not for fear that Spike would eat the TV while he was in bed giving Jess a couple of orgasms, he’d chuck the gate and drag her upstairs. The canine wrecking crew had to be stopped.

  He’d once helped set up a desk from a chain store that had over a hundred metal screws and poor directions. It had taken hours to get the desk together. It would have been quicker to build a desk from scratch.

  This was nothing. Who needed to read directions?

  Within twenty minutes, he had the gate up and it was escape proof to anything without thumbs. Spike had met his match. “See, instructions are for sissies.”

  He called the dog into the laundry room. The mutt looked around, got bored in about two seconds, and put his paws on the top of the gate. With his back feet digging into the lattice work, he climbed up and over, fell on his face on the wood floor with a thump, and looked quite pleased with himself.

  Jess laughed. “Outwitted by a dog.”

  Sam held up a finger and left the kitchen. “Not yet.” He was back a minute later with a second box. “Boy Scouts are always prepared for demon dogs.”

  While Jess laughed, he opened the box and started the process of bolting t
he second gate to the doorjamb above the first. Since he was already familiar with the workings, it took about ten minutes to get it up.

  There was no way in hell the dog would get out this time. There were only a couple of inches of open space between the two gates and at the top of the open door. The dog would have to flatten out to get out.

  Not happening.

  “Spike.” He pointed a finger toward the laundry room. As if realizing the impossible task of getting out a second time, the dog backed away.

  “Who will win the struggle for dominance? Man or beast?” Jess asked. She was enjoying herself. Sam was glad that she had a distraction from worrying about Irving. He wasn’t glad she expected Spike to outwit him.

  The mutt wouldn’t win this round. Sam did have some pride. So he walked to the dog, caught him by the collar before he could bolt, and bent over. Taking Spike into a bear hug, he lifted the animal.

  Spike had to weigh at least a hundred and thirty pounds. He shifted the dog before he dropped him. “I think his problem is a lack of training.” He walked into the laundry room and set him down. He backed out before Spike bolted, and closed both gates.

  “There. Try to escape that,” he said and grinned.

  “It’s sad that you have to use brawn instead of wit to win against one sweet dog,” Jess teased.

  “Hey, whatever works.”

  Confident, Spike went up on his back legs and realized the gate was taller. Puzzled by the change, he whimpered. He clawed at the narrow space between the gates and whined.

  “Nice try,” Sam said and smirked. “The gate is guaranteed to be Spike proof.”

  “It says that on the box?” Jess asked. She was having too much fun with this. Maybe having the dog around wasn’t so bad if he made her happy. Sam liked her happy.

  “Yep. Right there in Swedish.” He lifted the box and pointed at the large bold lettering above the picture. “I detta syfte upp.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “I’m pretty sure it means ‘this end up’ or something like that.”

  “I think you’re wrong.” He turned back to the dog, who was trying to get his teeth into the lattice. After a minute, he gave up and plopped down on the floor. “See. I detta syfte up. Spike proof.”

  Sam liked her laugh. He liked the way her eyes danced and her crazy hair. He really liked her T & A. If that made him a caveman, so be it. He wouldn’t apologize.

  He let the dog out. “I win.”

  The dejected mutt walked to Jess for some love, and Sam went to a drawer that held the take-out menus. “I’m starved. What would you like? Pizza? Thai? Burgers?”

  “I’d kill for a grilled cheese.”

  Sam ordered from the local diner. As he hung up, the doorbell rang.

  “Wow. Delivery is fast around here,” Jess said, following Sam and the dog. He glanced out the cut glass window on the door and saw nothing. Cautiously, he unlocked and opened the panel.

  On the doorstep was a brightly wrapped box.

  “Step back,” he ordered. Jess pulled Spike back.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Be careful,” Jess urged when she returned from locking Spike in the laundry room and retrieving the broom she’d used earlier. Sam took the cleaning implement from her and wielded it like a lance. Though it was unlikely the gift was dangerous, one never knew with their sniper on the loose.

  “Stand over there.” He pointed to the end of the porch. She moved back. “Ready?” She nodded. He stepped partially behind the metal doorjamb and nudged the box. The corner of an envelope appeared from underneath the gift.

  “There’s a note,” Jess said, and gingerly moving closer. Sam carefully collected the envelope and handed it to her. She opened the flap, and pulled out the card with flowers on the front, and read aloud, “Here’s an apology for being a jerk all those years ago. Darren.”

  “Who the hell is Darren?” Sam asked.

  “My high school boyfriend.” A blank stare followed. “You know, the man who interrupted the wedding right before the shooting?”

  “Right.” Sam bent to pick up the box. “If he’s hot for the bride, why is he sending you gifts?”

  Jess took the box from him and ripped off the wrapping. It was highly unlikely that Darren would leave a note with a bomb. Besides, he’d have to care about her enough to want her dead. And that wasn’t the case.

  “How should I know? Until that Saturday, I hadn’t seen him in nine years.” Inside was a giant bag of butterscotch disc candies. “Awww. I can’t believe he remembered.”

