One Summer

by JoAnn Ross

  “Well, hello,” she greeted him. “This is a surprise.”

  “It’s not what you think,” he heard himself saying.

  “And that would be?”

  “It’s not a booty call.” Where the hell did that come from? Oh, yeah. He definitely needed to hone his communication skills.

  “Okay.” She could have at least appeared a bit disappointed as she folded her arms. “Since I doubt you’re here to sell me wedding photos, why are you standing on my porch at this time of night?” Her tone and the sparkle that lit up her green eyes suggested she was laughing at him. Which was definitely not something Gabe was accustomed to.

  “I’ve got this dog.”

  “Good for you. Dogs are some of my favorite people.” She absently patted her own beast’s massive head as she glanced past him at the rig.

  “Well, it’s not my dog. I picked it up.”

  “It’s a stray?”

  “I’d say so. Given that its owner dumped it out on the coast road.”

  She sighed. The light dimmed in her eyes. “That happens all too often, unfortunately. But how did you know I ran a shelter?”

  “I didn’t. He’s hurt. My GPS kicked up this address for the nearest vet.”

  “Hurt?” The same way a convoy might react to an IED explosion, she switched into immediate, full professional alert. Her gaze snapped back to the rig. “How badly?”

  “Nothing’s broken. At least I don’t think so. But he’s got one helluva case of road rash from being dragged beneath the van.”

  “Can you bring him in?”

  “Sure. I doubt he weighs in at ten pounds.”

  “Poor thing.” She shook her head. “I’ll fix up an exam room while you fetch him.”

  The dog was sitting right where he’d left him, on the passenger seat. Marble-round brown eyes gazed at Gabe as if the dog was patiently waiting for him to make things right, while an underbite showed a row of bottom teeth that under any other situation might have been comical. One of the teeth was chipped. Amazingly, considering what he’d been through, he thumped a fuzzy tail on the leather upholstery.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Gabe warned as he scooped up the ball of filthy fur. “Just because I did the Good Samaritan thing doesn’t mean there’s any room in my life for a dog.” As it was held against Gabe’s chest, the mutt lifted its front paws to his shoulders and licked his cheek. “Not going to work,” Gabe said as he carried it into the building.

  The inside of the clinic was as bright and cheery as the outside. The wall of the reception area boasted a mural, jewel-toned fish swam in a saltwater aquarium, and painted signs above the two doorways leading off the main room designated separate cat and dog waiting rooms. Snapshots of dogs of various sizes and breeds up for adoption were tacked onto a bulletin board, like the FBI’s most-wanted criminals on a post office wall.

  “Aw.” The vet took the dog from him and stroked its filthy head. “Poor baby, you’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you, sweetie boy?”

  The huge white dog was gone. Gabe guessed she’d put it away just in case it might scare the mutt. Or eat it for a nighttime snack.

  She carried her patient down a short hallway, painted with more colorful animal-themed murals, to an examination room.

  “You’re right on the money,” she said after weighing him. “Nine pounds, at least a pound of which is probably fur. He looks like a Shih Tzu mix beneath that mess, which means he could use a bit more weight on him.”

  As the dog sat patiently on the scale, as if waiting for whatever might happen next, she held out her hand. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Charity Tiernan.”

  “Yeah, I got that from your sign.” Her grip was firm, her slender hand soft. “Gabe St. James.”

  “I know that from your book.”

  “You’ve seen it?”

  “No. But it comes highly recommended by my assistant. I’d planned on checking it out at the bookstore tomorrow morning.”

  Gabe had never really given much thought to the people who bought his books. But for some reason he liked the idea of this woman looking at his work. At least, he figured, given her career, she wouldn’t be put off by the bloody scenes that had been part of his life for more than a decade.

  She hadn’t taken her hand back. It felt like silk and smelled like the tropics, probably from some lotion she’d rubbed into it before he’d shown up, but that didn’t stop the little zing that had him thinking about lying with her on a sun-drenched beach, feeling those hands touch him all over. And him doing the same thing to her.

