The Truth About Cats & Dogs
Page 1
Dear Reader,
Sometimes a project gains momentum and simply takes wing. Such was certainly the case with this delightful collection written in honor of our authors’ beloved four-footed friends!
As you will see when you read each of the authors’ personal notes, their pets have inspired stories that showcase how the uncomplicated love between animals and humans sometimes provides the additional benefit of revealing the path to a lasting romantic relationship.
Our talented authors are showing us not only their creativity in the stories they have crafted for this volume, but also their generosity: each has chosen a charity devoted to animal rescue to be the beneficiary of their attention as well as their personal contribution. Advance notice of this initiative has kept Lori Foster’s Web site hopping with contributions to The Animal Adoption Foundation, Kristine Rolofson has become an advocate for the Pekingese Underground Railroad, and Caroline Burnes, mother to a continual parade of pets, supports the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary.
I know you will enjoy these heartwarming stories that showcase the warmth, laughter and joy that pets can bring to their owners’ lives…and loves!
Marsha Zinberg
Executive Editor, Harlequin Books
Known for her trademark sensuality and delightful storytelling, Lori Foster is one of Harlequin’s most celebrated authors. She began writing for Temptation in 1996, and since then has sold over thirty books with six different houses, including many special projects, novellas and single titles. Her books have appeared on the USA TODAY and New York Times extended bestseller lists. Though Lori enjoys writing, her first priority will always be her family. Her husband and three sons keep her on her toes.
Kristine Rolofson read and analyzed over two hundred Harlequin romances before beginning to write and sell her own first novel. Now the author of over thirty books, she is the winner of the Holt Medallion and the National Readers’ Choice award. Kristine lived in the mountains of northern Idaho for twelve years before returning to her native Rhode Island. Having married her high school history teacher at the age of eighteen, she has now been married for twenty-nine years and is the mother of six. The Rolofsons were named Rhode Island’s Adoptive Family of the Year!
Caroline Burnes lives on a small horse farm in the deep, deep South (Mobile, Alabama). As a little girl, she wanted to be a cowgirl or an Indian—it didn’t matter, as long as she got to ride a horse. Although she was born in Mississippi, she has a great love of the west. Caroline is also the author of the FEAR FAMILIAR series, featuring that savvy black cat detective, Familiar. She is a great animal lover and an advocate of spaying and neutering to ease the problem of animal overpopulation. She has written over thirty books for the Harlequin Intrigue line.
Lori Foster
Kristine Rolofson
Caroline Burnes
The Truth about Cats & Dogs
CONTENTS
TAILSPIN
Lori Foster
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
SECONDHAND SAM
Kristine Rolofson
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
FAMILIAR PURSUIT
Caroline Burnes
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
TAILSPIN
Lori Foster
To Whitney Price,
You’re the best assistant an author could ask for!
With all the hard work you do, you’ve simplified my life a lot. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.
Thank you a hundred times over,
Lori
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for all the wonderful mail you sent about my little dog Butch, who appeared in Riley. After all your enthusiasm, I had to feature him again in this anthology—but with a twist. You see, Butch now has a girlfriend, and she broke my heart.
The moment we saw her, bald, scarred and scared, we forgot about the cute puppies and chose her instead. My husband put it best when he said she had “Foster” written all over her. She’s still timid, even after seven months, but she’s warming to us little by little, and I love her with all my heart. Giving her a story of her own is my way of encouraging everyone to think about our little furry friends who need love so badly. The Animal Adoption Foundation is a wonderful local shelter in my area that works hard at giving abandoned and mistreated animals everything they deserve. The AAF is a “no-kill,” nonprofit, non-tax-supported animal shelter, and at present they desperately need a new building. My donations alone won’t be enough, but together we can make a real difference. You can find the AAF at www.aafpets.org, or e-mail them at info@aafpets.org. I hope to hear from you again, and I hope AAF will hear from you, too!
Bless you all,
Lori
P.S. You can see both of my lovable and funny Chihuahuas on my Web site—www.lorifoster.com.
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS BARELY SIX O’CLOCK on a cloudy Saturday morning in Chester, Ohio. The sun struggled to shine without much success as Buck Boswell finished brushing his teeth, then splashed his unshaven face with cold water. Saturday mornings were meant for sleeping in, preferably with a soft, warm female. But for the next couple of weekends, that was out.
Butch, the little Chihuahua he’d been roped into baby-sitting for two weeks, was causing a ruckus. For a four-pound dog, he made a lot of noise.
Butch had already been out to do his business—the reason Buck was up so early on a vacation day—so he should have been curled up on his blankets, back to dreaming blissful doggie dreams. For the two days Buck had minded Butch so far, that’d been his routine: up at dawn, out for his morning constitutional, back to bed.
