by Zoe Dawson
Chapter Three
He tried to focus on the city as they passed through, but no matter how hard he tried, Callie stole his attention. Unfortunately, both dogs had fallen asleep on the back seat, so he couldn’t be distracted with making sure they behaved. As they approached the I-95 North exit, he said, “Tell me about Lassiter Run.” His voice came out sounding a little desperate, demanding. He shifted in his seat and inwardly groaned.
She glanced at him before she merged onto I-87 and smiled. “Next to the City, it’s the best place on earth.”
All of his childhood had been spent in the City and some of those years were with his dysfunctional mother. When she left one day and didn’t return, he was a lost boy, wandering mean streets as he tried to survive. But his great aunt had never stopped looking for him and rescued him. Even with all his travels as an adult, he hadn’t seen much of the rest of New York State.
“Lassiter Run sits on about thirty acres. We have twelve kennels and nine dog yards, along with puppy runs we use to segregate the older dogs from the little ones. We exclusively breed Danes of all colors. But I, of course, have a soft spot for Harlequins.”
She wasn’t his type. In spite of reminding himself over and over, the attraction between them pulled so hard he swore he’d be leaving a trail scored by his heels on the lawns of Lassiter Run.
“Does your family show the dogs?”
“My mother does. She’s even been to Westminster with Jack’s sire.”
“Did she win?”
“A couple of times. Did your great aunt ever show Jill?”
“No, she didn’t get the chance. She grew too ill to leave the house.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded and looked away. He still couldn’t seem to stop the well of emotion each time his great aunt was mentioned. The deep grief he felt for her passing had been compartmentalized, like everything else in his life. It was as if his hip, cool persona took everything he had in him to maintain. Letting emotion show, any emotion, would set off a feeding frenzy among his fellow sharks.
He felt her touch on his arm. When he looked at her, he saw that genuine concern deep in her dark green eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s so hard to lose a loved one. When we lost my grandpa, the grief would sneak up on me when I least expected it for more than a year. It was as if the memories were all bundled up inside with nowhere to go. With no outlet, it just feels as if those memories sit on your heart and shred it.”
His breath caught and moisture pricked at his eyes. No one. Not one person of his acquaintance had offered him the tiniest bit of comfort when his great aunt had passed, and yet this authentic, goodhearted woman had already seen through his façade and offered him not only comfort, but sympathy, in a wise and touching way.
It threw him off his game. Usually with a woman he wanted it was all heat and seduction. There was never any substance to those relationships, and he had preferred it that way. Preferred the women who were seduced by his face, body, status, or wealth. It made everything so much easier, so much less…weighty. He had no doubt he could seduce Callie into bed. Even now, his body tightened at the thought of how she would feel against him, how her mouth would fuse to his, taste.
So he was trapped for the time being. However, what it amounted to was yet another compelling reason to steer clear of Callie. Thanks to this dilemma with Jill and her pregnancy from a prized potential stud, he couldn’t ignore the protocol. The owners had a right to check out his dog. They had a right to be concerned about her offspring.
He also recognized that Jill had to have some training. He wouldn’t be in this predicament if she had been spoiled less and disciplined more. Again, Callie could help him. So, for sixty days at most he would have to interact with her. Jill’s puppies would be born by then, and Jill would be sufficiently trained. He could go back to just being her neighbor.
“But if it doesn’t help to talk about it, I’ll try not to mention your great aunt.”
“If you have questions, it’s all right to ask them, Callie. It’s true that her passing has been hard, but I wouldn’t stifle your curiosity. She was a wonderful lady and deserves to be remembered with respect and love. I was lucky to have had her, to have known her and to have been loved by her.” He was quite shocked at the words that came out of his mouth. Callie squeezed his arm and then was distracted by maneuvering the Jeep through traffic. He had to take a moment to regroup. Never had he revealed so much to anyone.
She pulled into a long drive that led up to a large house with kennels. Two posts held a green and blue sign that said Lassiter Run in bold letters.
The big Victorian was a real showpiece, with a riot of fall flowers planted along the beautifully maintained walk. Pumpkins were scattered here and there, along with multi-colored cornhusks which decorated the front porch posts. Little pumpkin lights were strung along the eaves. Baskets of spider mums hung from the porch’s rafters, and rockers invited guests to sit awhile and enjoy the company of friends. It was very homey and inviting.
A tall, sandy-haired woman came out onto the porch, flanked by a black and white adolescent Great Dane and a full-grown brindle.
She waved to Callie with a wide grin on her face, and it made his heart ache just a little.
Callie jumped out of the vehicle and both dogs launched themselves off the porch and sprinted to her, greeting her joyously with barks that woke both Jack and Jill. He noticed how well the Lassiter Run dogs behaved. Neither one jumped up. She petted them, and then told them to stay as she raced up the steps and gave her mother a big hug.
Owen felt as if he was intruding on her private time, but she motioned him out of the Jeep. His palms sweaty, he wiped them on his pants before getting out. Jill whined when he shut the door, but he ignored her for now.
