by Emily March
“Oh, yeah? You say you don’t have a little fluffy brown yappy mutt? Then what are those?” He pointed at the two dog bowls sitting on her kitchen stoop.
“What I mean is that I’m not her real owner. I’m taking care of a neighbor’s dog until they get settled in their new home.”
“Not very well, apparently. You lost her.”
You lost her. Hope closed her eyes. Her knees went a little weak. Of all the things he could have said …
“You let her invade my house and my privacy.”
His tone held that same accusatory note that her ex-husband had used with her, and it sparked Hope’s own temper to life. The jerk. The jock. Athletes often think they’re God’s gift to the world. Mark, her ex, had played college baseball and sometimes he’d been exactly the same way. She put the frost of a Rocky Mountain winter in her voice as she said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, you should.”
“You have some nerve.” Hope braced her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Listen, mister, if Roxy found her way inside your house then you invited her in by leaving it open. Roxy is a sweet dog. If she bit you, then you must have done something to provoke her.”
His gaze had slipped to her chest. It remained there. Pig. She crossed her arms. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do a damned thing to that dog. All I did was look to see what was making the noise in my closet and she bit me on the ass.”
“Closet? I don’t understand. Are you saying Roxy was in your closet?”
“Yes. That dog is a pain in my ass in more ways than one. She had puppies in my closet on top of my clothes.”
Hope froze. “How did she get inside your … whoa … did you say … puppies?”
“Yes, puppies! Three of them. Maybe four.”
“When did she have puppies?”
“Sometime last night, I imagine. Maybe earlier this morning. Haven’t you seen her? Some sort of dog-sitter you are. I heard them a little while ago. I was trying to get a closer look when she came out of nowhere and sank her fangs into me.”
“Where?”
“I told you.” He hooked a thumb toward his rear, his expression peeved.
Hope pursed her lips to squelch the smile. She didn’t think now was the right time for it. “Not the little nip. The pups. I don’t know where you live.”
“It wasn’t a little nip. Think alligator mouth. The little bitch drew blood. And I live next door.”
“That makes sense,” Hope replied, thinking aloud. “Her former owners lived next door. Isn’t there a doggie door in the back? That must be how she got in. It’s her home, so maybe that’s why she went there to have her babies.”
Lucca nodded toward Hope’s house. “Well, that’s her home now so let’s get a box or a basket and get them moved.”
Hope frowned. “I don’t know … is it safe to move them? They were just born. I don’t have any experience with puppies. I didn’t even realize she was pregnant. I thought she was getting fat because she liked the brand of dog food I gave her.”
Shoeless, shirtless, and whisker-stubbled, Lucca Romano stood in Hope’s front yard oozing sex appeal. However, his eyes shot green fire as he braced his hands on his hips and declared. “Those dogs are not staying in my closet.”
Hope contemplated turning the water hose on herself. Instead, she walked over to the faucet and twisted the spigot, cutting off the flow of water. Her thoughts spun. Puppies. She’d had two female dogs in the past. Both had been rescue dogs whom she’d adopted and had come to her spayed. She’d wanted a puppy before Holly was born, but Mark had vetoed the idea. She knew puppies were a lot of work, but honestly, she couldn’t help but be a little excited.
“I’ll call Nic Callahan. She’s our town vet and she’ll tell us what to do.”
“You. She’ll tell you. I’m not dealing with puppies.”
And Hope wasn’t moving them unless Nic gave her the okay to do so, but that argument could wait. “I need to look up Nic’s number. I’ll be right back.”
She left him standing in the yard like a grumpy Roman god as she entered her house and walked through the mud room to her kitchen where she kept her iPad. She accessed the Internet, searched for the Eternity Springs Veterinary Clinic website, then added the number to her telephone’s address book. She could have done it from her phone, of course, but she’d wanted a little space from the man.
How had someone as nice and friendly as Maggie Romano raised such an ill-tempered son?