Unfortunately, Buck couldn’t do the same. Once Butch woke him, getting back to sleep proved impossible. He was starting his vacation by keeping the hours of his grandpa instead of those of a thriving bachelor.
It sucked.
Riley, one of his best friends, had asked Buck to sit the dog so he and his wife, Regina, could take a cruise. But Riley hadn’t mentioned that Butch rose with the roosters, only to nap again afterward.
Owning his own lumberyard and working sixty-hour weeks as a result hadn’t allowed Buck much time to bond with pets. Free time was spent with his friends, his family and a selection of very nice females. Not animals.
But since he was the only bachelor left in their close circle of friends, the duty fell on him. And despite his lack of familiarity with furry creatures, he and Butch got along well enough.
So what had upset Butch enough to cause that mournful sound?
Concerned, Buck dried his face and dropped his towel. Because he slept in the nude, he’d had to pull on underwear when Butch had first awoken him. In the dark, he’d chosen monkey-print boxers given to him as a joke by Ethan’s wife, Rosie. He hadn’t bothered to put anything more on yet, so he cautiously poked his head around the corner to see what had Butch riled.
The dog sat at the French doors at the back of Buck’s apartment, staring out at the shadowy yard.
“Hey, bud, what’s the deal?”
Butch cast him a quick worried look, t
hen went back to staring. Buck strode forward, leaned close for his own peek and narrowed his eyes to see through the hazy morning shadows. A trim figure moved across the high grass.
Sadie Harte.
Figured it had to be a woman who’d get the dog baying like a crazed wolf. Occasionally Sadie had the same effect on Buck. He didn’t understand her. She was unlike other women he knew. And she made him nuts.
Sadie was the most buttoned-down, prudish, spin-sterish twentysomething woman he had ever seen. To call her plain would be an understatement. But did that stop Buck from being nice to her? No. He even teased her a little, tried flirting some. He was friendly, cordial.
It got him nowhere.
In fact, despite her cold politeness, he thought she actually disliked him. In the three months that she’d been his neighbor, not once had she invited him to her apartment. And when he’d invited her to join a small get-together with his close friends, she’d refused. She’d chat with him in the yard, or give a passing greeting, but anything remotely indicative of a relationship seemed to scare her off, even one as casual as friendship.
The only time she’d been to his apartment was to ask him not to make so much noise.
It nettled him that he couldn’t get her to warm up to him. Women liked him, damn it. He wasn’t an ogre, he had his own business, his mother had taught him manners and he loved to laugh. Not bad qualities, right?
So, why did Sadie keep him at arm’s length?
Curiosity was getting to him. Not once had he ever seen her with a boyfriend. She never had company, either. No one. Not family, not friends.
But she did take in rescue animals. Pitiful creatures with their tails between their legs, their ears down. They’d cower whenever anyone got near. Sadie was patience personified, tender and careful and caring. Too many times, Buck had stood at his door and watched her with a dog or two in the small backyard. He’d open his window so he could hear her soft voice as she cajoled an animal into trusting her.
Broke his heart, it really did. The worst part of it all was that Sadie didn’t keep the pets. She helped them, and then found them good homes where they could have the love of a family, a big fenced yard, maybe kids to play with.
Today, however, wasn’t the same. Normally when he saw Sadie, she had on her schoolteacher duds, as Buck liked to think of them. Even while working with the animals in the yard, she wore long shapeless skirts, flat shoes, loose blouses better suited to a maiden aunt than a young woman. Far as Buck knew, she didn’t own a pair of jeans. Or shorts. Or, God forbid, a bathing suit.
She always looked prim and standoffish—and it drove him crazy wondering what she’d look like in something more revealing…. That was the way with men. They always wanted what they couldn’t have. He wanted a peek at proper Ms. Sadie Harte.
Today was his day to have his wish come true.
Mesmerized, intrigued and a little amused, Buck leaned against the wall and took in the sight before him. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, Sadie was in the yard, running from his lot to her own and back again.
In a thin nightgown.
Now he knew what she slept in. It wasn’t the nudity he’d imagined many times over, but the long white gown made of thin cotton would do for future fantasies. The gown was innocent, romantic and hinted at the body beneath.
As Sadie dashed past, his gaze tracked her from the top of her head to her dew-wet feet and back up again. Sleepiness got replaced with sharpened awareness. If Sadie dressed like that more often, her social calendar would be full.
Had she just woken, too? Maybe had a nightmare? They’d talked enough for him to know that Sadie was the sensible sort, not a woman prone to theatrics. Given her wardrobe, she was really modest, too. But this morning she hadn’t even donned a housecoat.
At that precise moment, early morning sunbeams burst through the clouds, making Sadie’s gown slightly transparent. Breath caught, Buck took in the sight of the few subtle shadows that hinted at female curves.
The new view was damn interesting. He made note of her narrow waist, her small, high breasts and long thighs. The image of her curled in bed, half-asleep, soft and warm, crowded into his brain.
