by Tawna Fenske
“Drive safely.”
Will watched his sister march toward the back room to collect the rest of her canine transports. He unlocked the door to the storage cabinet and thought about Magoo’s new owner. Her blond hair had looked soft and touchable, and he felt dizzy again remembering the flashes of silver in her hazel eyes. She was petite, but not too skinny. Curvy in all the right spots. Her suit had definitely been Armani, which was an odd choice for an outing at the Humane Society. But Will wasn’t one to judge someone’s fashion choices.
He smiled a little, thinking of her scent. Not the smell of dog—he was used to that. When she’d bent to pet Magoo, Will was sure he’d smelled fresh blueberries. Weird, considering it was September in Central Oregon and fresh blueberries were way out of season. Weirder still, considering blueberries were Will’s favorite treat in the whole world.
He opened the storage cupboard and grabbed the woman’s free bag of kibble, hoisting it onto his shoulder. He trudged back to the lobby, surprised to feel his gut sink when he didn’t see her there.
“Where’s Magoo’s new owner?” he asked.
Behind the desk, Tiff shrugged. “She filled out the forms, toweled off the dog, and headed out. Guess she didn’t need the free kibble.”
“Maybe she forgot.”
Tiff grinned. “You offering to deliver it?”
Will opened his mouth to protest, but Tiff shoved a stack of papers at him. “Here. Take these with you if you do it.”
“What is it?”
“Paperwork she forgot. A bunch of fund-raising stuff she was working on for Virginia, but her duplicates fell through Rex’s kennel. She might need them.”
Will knew it was ridiculous. The woman obviously didn’t need free kibble, and even if she needed the paperwork, she knew where to find it. She certainly didn’t need a strange guy showing up on her doorstep lugging a bag of dog food and looking like he might be casing the joint for valuables.
Dumb idea.
But dumb ideas had served Will pretty well in life. He shifted the dog food bag on his shoulder and reached for the paperwork.
“What’s the address?”
Chapter 2
“Dad, I know,” Marley said into the phone as she filled Magoo’s new water dish and set it on the floor. Fresh from the bath, Magoo wagged his tail and bounded toward the bowl, tripping over his feet en route. “I appreciate the offer, but I want to find my own place.”
“I don’t understand this, Marley,” her dad said with a sigh. “I’m telling you to stay in the condo free, no strings attached, and you’re refusing?”
Marley picked up her mug of blueberry tea and dropped heavily onto the plush leather sofa. There are always strings, she thought.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Nothing,” she said, annoyed to realize she’d spoken aloud. “Just telling Magoo not to eat my, um—my ring.”
“Your engagement ring? I didn’t know you kept it.” He was quiet a moment. “If you kept the ring, does that mean you’re getting back together with Curtis?”
“I’m not marrying Curtis, Dad.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t love him seemed like the wrong answer, not just because she had agreed to marry him at one point. Marley wasn’t sure her father saw love as an integral element in marital bliss.
“I know a really good couples counselor you two could see here in Portland,” he said. “I could give you his card.”
“The one you went to with Janine?”
“No, with Barbara. Or maybe Ellen.”
Marley sighed. “Is that the therapist who told you to learn empathy by wearing each other’s underwear for a month?”
“It was really silky.”
Marley cringed and wished for a cranial Brillo pad to scrub the visual from her brain. “Look, Dad. I don’t want to get back together with Curtis.”
“Well, what do you want, Marley? You aren’t getting any younger.”
“Thanks for clarifying. I was confused about the role of time travel in the aging process.”
Magoo took a final slurp of his water and trotted over to the sofa. He hesitated a moment, seeming to wait for permission. Marley patted the cushion beside her and the dog heaved himself onto the couch and curled up beside his new mistress. She scratched behind his ears, and Magoo gave a contented grunt, smearing viscous slobber on the back of her hand. She leaned down to squeeze him, thinking how warm and sweet and necessary he felt snuggled against her leg.
“I love you,” Marley murmured to her new pet.
“I love you too, honey,” her father said, and Marley jerked her attention back to the phone. “You know I just want what’s best for you, baby. You know I’m not wrong to worry about you and money after the situation with your mom, and then with what happened when you—”
“Please, can we not talk about this now?” Marley ran her palm over her forearm, willing the little hairs there to lie back down. “I’m trying to make a fresh start here, and I’d rather not be reminded of… of that.”
Her dad sighed. “I just don’t want you to end up like your mom. Or like any other woman stuck in a bad situation because she didn’t have financial security.”
“I’ve dated a long string of wealthy jerks,” Marley said, ignoring her cousin’s voice in her head whispering daddy issues. “I don’t think marrying a rich guy I don’t love is my ticket to financial stability.”
“I’m not saying that. I want you to find a good, supportive man with a stable future and a respectable means of supporting you both.”
“You left out great pecs and multiple orgasms.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Dad.” Marley sighed. “If I’m dating a man based on the size of something, it’s not going to be his wallet.” She stopped scratching Magoo, an idea dawning. “Actually, Dad—maybe that’s exactly what I need to be doing.”