Hearing a noise, she glanced up to see Lucca Romano standing on her stoop, glaring at her. “What? I had to get the number.”
“I thought you might be trying to dodge me.”
Rather than dignify that nonsense with a response, she moved toward him. As she walked past her washer and dryer in the mud room, she scooped up an oversized rose-colored bath towel. When she opened the screen door, he stepped aside to let her pass, and she tossed him the bath sheet. “You’re all wet, Mr. Romano.”
He caught the towel and smirked. “You’re funny, Ms. … what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” And she wouldn’t. Not even a Roman god physique could overcome the disposition of a badger.
He dragged the towel across that expanse of male chest and waited. She decided to let him wait longer. She thumbed the number of Nic’s veterinary clinic, and after three rings the answering machine clicked on. Feeling petty, Hope managed to leave a message without mentioning her name.
As she prepared to disconnect the call, Lucca interrupted. “Ask her if she gave that dog a rabies shot.”
Hope slipped her phone into the pocket of her shorts. “Roxy’s shots aren’t due until January.”
“Good. Glad to know that … Gertrude.”
She returned the smirk. She didn’t know why she was being stubborn about telling him her name. It was stupid, really, but something about this man brought out the ornery in her.
He wrapped the towel around his hips, eyeing her speculatively. “Ready to go get the puppies?”
“I do want to see them.”
He made a sweeping gesture and bowed his head. “After you, Ethel.”
This time instead of smirking, she snorted, then started across her lawn toward his house. He trailed after her, oblivious to the curious looks he attracted from a car with Kansas plates. “If you won’t tell me your name, of course I have to guess.”
As they crossed her front walk, Hope took the conversation in a different direction. “I really like your mother, sister, and brother.”
“You know them?”
“Of course.”
“Right. Of course. They’re pillars of the community.”
Hope’s eyes widened at the bitterness in his tone. He might have heard it himself, because a moment later he added, “They are good people. I have a great family and I love them very much.”
Okay, maybe he wasn’t one hundred percent jerk. Ninety-five, maybe. No lower than ninety-three. “I know your mother was thrilled that you agreed to help her with her B&B.”
“I don’t know how much help I’m going to be. My remodeling talents are limited.” He shrugged and changed the subject. “I think there’s an empty box in my garage that you can use for moving the puppies. The clothes she used for her nest will need to be tossed, but I’ll donate a couple towels to the cause.”
“How generous.”
By now he’d overtaken her with his long-legged strides. He glanced back over his shoulder and flashed her a smile with plenty of teeth and masculine challenge. “Oh, Esmeralda, you don’t have a clue as to just how generous I can be.”
Hope almost stumbled as sexual awareness rose up like a trip wire. Holy guacamole. The man wielded that smile like a weapon, and it wasn’t even a very nice smile. Imagine what he could do with a real one—a smile that reached his eyes.
His brother Zach had a nice smile, something she’d noticed at a baseball game the week before when she’d watched him flirt with his
wife, Savannah. If Lucca Romano had any of his brother’s charm in him, he’d be lethal.
Not that he’d ever turn any charm he might have on her. She wasn’t the type of woman who attracted the attention of a man like this. He was a professional athlete and coach, a Ferrari who lived his life in the fast lane. She was a girl-next-door kind of girl, closer to a golf cart than a sports car.
This truth didn’t improve her frame of mind one bit.
Grumpily, she asked, “Are you always this big of a jerk?”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t help that the painkillers haven’t kicked in.”
She frowned. “Is the bite really that sore?”
“If I said yes would you kiss it and make it better?”
She halted abruptly. Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe he’d said that. They had just met, and he didn’t even know her name, and he went and spouted something like that. Unreal. “You are a pig.”
“Goes without saying,” he fired back, shrugging. “I’m a guy. The bite feels better, thanks for asking, Beulah. So does my head.”
“You had something wrong with your head? Why am I not surprised?”
Again, he showed her that smile. “Hangover.”