  He felt her pulse do a skip dance at the base of her thumb and realized she’d felt it, too.

  “Well.” She stepped back and snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

  She’d looked both intelligent and sexy at the wedding. When she’d opened the door, she’d looked soft, slightly tousled, and approachable. Now she somehow managed to look both nurturing and briskly professional at the same time.

  The dog, having more guts than he would’ve expected, proved surprisingly stoic during her examination. But it did keep those huge, beseeching eyes on Gabe, as if with a need to make sure he, too, wasn’t going to bail.

  “You’re right,” she said finally. Although I want to take a couple X-rays, given the trauma he would’ve suffered by being dragged beneath a vehicle, I can’t find anything broken.

  “He does, however, have ticks, and those fur mats are risking infection, because they irritate his skin.” She brushed aside a tangle and showed him the red rough skin beneath. “It’s more than ugly—it can become a bad cycle. The skin itches from the mats, so the dog licks it, then the hair sticks, and causes more irritation and seepage, so the dog licks again. We’ll need to demat him, then put some antibiotic on the sores, road scrapes, those other burns.”

  “Other burns?”

  “Here.” She brushed aside some of the tangled fur. “And here.” Another spot. “And here. These small round circles.”

  “Shit.” Gabe had seen his share of horrors. Been smack in the middle of them all too often. But as he identified those red blisters, his stomach turned. “Those look like they’re from a lit cigarette.”

  “Probably. Unfortunately, again not so uncommon.” When she stroked the dog’s head, it licked her gloved hand.

  “How do you do it?” he asked.

  “Do what?” She took a syringe and needle from a cabinet.

  “Stay so cool and not get furious at a crime like this?”

  “I am furious.” A quick, sharp whip in her voice underscored her claim. “And after years of working with animals, I’ve never understood the human mind-set that allows abuse.” She injected the mutt, who didn’t emit so much as a whimper. It might look like a sissy dog, but beneath that mass of fur, it was proving to be as tough as any Marine. “I also run a no-kill shelter, and believe me, it’s all too easy to become cynical about people if you allow yourself to be.”

  She took a deep breath. Pulled off the gloves and ran one of those silky hands through her hair. He watched her gather up her composure, which had shown signs of fraying. So, the lady had some heat inside. Interesting.

  “But instead of dwelling on my anger, I try to concentrate on my job, which is caring for animals who don’t have anyone else to care for them. I realized while I was still in vet school that it’s a waste of time trying to comprehend how anyone could purposefully torture a sweetie like this. What we need to do now is do our best to make up for past behavior and offer this little guy the future he deserves.”

  “I couldn’t be that forgiving.” Although Gabe knew veterans who’d managed to successfully compartmentalize their lives, he doubted he could ever get to the point where he could forgive those bastards who’d done their best to kill him. And who’d killed so many fellow Marines.

  “It’s an ongoing effort. Some days are admittedly easier than others. Today I attended a wedding of two people who are obviously madly in love, ate a cupcake that was to die for, and
delivered six puppies. The pups and the mother probably would’ve died if Bernard Douchett hadn’t found her rummaging through a trash can on the beach and brought her to me. So I was in a pretty good mood when you showed up at my door.” Her smile was like sunshine breaking through a dismal coastal rain. “Which helps.”

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “Bathe him, give him a tick and flea dip, treat any skin irritation and wounds, give him a clipping to get rid of those mats and make him more presentable, and feed him a decent meal. I’ll also want to insert a microchip, give him a rabies injection, and, of course, neuter him.”

  Gabe’s testicles pulled up tight.

  “Do you know, every time I say that to a man, he gets the same look on his face that you have right now?”

  “Maybe it’s because most guys have this thing about keeping their nuts.”