Her dad was quiet a moment. “Modern medicine has made a lot of advancements in that area, and I know there are pumps and penile implants and pills and—”
“Not that,” Marley interrupted, already regretting her decision to bring up penises with her father. “I mean dating a guy based on the size of his wallet. That’s what I need to be doing.”
“It is?” Her father was quiet a moment. “Personality and chemistry should be a factor, but I agree that a man’s net worth—”
“Should be low,” Marley finished, hardly hearing him anymore. “The smaller the wealth, the smaller the ego. I think I like this idea.”
“What?”
“I need to date a poor guy. Someone with holey jeans and dirt under his fingernails and a car that’s at least twenty years old.”
“Marley—”
“There are tons of guys like that in Bend,” Marley interrupted, her mind swirling with images of the perfect, blue-collar man. “Rafting guides, construction workers, maybe even a handyman at the wildlife sanctuary.”
“Marley—”
“I’ve gotta go, Dad. Someone’s at the door.”
She hung up before her dad could offer to buy her future husband a penile implant. The knock sounded at the door again, and Marley looked down at Magoo. He was asleep on the sofa beside her, his ears not even twitching at the sound of the doorbell.
“Aren’t you supposed to bark or something?”
The dog opened his blue eye and looked at her. He licked the back of her hand and closed his eye again with a grunt.
Marley got up and padded to the heavy teak door. She stood on tiptoe to look through the peephole, expecting to see the moving van with the rest of her stuff or maybe a FedEx guy with paperwork for the new job.
Instead, she saw a big bag of dog food and a crop of coppery hair drifting across two mismatched eyes.
She flung the door open with more force than necessary, surprised to see him there. “Willi
am?”
He grinned and blew the hair off his forehead. “Just plain Will, actually,” he corrected. “Kibble delivery for Ms. Marley Cartman.” He slung the bag off his shoulder and set it on the doorstep. “Technically, I guess it’s for Mr. Magoo Cartman. That’s assuming he’s taking your name. Or maybe you’re taking his?”
Marley grinned in spite of herself. She hesitated a moment before stepping back and gesturing him inside. Surely a convicted murderer wouldn’t be volunteering at the animal shelter?
She frowned. “Wait, this isn’t community service, is it?”
Will gave her a puzzled look. “What?”
“You didn’t just get out of prison?”
“Define just. It’s been two weeks, so I really think I’m reformed now.” He set the dog food bag in her foyer and turned around, studying the space. “Great place you’ve got here. River views?”
“From the back deck.”
“Very nice.” He pivoted, taking in the mountain views, the slate entry, the giant bronze statue Marley always thought looked like a pterodactyl with Tourette’s syndrome.
“Are those teak floors?” he asked.
“Are you house hunting, Mr.—”
“Will,” he said, turning back to face her. “Not William, not mister, just Will.” He grinned broadly, softening his words and leaving Marley with the sense that someone had put her spleen in the washer on spin cycle. “I just wanted to bring the kibble and the paperwork you dropped.”
Marley was so struck by the crazy, dual-colored eyes that it took her a moment to remember her manners. “Kibble,” she repeated. “Paperwork. Right, I already bought kibble on my way home, but I was going to call about the paperwork. How much do I owe you for bringing this?”
“Fifty bucks, plus sales tax. Is that enough to buy myself a new pair of shoes?”
Marley frowned. “What?”
“I’m kidding. There’s no sales tax in Oregon. Just the fifty bucks will be fine.”
“Oh. Let me get my checkbook from—”
“Relax, Marley. I’m a volunteer. I don’t need fifty bucks.”
She looked down at his feet, which were encased in what looked like bedroom slippers. Old bedroom slippers. What was this guy’s deal? “You do seem to need new shoes.”
“These are antiques.”
“Antique slippers?”
“Very valuable. Anyway, you were on my way home, so I offered to drop this stuff off. I was going to offer to finish his bath, but it looks like you already took care of that.”
Marley tore her eyes off his slippers and returned her gaze to his face. Mistake. The dimple in his left cheek and those crazy, mismatched eyes sent her heart slamming against her rib cage.
Your first day in town, and you’re panting over a dogcatcher, she told herself.
Maybe he’s the blue-collar hottie you wanted, her conscience argued back.
Her conscience had a point.
“At least let me offer you something,” she said. “A drink, maybe?”
Will stepped closer and inhaled deeply. Marley sniffed the air, pretty sure she smelled just fine after leaving her shoes on the back deck.
“Do I smell blueberries?” he asked.
She took a step back, sure he could hear her heart pounding in her ears. “It’s my tea. Blueberry spice. I buy it by the case. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please. If it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all. Right this way.”
She led him toward the kitchen, feeling oddly disconcerted. Magoo chose that moment to lift his head off the sofa. He looked at Will and thumped his stubby tail twice in acknowledgment. Then he put his head back down on the couch and closed his eyes.
“Quite a guard dog you have there,” Will said.
“He’s not sure yet if I’m worth guarding.”
“Still in that getting-to-know-you stage?”
“I think we’ve progressed quickly beyond getting to know you and into the realm of sharing a bed and bodily fluids.”