Butch howled again and scratched at the door, forcing Buck back into the moment.
“Sorry, buddy. I don’t want you running after her. No reason for you both to look wacko.”
Sadie’s light brown, baby-fine hair danced around her head as she whipped this way and that in a crazed fashion. He’d always wanted to see her with her hair down. Because she usually had it twisted up, Buck hadn’t known it was bone straight, shoulder-length, or that it had glints of red and gold when the sunlight hit it just right. Now that he did know, he wondered why she always kept it up. It looked real pretty around her shoulders.
Suddenly her small bare feet slid in the tall, dewy grass, almost landing her on her tush. Her arms did cartwheels in the air. She looked panicked before catching her balance and taking off again.
Damn it.
Buck slid the door open a little so she could hear him, but not wide enough for Butch to get out. “Sadie,” he called, hoping to gain her attention without startling her. “Is something wrong?”
Her head jerked in his direction, her chocolate-brown gaze locked on his, and to Buck’s surprise, she came barreling toward him. Except for her nose, which had turned pink with the morning chill, her face was pale.
“What the—?” Buck braced himself for the unexpected attack.
Screaming, Sadie jerked the door right out of his hand and nearly knocked him over in her haste to get inside. Her wet feet shot out from under her again when she stepped on his tile floor. Buck caught her under the arms before she hit the ground, aware of her slight weight and fragile bones. She was such a delicate woman—
Sadie paid him no mind. Immediately she slammed the door shut again, using enough force to rattle the panes of glass. Panting, nose glued to the glass, she watched the yard as if expecting something momentous.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Buck leaned against the wall and stared down at Sadie. At six-three, he stood taller than a lot of people. He was used to looking down. But Sadie was more petite than most, damn near a foot shorter than him.
And she was in her nightgown. With pretty, sleep-rumpled hair. And small feminine feet, now wet and dirty with grass stains.
He was still ogling her feet when Sadie jumped. “Ohmigod, there it is! There she is!”
Buck looked over her shoulder—and saw another Chihuahua, way fatter than Butch but not much bigger otherwise. The poor thing was soaked from running in the grass. It was also missing some fur. It had a bald forehead with other bare patches on its belly and behind. It was about the ugliest little dog Buck had ever seen, and it charged right up to his door, then put both front paws to the glass.
Sadie screamed. The shocking sound caused Buck to nearly jump out of his underwear. Bewildered, he caught Sadie’s upper arm and turned her toward him.
“What in the world is wrong with you?”
“Cicada! Cicada!”
“No,” Buck said reasonably, “Chihuahua. Probably the homeliest Chihuahua I’ve ever seen, but you apparently agreed to take it in….”
Sadie turned on him, stretched on her tiptoes to glare and said, “In. Her. Mouth.”
Her snarling tone startled him. Buck glanced down at the female dog and…ewww.
Right there between the dog’s teeth was a chubby, still screeching, red-eyed cicada. He shuddered in honest, horrified revulsion. No wonder the dog was losing fur if she kept things like that in her mouth.
“Good God, is she going to eat it?”
“I don’t know,” Sadie wailed while doing a little dance and flapping her hands. “She keeps getting…things, and bringing them home to me. A dead frog, a slimy night crawler, and now this.”
The little dog whined around the pulsating bug.
“She wants in,” Sadie gasped.
“Over my dead body,” Buck said.
“Go out there and take it away from her,” she said, her tone commanding.
Buck stiffened. Of all the things to ask, why did it have to be that? And she had asked it while touching his naked chest with her soft little hand, he in his underwear and she in her nightgown, leaving room for all sorts of possibilities.
He hated to disappoint her, but some things were too much. “Sorry, no can do.”
Her lips trembled. “Why?”
“I hate cicadas.”
Her doelike eyes widened. “But you’re a man!”
“Last time I checked, yeah.” At least he knew she’d noticed that much. “And stop yelling. You’re upsetting the dogs.”
Only Butch didn’t look upset. He looked…love-struck. From the moment the other Chihuahua appeared, Butch had gone stock-still, his head tilted, his bulgy little eyes wide. Deep in his throat, a low, husky rumble escaped. Close to a whimper, but Butch was all male dog, so no way would Buck accuse him of whimpering.
Maybe Butch had bad eyesight and didn’t realize the other dog was balding. Maybe—
Sadie’s hand, still on his chest, curled into a fist, grasping a handful of hair. “She’s leaving. You have to go get her.”
When Buck just winced, she changed tactics. “Oh please. I can’t lose her, but I can’t go out there, either. I just can’t. Not while she has that awful thing in her mouth.”
Buck watched the dog trot around the corner. He shook his head, denying the inevitable. “I hate cicadas. If it were a spider, no problem at all. A snake, I’m there. But cicadas—”