“I repeat: Why am I not surprised?” And his mother was such a nice person. Poor woman. Imagine this horror sitting at the dinner table on Sunday.
As they approached his house, he increased his pace so that he reached the front porch well ahead of her. The hinges on the screen door creaked as he yanked it open, then motioned for her to precede him.
Hope knew what to expect inside the house. She’d visited many times after she first moved to Eternity Springs. Her neighbor Louise Morrison had been a widow in her seventies who had befriended Hope and taught her things that had helped her adjust to life in a small Rocky Mountain town. When Louise died in her sleep the previous March, Hope had been devastated. Louise had left both her house and the care of her beloved Roxy to her nephew.
It hadn’t been a good match. The nephew’s family hadn’t liked small-town living, so as soon as they could manage, they’d moved back to Colorado Springs, leaving Roxy behind but promising to send for her as soon as they could find a new apartment that allowed pets.
She wasn’t holding her breath for that phone call.
A wave of sorrow washed over Hope as she walked inside. She missed Louise.
“It’s that way,” Lucca said, pointing toward his bedroom. “Go on in. I’ll get the box.”
Hope didn’t bother to tell him that he could get all the boxes he wanted, but she wasn’t going to relocate those puppies until Nic Callahan gave the okay.
Entering Lucca’s bedroom, she only vaguely noted the unmade queen-sized bed and the open duffel bag on the floor. Her attention was focused on the closet, a long, narrow opening with bifold doors that stood completely open. She saw Roxy stretched out on a pile of clothing on the floor.
Hope went down on her knees just outside the closet opening. In a soft, gentle tone, she said, “Hey there, Roxy. Hey there, girl. Look at you, little mama.”
The dog lifted her head, and Hope got her first good look at the nursing puppies. Her heart melted. “Aww …”
They were tiny, no bigger than the palm of her hand. Two tan and one dappled, tan and white. Roxy lay her head down once again and Hope rolled back on her heels. Puppies. They stayed with their mother what, six weeks? Eight? Then they were taken away? Ripped out of their mother’s life?
Tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Roxy. Roxy.”
Who decided that was okay? Who decided that animals didn’t grieve for their offspring?
“I’m in trouble,” she murmured. She knew that Louise’s nephew would never actually send for Roxy. It had been three weeks since they left town, and she’d not heard one word from the man. So in reality, these four dogs were now her responsibility. Was she supposed to start looking for homes for them? Four separate homes? She couldn’t do that. But then that would mean …
“I can’t keep four dogs.” What was she going to do?
Her cellphone rang and she reached for it like a lifeline. Checking the number, she breathed a sigh of relief and answered. “Hello, Nic. Thank you so much for returning my call. I’m afraid I have a bit of a situation, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
She explained what had happened and asked for Nic’s guidance. Nic asked a few questions, gave Hope some instructions, then offered to stop by to check on Roxy and her litter that afternoon. Surprised, Hope asked, “You make house calls?”
“Just looking out for my own interests,” Nic replied. “With two girls headed for kindergarten soon, I figure it’s never too soon to suck up to the teacher.”
Hope laughed. “Thanks, Nic. I’ll see you later.”
She ended the call and rolled to her feet. Turning around, she saw Lucca standing just inside the door, a cardboard box in his hand. She stepped past him, saying, “I’ll be back.”
He reached out. “Hold on there. You’re forgetting something.”
His big hand wrapped completely around her upper arm. He didn’t squeeze; it wasn’t painful. He simply prevented her from moving beyond the threshold of his bedroom door.
He stood close, smelling of soap, a fragrance she recognized as one of the men’s soaps his sister-in-law’s shop sold. He stood so near to her that she could feel the heat of his body. When was the last time she’d stood this close to a man in a bedroom?
“You’re taking the pups.”
“Yes, but later.”
“How much later?”
Hope’s mind was spinning with a list of supplies. “I need to prepare a place for them to stay. The vet told me what to do and how to do it. Once it’s ready, I’ll come back and get the dogs.”