“Ah, one of those relationships. Well, when there’s chemistry, sometimes you can’t help it.”
Marley laughed. “Seriously, thanks for introducing us. I love having a dog. I never realized there was this Magoo-shaped hole in my life, and now that he’s here, everything just feels so… so…”
“Viscous? Slippery? Smeary?”
“Well, yes. There is a bit of slobber involved.” She laughed again. “You weren’t kidding about the licking issue. But it’s a small price to pay for the best dog on the planet.”
Magoo raised his head again and looked at Marley. His stub-tail thumped against the sofa, and Marley smiled with fondness. Taking his cue, Magoo jumped off the sofa and scrambled over to lick Marley’s shin. She stooped down and scratched his head, feeling warm all over.
“Looks like the love is mutual,” Will said. “In the interest of full disclosure, I should tell you Magoo wasn’t on death row.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Nah, he was just being transferred to another shelter.”
“Oh.” Marley straightened up and shrugged. “That’s better, actually. I get myself into trouble sometimes needing to rescue others. I like the story better if Magoo had other options, but fate brought us together anyway.”
“That is a nice story.”
Magoo thumped his tail on the ground again before trotting back to the sofa. He jumped back up and curled himself into an O shape while Marley washed her hands at the kitchen sink. She turned and busied herself with the kettle, aware of Will’s eyes on her back while she worked. She was also aware of the awkward silence filling the room, so she snatched the remote control off the edge of the counter where she’d left it. She aimed it at her father’s expensive stereo and scrolled quickly through stations, considering her musical selection with more care than it probably required.
You’re new to town with a reputation to build. What should the development director of a prestigious philanthropic organization listen to at home?
She settled on a classical music station and set down the remote before turning to finish preparing the tea. The scrape of something against the wood floor made her turn to see Will easing onto one of the ornate wooden barstools tucked against her father’s granite island.
“So you’re new to Bend?” he asked.
“More or less. I grew up in Portland, but my grandparents had a house over here. I spent a lot of time in Central Oregon in the summertime as a kid, so I always wanted to move here. Then I ended up working at a big corporation doing donor relations, which is a fancy way of saying schmoozing rich people for money, and pretty soon I got engaged to a guy who really didn’t want to leave the city, or at least didn’t want to be with me enough to leave the city and—” She stopped, her hand poised over the kettle as she frowned at Will. “A simple yes would have been better.”
“Not really.”
Marley shook her head. “I have a bad habit of volunteering way too much information in response to basic questions.”
“You’d make a terrible criminal.”
“I’ll cross that off my list of potential careers.” Marley pulled the kettle off the heat and started to steep the tea. “How about you?”
“I’d actually be a pretty good criminal. You let me waltz right into your home after we just met.”
“My vicious guard dog will protect me.”
They both glanced over at Magoo, who was snoring on the sofa.
“Right,” Will said. “Anyway, I was born and raised here. Third generation Bend-ite.”
“No kidding?” Marley set the mug in front of him. “I didn’t think many people were actually from here. Isn’t most of the population comprised of transient ski bums and tourists who decide they want to live where they vacation?”
“Mostly. There’s a
lso a blend of wealthy investors and their trophy wives, semi-retired doctors and their boy-toys, underemployed river guides, suburban soccer moms, and a handful of socially awkward environmental activists. I think that sums up the Bend population in a nutshell.”
Marley waited for him to elaborate on which category his family hailed from, but Will just stared into his mug with an unreadable expression.
“So what do you do when you’re not washing dogs at the pound?” she asked at last.
Will shrugged and took a sip of tea. “A little of this, a little of that.”
Unemployed, thought Marley, trying not to feel disappointed. She wanted blue-collar, not a collarless wife-beater tank top with a mustard stain. Still, maybe he could get a job…
“What’s this we’re listening to?” Will asked.
“Classical music.”
“Thanks, I thought it was death metal. I meant who is it? Chopin? Bach? Hayden? Mozart?”
Marley squinted at the stereo, as though that would make her less clueless about classical music. It was a station her father had pre-programmed into the satellite radio, and Marley had no clue which dead white guy had composed the tune.
“Probably one of those,” Marley finally answered.
Will laughed. “Not a classical music fan?”
“Sometimes. It just depends on my mood.”
“And drinking blueberry tea with a stranger who brings you dog kibble is a classical music kinda mood?”
“Exactly.” Marley took a sip of her tea. “What kind of music do you listen to?”
“Highly sophisticated musical arrangements characterized by soulful melodies and artistic lyrical nuances.”
“Death metal?”
Will grinned. “Eighties bubblegum pop.”
“Naturally.” Marley couldn’t tell if he was joking, but she wasn’t sure what else to say. “Sugar?”
Will gave her a quizzical look. “I’m not sure we’ve known each other long enough for pet names, but okay… Babycakes? Pookie-bear? Love-chicken? Let me know when I hit the right one.”
Marley shoved the sugar bowl at him. “In your tea. Do you like sugar, or maybe honey?”
“It’s perfect just the way it is,” he said, and took a big sip. “I’d love a little more if you have it.”