He approached the stairs, and Callie’s mother eyed his face, then his clothes. She narrowed her eyes at Callie, but the younger woman just shook her head.
“Mom, this is Owen McKay. He’s my neighbor in the City.”
Callie’s mom reached out her hand and said somewhat cautiously, “Hello, Owen. Welcome to Lassiter Run.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Lassiter.”
“Oh, please, call me Kate.”
He nodded.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Someone told me you were making ham and scalloped potatoes and a peach cobbler,” Callie said slyly.
“Oh, Ian has such a big mouth.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad he can’t be here, but he’s got a show to get ready for.”
“I understand,” she said looking from Owen to Callie.
Callie glanced at him and took a deep breath. “Mom, we’re here because, well…Owen has a beautiful Great Dane bitch.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Did you bring her with you?”
“Yes,” he said looking over his shoulder at Callie’s Jeep. “She’s in the car.”
“Mom,” Callie said, and the note of trepidation in her daughter’s voice made her focus on Callie.
“What’s wrong?”
“Well, we happened to walk our dogs at the same time and they got a little excited to see each other. They escaped together for about an hour.”
“I see.”
“Owen had just inherited her from a family member, and he wasn’t aware she was in heat.”
“Oh, dear. She’s pregnant by Jack. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Exactly.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs.…Kate. If I could fix this, I would.”
“Well, it seems that the fixing should have occurred before she got pregnant,” she said with a laugh.
Owen’s anxiety lessened by degrees at the open and amused look on Kate’s face. He chuckled and so did Callie.
“Owen didn’t mean for it to happen. I’m sorry that Jack got his dog pregnant. I should have been more vigilant.”
“It was an accident. What kind of agreement have you come up with?”
>
“Owen has offered us the pick of the litter.”
“That sounds fair,” Kate said, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. Then she turned to him. “Owen, not to sound elitist, but what is Jill’s pedigree? I’d also be very interested in her medical records. Danes can be prone to hip dysplasia, and other types of diseases and abnormalities that make any dog that has them a poor candidate for breeding. We’re very careful in our breeding program to maintain the highest quality, both for our Danes and for the breed as a whole.”
“I can appreciate that. I brought her papers and medical records for you to look at. She does come from championship stock.” Owen pulled the papers from his back pocket.
Kate took them and started reading. She nodded her head as she read. “Oh, nice! Champion Martin Lacy’s Coal Black Miner for her sire and Champion Hollywood’s Marilyn Monroe for her dam. Excellent dogs. I know Hollywood’s owner personally, but am only acquainted with Martin and Lacy Ball. I see she’s registered as Martin Lacy’s Jill St. John Diamonds are Forever. I know that Lacy is a big fan of James Bond movies. That all seems to be in order. She also has a clean bill of health. Well, get her out of the car and let’s take a look at her.”
He nodded and walked back to let the dogs out. Jill jumped down and was instantly greeted by the rambunctious puppy and the fawn adult who looked almost exactly like her.
“Callie, take Lila and Summer back into the house.” Callie reached down and awkwardly scooped up the seventy pound “puppy” and gave Summer a hand signal. The dog fell into step with her. It only took her moments to return.
Jack made a beeline for Kate and gave her plenty of kisses when she knelt down. Giving him gentle pats, she said, “It’s nice to see you, too, Jack. Looks like you have been getting yourself into some mischief. Let’s take a look at your sweetheart.”
Kate approached the dog, but didn’t make eye contact, and Jill stood easily, smelling the wind. When Kate touched her, she didn’t react, and Callie’s mother nodded in approval. She ran her hands on either side of her muzzle, then the head and the neck down to her back. She nodded again and her expression eased some. “Could I see her move, please?”
Owen clipped on her leash and ran with her to the edge of the house and back. Kate watched with an intent expression on her face, and then she smiled.
“Well, I’ve got this to say. If you ever want to show that dog, she would be a champion. She’s regal and graceful. She has a beautiful, full, square jaw with a deep muzzle, and a long, well-arched neck. Her croup slopes perfectly. Her temperament is also good, but if she’s a bit unruly, Callie could probably help you with the training. She’s top notch.”
“I already have them scheduled,” Callie said.
“I appreciate your graciousness regarding this situation with our dogs,” Owen added. “I can assure you that I’ll take very good care of her while she’s pregnant.”
“I’m sure you will, and thank you for the offer of the puppy. I’m not really sure what the protocol is regarding accidental pregnancy in purebred dogs, but this will suffice. I think we might get a Harlequin out of the litter.”
“Why don’t you show Owen the kennels?” Kate continued. “You can leave Jill here with me and take Jack to see his daddy. He’s in number six. Dinner will be ready in about an hour.”
“Okay, Mom. Jack,” Callie called. Jack looked at her, then at Jill, as if undecided. Her mother gave Callie a wink and a soft smile.
“Ah, he’s torn between his two ladyloves. Hold onto his collar and I’ll take Jill into the house.”
Callie grasped Jack’s collar, but he didn’t even try to bolt. He whined softly when the door closed behind Jill, but obediently followed Callie as she turned to head toward several fenced-in areas that had numerous dogs in each.