He gave her a dubious look. “How long is this preparation going to take?”
“Not that long.”
He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “Why don’t I help you? We’ll get things done twice as fast.”
“Thank you, but what I have to do is really a one-person job. I’ll be back in an hour. Two at the most.”
After a moment’s pause, he nodded, and his hand dropped to his side. “I’m going to trust you’ll make this fast. I might not know your name, but I do know where you live. I can move the mutts myself if I have to.”
“Please don’t. I’ll be back for them. I promise. I really am sorry about this—sorry about the bite. I know it’s disruptive to have puppies in your closet. I’ll be two hours, tops, Mr. Romano.”
Again, he flashed a smile, only this time the darn thing seemed resigned. Almost genuine. It lit up the emeralds of his eyes, and her mouth went a little dry at the sight. Oh, my, he’s really gorgeous.
He led her across to the front door, then he held it open for her. As she stepped out onto his porch, he repeated, “Two hours, tops. See you soon, Bertha.”
The screen door banged shut behind her, and despite herself, Hope grinned.
An hour and forty minutes later, she was back. She’d moved some furniture out of the room she used as a home office and set up the whelping pen on loan from Nic that she’d picked up at the vet clinic. She’d lined it with layers of newspaper and fabric and ordered absorbent puppy pads online that should arrive the following day. After talking to Nic, she was both nervous about what she’d committed to do and excited for the new experience.
Carrying a laundry basket filled with towels and a blanket, she knocked on Lucca Romano’s front door. Minutes passed. She knocked again. She heard no sound at all from inside the house. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Mr. Romano? Lucca?”
Nothing.
“Well, hurry up and wait,” she muttered. It figured that he’d be the type to demand punctuality in others but consider himself above the common courtesy in return. She didn’t have time to waste. She wanted to get Roxy and the puppies all settled by the time Nic arrived to check on them so that she could advise her if she’d done something wrong. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Lucca?”
; She listened. Nothing. She tried the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. He did tell me to come get the dogs. That’s a tacit invitation inside, I’d think.
Hope stepped into the house and moved confidently toward the bedroom. As she passed the hall bathroom, she noted that he’d left the wet gym shorts he’d been wearing lying in a heap on the floor. Such a slob. Bet Maggie would just love to see that.
At the door to his bedroom, Hope stopped cold.
Lucca Romano lay sprawled on his stomach across the top of the bed, a white sheet tangled around his hips. She heard a slight snore rumbling from beneath the pillow he had pulled over his head. She took a minute to appreciate the view. Italian skin deeply tanned from a summer spent south of the border, muscles developed by years of athletic training filling out his long, tall frame: he was a gorgeous specimen of masculinity. She could easily imagine him in a charcoal Armani suit, white dress shirt, and a tie with green stripes to subtly complement the color of his eyes. Definitely GQ qualified.
She could just as easily imagine him without the sheet covering his hips, with his buttocks bare and firm and … Oh, for heaven’s sake. Get the dogs before you begin to drool or he wakes up and catches you gawking.
She turned away and set about her work. She lured Roxy outside the closet with a dog treat and instructions to go outside to potty. Then she gently gathered up the puppies and placed them into her laundry basket. Picking up her burden of cuteness, she turned around and halted.
Lucca stood beside the bed facing her, his back arched, his torso twisted, his arms outstretched and muscles flexed as he stretched and yawned. She wondered if one of his Italian ancestors had modeled for Michelangelo’s David.
“You’re wearing Sesame Street boxer shorts,” she observed stupidly.
“Elmo.” He gave a lazy smile and arched a challenging brow. “Like ’em, Brunhilda?”
“I’d have pegged you more as Oscar the Grouch.”
“That’s what my mom said when she gave them to me. I have a whole Sesame Street set.”
“Your mother gives you boxer shorts.”
“And socks. Every Christmas and birthday.”
“And you wear them.”