  “Don’t worry.” Her tone was dry, but he could hear the repressed laughter in it. “Yours are safe. There are enough unwanted dogs in the world. This guy doesn’t need to be contributing to that population explosion. He’ll never know the difference and have fewer health problems as he gets older. That antibiotic I gave him will last ten days. If he shows any signs of infection, I’ll give him a second dose. That’ll save you from having to try to get him to take pills.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re not going to keep him?”

  “I don’t have any room for a dog.”

  “It’s a large motor home. And he’s a small dog.”

  “Well, yeah, but I was talking about my lifestyle. I never stay anywhere more than a few days.”

  “Do you have any idea how many full-time RVers there are in this country? And how many travel with pets?”

  “Haven’t a clue.” Gabe didn’t really give a damn, either.

  “Neither do I,” she admitted. “But there’s a bunch, because we get a lot of tourists in Shelter Bay. I treat their pets occasionally as they pass through. Most people enjoy their company.”

  “I’m not most people.”

  “Wow, now, there’s a news flash. Being above average intelligence, I’ve already figured that out for myself. How many Marines take wedding photos, after all?”

  “So you know I’m a Marine?”

  “I told you, my assistant told me about your book,” she reminded him. “Apparently you’re the talk of the town. And extremely talented. Which makes me wonder what had you taking on a wedding gig. Not that wedding photography might not be a lovely career, but it’s quite a major subject leap from war photos.”

  “Cole was in my unit.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “The Semper Fi thing.”

  “Yeah.”

  Her eyes lit up. He could see himself reflected in them. “That’s sweet.”

  “News flash, back atcha, Doc—Marines don’t exactly consider sweet a compliment. As for the mutt, I just did what anyone would do under the same circumstances. But I definitely wasn’t signing up for any long-term commitment.”

  “You’re a male,” she murmured, as she wet a paper towel and washed some crusty guck from the dog’s eyes. “Which, I suppose, means that commitment isn’t exactly in your DNA.”

  “I don’t know about all males.” He’d done the till-death-do-us-part vows once before and that sure as hell hadn’t worked out. Since then, he’d decided marriage wasn’t in the cards. At least not for him. “But Cole was sure as hell looking poleaxed at the wedding.”

  She smiled again. “He was, wasn’t he?” Her expression immediately sobered. Contrasts. “Look, this little guy needs to spend the night here anyway, so I can clean him up and observe him to make sure there isn’t anything internal going on I may have missed. So, why don’t you sleep on it, and let me know your decision tomorrow?”

  “I don’t need to wait until tomorrow to make a decision. The dog’s no longer my problem.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his billfold. “Let me pay you what you think it’ll cost, plus some overtime for interrupting your evening, and we’ll be square.”

  “If only it were that easy. I mentioned the shelter.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, it is, at the moment, at full capacity. And I’ve currently used up my list of foster parents.”

  “But you could keep him until you found someone to take him on. He’s probably cute enough, under all that dirt and hair, to find him a home.”

  “He’s going to need more attention than I can give him. I’m afraid a prior commitment’s going to have me a bit overextended for the next few weeks.”

  Dr. Charity Tiernan sure as hell wasn’t proving to be a pushover. Gabe found himself wishing Cole’s brother Sax were here. When he turned on the charm, the former SEAL had a smooth way about him that had most women agreeing to just about anything. Apparently Kara Conway, Shelter Bay’s sheriff, had proved a tougher nut to crack than most, but from seeing them together at the wedding, swaying so close they were nearly making love on the dance floor, it appeared Sax Douchett had won her over.

  She scooped the dog off the metal table and shoved it at him. “At least hold him for a sec while I go check the crate situation,” she said. Although he figured it was a dare, Gabe wasn’t willing to bet the dog’s neck—which it could break if it fell—on it. Which gave him no choice but to take it from her.

  She was gone longer than a “sec.” Every Marine had a clock in his head, and Gabe figured she was pushing on five minutes when she finally returned. It was a good ploy, given that the dog had literally put its muddy paws around his neck again and was happily licking his face while its tail wagged to beat the band. Damned if the two of them weren’t ganging up on him. But a guy who’d survived war zones wasn’t going to be taken down that easily.

