A New Leash On Love (Furever Yours Book 1)

by Melissa Senate

  He heard barking coming from down a long hallway behind the lobby. He could see a couple of doors marked Staff Only, and one at the far end that said Veterinary Clinic. There were two additional rooms, one marked Cats and one marked Dogs. From his vantage point, he could see through the large glass window of the Dogs room; a couple was sitting down and petting Tucker, the little chiweenie who seemed a lot more interested in them than he’d been in Matt and Ellie the other day.

  The woman in the room tried to pick up Tucker and got barked at; Matt could hear the loud barks from where he stood. Then another woman moved into view—and Matt would know that blond hair anywhere. Claire. How had he forgotten that she’d said she’d be volunteering at five? “He will not do at all!” the woman snapped as she opened the door and huffed out, followed by her husband and an exasperated Claire, with little Tucker on a leash.

  Maybe he’s nervous and doesn’t want to be picked up by a total stranger who’s hovering over him, he wanted to shout. Jeez.

  “Perhaps you could come to our adoption event his weekend,” Claire was saying. “Many of our adoptable dogs are with foster parents, but they’ll all be here this Saturday and Sunday.”

  “Well, if they’re less ferocious than him,” the man said.

  Matt almost burst out laughing. Tucker was what—thirteen pounds soaking wet?

  “Tucker isn’t ferocious,” Claire said, and Matt was impressed by the warmth in her voice. “Just a combination of timid and stressed.”

  “Well, you did tell us he could be skittish and barky,” the woman said, her tone calmer. “My fault for insisting on meeting him just because he sounded cute.”

  Huh. Now Matt could see why Claire’s way—being civil and kind and gently explaining—was smarter than his, which would have been to tell the woman she didn’t seem like a dog person.

  And he was starting to become one himself. So he sort of knew.

  “Tucker could use a dedicated foster parent, but right now, all our foster homes are full,” Claire added.

  The woman eyed Tucker with disdain. Humph.

  “He’s not the one,” the man with her said. “We’re looking for ‘just right.’ A dog with a certain personality.”

  Matt sighed. From everything he’d read, even the most “just right” rescue dog wouldn’t show his true personality till he or she was settled and comfortable in a new home. Basic temperament, sure. But personality would take time to emerge.

  “Well, we’ll be back Saturday,” the woman said, and the couple headed for the door.

  He watched Birdie send Claire a look that told him this kind of thing was common. Expectations and reality meeting and clashing.

  Finally, Claire turned and noticed Matt, and he saw her stiffen. “Oh, hi. I didn’t realize you were here. Everything okay with Sparkle?”

  He nodded. “I could use more training treats,” he said, holding up the four pouches he’d picked up from the wall display.

  She nodded. “I’d better get Tucker back to his kennel.”

  “Can I follow you? I’d like to say hi to ole Hank, maybe walk him if that’s all right?”

  Birdie smiled. “He’d love that.”

  Did Claire just shoot Birdie a look? One that said, Oh thanks, I wanted to flee his presence? Yeah, he was pretty sure of it.

  He followed Claire down the hallway. She pushed through the door to the Dogs room, Tucker following on his little legs. The dog seemed instantly calmer. He must have gotten used to this area, to the twelve or so big kennels with gated access to the outside—a small fenced area with grass and gravel. This had become home for the pint-size mutt. Matt sure hoped it wouldn’t be for too much longer.

  Claire put Tucker back in his kennel, and he immediately went to his bed and settled down with his chew toy. Then she joined Matt at Hank’s kennel. The big brown dog with the pointy ears was sitting at the front as if he knew Matt was here to take him out for a stroll.

  “Hey, ole guy,” Matt said, kneeling down, easier this time than yesterday. “How are ya?” He glanced up at Claire. “Can I slip him one of these?” he asked, pulling a treat from the pocket of his leather jacket.

  She smiled. “He’d love it.” She looked at Hank, her expression clouding up a bit. “A man came in to look at the dogs soon after I started my shift. The guy liked Hank’s soulful eyes on his first walk-through of the area, so I brought Hank into the meeting room, hopeful he’d found a match. But he decided he couldn’t deal with a three-legged dog. He also didn’t like the way Hank’s ears didn’t flop.” She shook her head. “I love Hank’s ears.”

  Matt did too. Seriously, those huge pointy ears almost made Hank look like he could fly by batting them. “Passed up again, huh, guy?” he said, his heart going out to the beautiful dog. “How long has he been here?”

  “Almost a month.”

  “Cooped up here a month? And no one wants him because he’s missing a leg and doesn’t have floppy ears?” He shook his head. Hell, Hank didn’t wince or take fifteen seconds to get up and down the way Matt did with two legs. Hank ruled. Hank was the best. Hank was...his? “You know what, Hank? If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take you home.”

  Claire gasped. “Really? That would be amazing!”

  Ten seconds ago, he’d had no idea that he wanted to adopt Hank, but he must have wanted to all along. The idea of it was so right. He was meant to bring this dog home. Matt wasn’t sure of much these days, but he knew that. “Hank’s so calm I’m sure he’d be gentle with Sparkle, right?”