One was full of puppies of all different sizes and colors frolicking on their long, gangly legs. Callie stopped and they came running to the gate. She petted a few and moved on. When they had walked for about ten minutes, they came upon a pen that held a regal Harlequin. His ears pricked and he came alert as he saw Callie and Jack. With a soft woof, he bounded toward the gate. Callie laughed as he pranced around impatiently while she unlatched the gate and let Jack in. Father and son exchanged greetings. When that was done, it was Callie’s turn, and she obediently obliged the reigning champion of Lassiter Run with long stokes along his head and back.
“I can see why this is a championship Dane. He’s magnificent.”
“Yes, he is. And he’s a good boy. Aren’t you, Samson?”
She rubbed the dog’s face, and he clearly reveled in the attention. Her hands were strong and sure, the slender fingers buried in the dog’s soft fur. “Samson?”
She smiled at Owen’s confusion and gave him an indulgent sideways glance, her green eyes animated. And once again, he had to remind himself that she wasn’t his type.
“That’s his call name,” she explained. “Registered names are a formality. Sometimes dogs will be called a variation of their registered name like my friend Harper’s standard poodle, Blue, and others, like Samson, are called by a totally different name. He’s named after my grandfather, who built this kennel and passed it on to my father.”
She bent down and picked up a ball. Both dogs stood at attention, and she hurled it across the run. Four hundred pounds of muscle dashed after it in long-legged strides.
Callie wasn’t hard on the eyes. That was for sure. And he admired a woman who didn’t mind getting her hands dirty. It appeared she wore little or no makeup, and had pulled her long brown hair into a ponytail beneath the baseball cap she wore as easily as some women wore diamonds.
Long hair. He liked that. He’d be lying to himself if he denied wondering how it would feel in his hands, how it would look loose and free around her shoulders. He was a guy, after all. But it was clear she wasn’t all that caught up in the more conventional rituals of being female. Actually, Owen unapologetically enjoyed that extra emphasis on femininity in the women he chose to spend time with. Tomboys had their appeal, but he typically preferred a woman who embraced her femaleness.
The dogs came bounding back, Jack proudly displaying the ball for his mistress. Callie threw it several more times. Finally, she said, wiping her hands on her jeans, “Let’s leave Jack here, and I’ll show you the kennels. They’re probably empty right now, because the weather is good, so they’re all in the runs.”
The kennels were immaculate, with deep green trimmed lilac hedges that would shade the kennels to keep them cool. Baskets of pink impatiens hung from the extended roofs that protected the walkways and kennels from inclement weather. About halfway down the first row they came upon a man hosing out one of the kennels.
“Dad.”
He gave her a brief, one-armed hug. “Hello, sweetheart. Who do we have here?”
“This is Owen McKay.”
Her father reached out his hand, his eyes speculative. “Hello Owen, welcome.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Call me Daniel.”
“We’re here because Jack got Owen’s dog pregnant.”
“Oh, ho, what did your mother say about that?” His eyes sparkled.
“She checked her over, and she’s fine with it. It was a total accident.”
“These things happen. Are you staying for dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Wonderful. Giving Owen the tour?”
“She has been, and you have a very nice facility.”
“Thank you. We try. I’ll let you get back to it.”
As they walked off, her father called out. “Callie, before you go, could you grab a screwdriver out of the tool chest in the shed?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Callie led them to a small shed situated under a sycamore tree. She pushed open the door and ducked inside. He followed. The shed looked as though it had been built by hand. “Did your father build this?”
Callie pulled up the lid of the toolbox. “No, my
mother did.”
“She did?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she said as she looked up at him. “She redesigned this whole kennel, too.”
The light slanted in through a small window and fell on her face. The dancing sparkle in her eyes captured him as effortlessly as a beautiful view.
His breath hitched a bit when she looked down again and rummaged around in the toolbox. Her brown hair came alive in the sun. Golden highlights mixed with rich chestnut glowed with color.
She scowled and dug deeper into the box. He stepped closer, partly to be nearer to her, and partly to see if he could distract himself by looking for the elusive screwdriver.
“Don’t be a sexist,” she said, giving him a censuring look and nudging him with her shoulder. Body contact is not what he needed right now.
“I try not to be. It’s a guy thing. We automatically think that anything this well-built must have been done by a man.”
“So, you’re really more egotistical,” she said with a grin.
He tried to remember that she wasn’t his type. Remember that they were neighbors and that it was stupid to get involved with someone who lived that close. She was a sweet, commitment-type girl, the sort who set off his alarms. But either the volume was turned down, or he’d gotten too used to hearing them, because for some reason he couldn’t seem to heed those alarms at the moment. Wholesome and down-to-earth described her perfectly, and seeing where she grew up only solidified his assessment of her character. He’d had no idea how seductive wholesome could be. Then, of course, his guy mind started wondering how sweet she would taste. How that taut little body would feel, would respond to his touch.
He leaned across her to check a specific part of the toolbox, caught her clean, fresh scent. She turned her face, and it was so close to his. He glanced down to her mouth and felt control simply evaporate.