  “As I said, we’re full up,” she announced. Surprise, surprise. “I was considering getting down one of the travel crates I use to take animals out to the shelter for him to spend the night in, but the poor little guy’s been through enough. After I dip him, he might as well come upstairs with me.”

  “You live here?”

  “It’s a big place. It used to be a bed-and-breakfast, and when I saw it online, I fell in love. And the commute’s a lot better than the one I had in Chicago.”

  “You’re not a local?” Genuine and easygoing, she seemed to fit here, as if she’d been born to the place.

  “No. I’ve only lived in Shelter Bay about eighteen months. But I visited once while growing up. My mother was married to an Oregon architect for a while and I have a stepbrother who’s currently in the military, whom I’m close to. So, when I started looking for a change in scenery, and a place to put down roots, well, this town, where I spent the best summer vacation of my life, just felt right.”

  After giving up on that fanciful idea of having a little woman waiting for him at home, Gabe had decided roots tied a person down. But he also understood that his was probably a minority opinion.

  “Well, I’ve already taken up enough of your time.” If he was to be perfectly honest, he’d like to take up more, which was all the more reason to leave. Now.

  He put the nine pounds of matted black fur back onto the table. “If you’ll just tell me how much I owe you.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I have no idea what I may find after I bathe and clip him. He might have skin disease, more road rash, even ringworm. And he might need more tests.”

  “Why don’t you make an estimate?” Gabe suggested. He pulled out a stack of twenties he’d picked up that morning at the gas station ATM. “Here’s three hundred. I’ll call tomorrow, and if it’s more than that, I’ll send the rest.”

  When she didn’t immediately respond, Gabe wondered if she was worried about getting stiffed on her fee.

  “You really should give the little guy a fair chance,” she said. “See how he cleans up before you reject him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll look just dandy. But I’m not in the market for a dog
. And if I were, a foo-foo dust mop of a canine would be the last breed on my list.”

  The dog sitting on its haunches, looking up at him with a ridiculously adoring gaze, was about as far from a manly dog as Gabe could have imagined.

  “I’m surprised.” She looked him straight in the eye as she patted the mutt’s head. “I wouldn’t have expected a big bad Marine to have masculinity issues.”

  “Low blow, Doc.” She was doing it again. Laughing at him. He should have been annoyed, but for some reason he’d think about later, Gabe wasn’t. “And way off the mark.”

  She lifted her chin. “Prove it.”

  “How?”

  “By taking him home tomorrow. Just for a test run. There’s no need to do any in-depth personality testing, because he’s already proven himself to be amazingly easygoing. We’re only talking one day. If he still hasn’t won you over after he’s cleaned up, then no harm, no foul.” She shrugged. “What can it hurt?”

  Hell. Gabe had been up against Taliban fighters who weren’t as tenacious as Dr. Charity Tiernan.

  “I’ve got work to do tomorrow.”

  “You’re not going to shoot that many photographs in the middle of the day.” When he arched a brow, surprised she’d know that, she shrugged again. “Both my parents just happen to be serial marriers. One of my stepfathers is Peter Gillette.”

  Although he might have spent most of the last years out of the country, even Gabe recognized the name. Gillette was, hands down, the most famous photographer of the rich and famous in the world. Gabe had attended a show of his at the Philadelphia Museum of Art while he’d been shooting in Pennsylvania, and had appreciated the way the photographer managed to reveal the individual behind the glamorous facade. Which sometimes, to the more judicial eye, wasn’t that flattering.

  “He’s a genius.” Gabe had always believed in giving credit where credit was due.

  “So they say. He was my mother’s fourth husband. They met when he did a photo shoot at our home for Town & Country magazine. When they were married, he used to let me sit in his darkroom while he developed his photos, which was cool.” She paused. “You probably use digital.”