  “Oh, yes. Those two have played together in the yard a few times since Sparkle first came in. They’re great together.”

  Man, it was nice to see that smile again, such pure joy on Claire’s face. Earlier, he’d been responsible for taking it off. Now, he’d put it back.

  “Well, if I’m approved to adopt Hank, I’d like to give him a forever home.”

  “You mean a furever home,” she said with a grin. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, then stepped back, her smile fading. “Sorry about that. Just a little excited for one of my favorites. Oh, Matt, I just know you two are a pair.”

  He held her gaze, her green eyes sparkling. He loved making her so happy. Even if it was about a dog and not the two of them.

  And just like that, Matt left with Sparkle’s training treats and a whole bunch of other stuff for his new dog, Hank, including a spiffy navy-blue collar and leash, a huge memory foam dog bed, a soft quilt and the toys that Claire said he seemed to like best. A small fortune later, but worth every penny, Matt and Claire had everything in his car, including Hank, who rode shotgun in the front seat. Matt put the passenger-seat window all the way down so Hank could put his face out if he wanted, even in the February chill.

  “Your days in a kennel are over, buddy,” Matt said, giving Hank a rub along his soft back.

  Hank glanced at him in appreciation, Matt could tell, and stuck his snout out the window. The ole guy was smiling. No doubt.

  “I could cry, I’m so happy for him,” Claire said as she stood in front of the driver’s window. “And not only does Hank get a great home, I get to see him all the time!”

  Matt gave her a more rueful smile than he’d intended. Seeing each other all the time probably wasn’t a good idea. Living in Claire’s house probably wasn’t a good idea. Hadn’t his smart sister said exactly that?

  Right now, he was going to focus on getting his new dog settled. He’d think about what the hell he was going to do about Claire Asher later. Much later. Because as much as he knew living on her property was a problem, he didn’t want to leave.

  * * *

  BigReader, aka Connor Hearon, was as attractive as his photo had indicated. Tall and lanky, with a mop of light brown hair and warm brown eyes, he gave her hope that she could find another man besides Matt Fielding attractive and interesting. Of course, Matt was on her
mind. Taking over her mind, actually. When Connor mentioned he was reading a certain biography, Claire’s first thought was that Matt would love the book about a climb up Mt. Everest, since he’d loved reading adventure memoirs as a teenager. When Connor ordered the Main Street Grille’s special pasta entrée, Claire thought about how Matt would have gone for that too.

  What. Was. Wrong. With. Her?

  She knew what. Matt Fielding had adopted Hank. A three-legged senior dog that no one else had wanted. Who’d been languishing at Furever Paws for a month. And he’d adopted him despite already fostering and training a puppy for his niece. So, no matter what Matt said, his actions spoke louder to her soul than his words did to her brain. Did that even make any sense? It did to her heart, unfortunately.

  He told you! He’s leaving town! He’s got some crazy notion stuck in his head that he’s not good enough for you, that he has nothing to offer you. That all he has in this world is a duffel bag. And now a dog.

  She let herself remember him telling her all that. She made herself remember how he’d stopped them from ending up in bed—twice.

  And then she forced herself to pay more attention to Connor and push Matt from her consciousness. She focused on the outdoorsman crinkles on the sides of those kind, intelligent eyes.

  You know who else has a dog? This guy. BigReader. A man whose profile had stated that he wanted a long-term relationship leading to marriage and children.

  “So you’re divorced?” Connor asked, twirling his fork in his pasta.

  “It’s been three years,” she said, then bit into her black bean burger. “But I just entered the dating world about six months ago. Ready to get back out there and all.”

  He nodded. “I’ve been out there for the past six months too. Eye-opening, huh?”

  She smiled. “Well, this is actually my first attempt at online dating. I’ve been saying yes to fix-ups, but I thought I’d start engineering my own future.”

  “Fix-ups have gone more my way,” he said. “I’ve noticed a lot of women fib about this or that. Like weight.” He puffed out his cheeks.

  Uh, really? Did he just say that? Do that? “Well, I’ve heard men post ten-year-old photos of themselves when they had more hair.”

  BigReader had a head full of hair, so it wasn’t as though she was insulting him. Their conversation had taken a bit of a sharp turn, so she wanted to direct it back to kinder, gentler territory.

  He seemed to realize that he was being a jerk. “Sorry. I don’t mean you. You could probably stand to gain a good five pounds,” he added, eyeing her breasts.

  Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.

  “Oh God, I’m really blowing this, aren’t I?” He chuckled, because apparently that was hilarious. “I guess I’m just a little gun-shy about relationships. My last girlfriend was two-timing me. And the girlfriend before that was in it because she thought I made a pot of money.” He snorted.

  Jeez, couldn’t he talk about movies or waterways he’d boated down?

  She’d finish her dinner and make an excuse to leave immediately. “Well, at least you have that gorgeous dog, right?” she said, swiping a fry through ketchup. She recalled his profile pic with the majestic golden retriever sitting beside him on the boat. “It’s amazing how much joy dogs bring to people’s lives. When you’re feeling down or you’re under the weather, a warm nose and furry body next to you can be so comforting.”