  She picked one out, unwrapped the gold cellophane, and popped it into her mouth. “Yum. I used to live off these in high school. They were kind of my thing.”

  It was a dopey “thing” but she had been a dopey teenage girl living in a small town. What else did she have?

  Leaning back against the doorjamb, Sam crossed his arms. “Maybe we should have them tested for poison.” She made a “seriously?” face. “Don’t you find it strange that the guy is at the shooting, still in town when Irving is shot, and now somehow knows you’re here living with me?”

  Captain Suspicious stared. She frowned. He did have a point. “And now he’s a stalker-bomber-poisoner?”

  Okay, Darren’s presence was pretty coincidental. Still, the idea of Darren trying to off her made no sense. Or Irving for that matter. “He has no connection to Brash or Irving. Besides, we’ve already established that the sniper is female. I never slept with Darren, but I’m pretty sure he’s male.”

  Why Darren thought to give her a gift was so out of the blue. Had he seen her at the wedding, in that hideous dress, and realized she was the one that got away?

  Highly unlikely. “He did hurt me when he slept with Mandy, and a couple dozen other girls. But he doesn’t want me back.”

  “Are you sure?”

  No, she wasn’t sure. “Of course I’m sure. He probably felt guilty for the way we ended and asked my landlady, Mrs. Carter, for my address. I gave it to her in case she heard from the insurance company.”

  “I’ll have a talk with her tomorrow. She shouldn’t give out your address to anyone.”

  “Fine.” Too tired to argue anymore, she held out the box. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She went inside to free Spike and led the dog into the backyard. He spent ten minutes looking for the perfect spot of manicured grass to defile. She ate two more discs and felt her thighs expand inside her jeans.

  “How did I ever forget how good these were?” Oh right. She’d had to fit into her Mighty Muskrats uniform. Weigh-ins were a mandatory requirement of the boss and kept the ladies in spandex and sequins. As Jess popped a fourth candy in her mouth, she felt not a twitch of guilt.

  She’d hated those weigh-ins. “Come on, Spike.” The dog reluctantly followed her into the house. Sam was hunched over his laptop at the kitchen table.

  “I’ve added your ex to the list of suspects. He could be working with a partner.”

  “Still not seeing any connection, but you’re the law enforcement professional.” She went to get Spike some food as the doorbell rang again. This time a husky guy in a stained shirt stood on the stoop. He carried a large bag with the name of the diner printed on the side.

  Sam collected the food and gave him a generous tip.

  For the next few minutes, they ate. “Nothing is better than a gooey and greasy grilled cheese from a diner,” she said and popped a French fry into her mouth. Since she’d already eaten the candy, she might as well go all in.

  “I can hear your arteries clogging from here.” Deep into his turkey on rye, he’d skipped the fries in favor of baked sweet potato chips. “Thankfully, I know CPR.”

  The idea of his mouth on hers, forcing breaths in as he worked to jumpstart her heart wasn’t as sexy as they made it out to be on TV. In fact, no CPR attempt ever morphed into a hot kiss. She’d bank on that.

  Smiling through another bite of her san
dwich, she washed it down with bottled water. “I spent all of my college years and my pro cheer days watching every calorie. Now that I’m free, I don’t mind a few extra pounds.”

  * * *

  Sam couldn’t disagree. She looked damn good with her curves. He’d bet she looked better naked. “It isn’t your cute little butt I’m worried about. It’s your heart. Eat your pickle. It almost counts as a vegetable.”

  Jess smiled. “You think I have a cute butt?”

  He grunted and finished his sandwich. They were not having this conversation. He was already teetering on the edge of a cliff with her. One nudge and he’d fall headlong into an emotional attachment he didn’t want or need.

  Spike was the recipient of a discarded chunk of bread as Sam cleaned up the wrappers and recycled what he could. He liked being earth friendly.

  “I have to go out tonight for a few hours,” he said. “Will you and the dog be okay without me?”

  She made a face.

  “I take that as a yes.” He gave her a lecture about locking the door and answering to no one. Spike wasn’t a vicious guard dog, but he’d look menacing to strangers.

  “What am I, Dad? Five?” she scolded. “I can take down a grown man with my little finger. Irving made sure of it.”

  Staring, he thought to ask for a demonstration but knew it would be a blow to his ego if she laid him out flat. So he let it go. “I should be back by midnight.”

  He changed and collected his bag. Jess and Spike had a movie on when he returned downstairs.

  “I’ll lock the door behind me,” he said and left. If not for her gun and dog, he’d have second thoughts about leaving her alone. Hell, he was well into third thoughts before he opened the garage and backed out his 1968 Ford pickup.

  Twilight cooled the air and crickets chirped in the dusk as he backed down the short driveway and headed up the street. He’d considered taking Jess with him, but dismissed it. After several days of close contact with her, he needed a break. The kiss had set him on edge. Having her under his roof made sleeping nearly impossible—too many images of her in his bed.