  He snorted again—this time with a bitter edge. “I lost the dog in the divorce. More like I had no problem letting the ex have Banjo so I could demand what I really wanted. Worked like a charm.”

  Jerk.

  He slurped his pasta, and there was no way she could sit there another second. Just when she was thinking of how she could end this date before he even finished his meal, her friend Amanda came over to the table. “How is everything?”

  Claire knew Amanda pretty well since they’d spent many hours together at Furever Paws, and she could see the slight raise of her eyebrow—the question was more directed at how Claire thought the date was going.

  BigReader held up a finger and made a show of finishing chewing. “The pasta’s great, but, honestly? I didn’t love the dressing on my salad. I like my Italian a little more...something.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Amanda said, her blue eyes on Connor. “I hope a complimentary dessert will make you forget all about that salad dressing. We have some great offerings tonight—”

  “Gotta watch my figure for the online dating thing,” he said on a laugh.

  Amanda offered Claire a rueful smile, clearly able to see for herself how this date was going, then headed to another table.

  “So,” Connor said. “Back to your place for a nightcap?”

  “I don’t think we’re a match,” Claire replied honestly.

  He shrugged again. “No worries. It’s a numbers game. You gotta be in it to win it, right?”

  Claire just wanted to be out of there. “Being in it isn’t easy. It’s hard sitting across from someone you have little in common with and didn’t know yesterday when there are so many expectations.”

  “Well, there’s your problem, Claire. Expectations. If you’re attracted, great. A little making out, even sex. If you’re not attracted, buh-bye. Next.”

  “Well, I guess it’s next then.”

  “With that attitude, you’ll be single for the rest of your life.” He got up and put a twenty-dollar bill on the table, which would barely cover his entrée, his two beers and his share of the tip. “Good luck out there. You’ll need it.”

  “You too,” she said, shaking her head, as BigReader made his exit.

  “Good riddance to bad date-ish,” Amanda said, sliding a slice of chocolate cake in front of Claire. “Compliments of the Main Street Grille for putting up with that guy for an hour.”

  Claire laughed. And dug in. But now what? How many of these dates was she supposed to go on? If it really was a numbers game, she didn’t have the energy to date that many frogs to find someone close to a prince. Maybe she should stop forcing it. Let it happen naturally, organically. She had met a few single men while volunteering at Furever Paws, but sharing a love of dogs didn’t necessarily mean they’d have much else in common. There was always the upcoming regional teachers conference, which might be a source of potential Mr. Rights. The local parks were full of them too. Joggers. Dog walkers. Bench readers. So she wasn’t completely a hopeless case. Except maybe when it came to one man.

  The man who refused to be Mr. Right was probably in her own backyard right now with his two pooches. She wanted to be home more than anything else in the world. But since her plan to distract herself from Matt’s magnetic pull was a big bust, how was she going to protect her heart against him?

  * * *

  Matt had already taken a thousand pictures of Sparkle being cute, texting them to his sister to share with his niece, but now he had the photo of all photos. Hank, his big body curled up in his memory foam bed, the little brown-and-white puppy nestled alongside his belly.

  Laura sent back an aww! and said Ellie was dying to come over to meet Hank and work with Sparkle—how about tomorrow?—so he set that up. After a month in the shelter, Hank deserved getting special fuss treatment from an eight-year-old dog enthusiast.

  He glanced at the time on his phone—eight forty-five. “Come on, lazybones,” he said to the pooches. “Let’s go outside, and then you can curl right back up.”

  All he had to do to communicate his intentions was pick up a leash. Hank ambled over, Sparkle trotting beside him and giving his one front leg a sniff. Matt put on his leather jacket, eager for the days when he wouldn’t have to shiver outside at night, and brought the dogs out. Hands in his pockets, he stood at the far end of the yard, away from Claire’s patio. The lights were off inside, and he wondered where she was. Date?

  Don’t think about it, he told himself. The
dogs did their business, so he threw a ball for them, Hank flying after it, Sparkle on his heels. Wow, Hank could run well on three legs. He was so much bigger and faster than Sparkle that he got the ball before her every time.

  He heard a car pull into the driveway on the other side of the house. Claire. He listened for the front door opening and closing, then saw lights flick on inside. The sliding glass door to the yard opened, and she came out with Dempsey. He couldn’t help noticing she was dressed up. And wearing makeup, similar to how she’d looked when he’d run into her on her date with Slick. Both “dog shelter Claire,” with a fresh-scrubbed face, ponytail and old jeans, and “date Claire” were stunning.

  “Date?” he asked before he could tell his brain not to spit it out.

  “Actually, yes.” She threw a ball for Dempsey, who was too busy sniffing—and being sniffed by—Hank. The three dogs were moving in a comical circle of sniffing noses, bellies and butts, then stopping to stare off at some unseen critter before resuming their nose work.

  “Find Mr. Right?” he asked, his chest tightening. Why the hell was he even going there? He didn’t want to have this conversation.

  “He used the dog as a pawn in his divorce to get what he wanted from his ex. She could have the dog, which he said he didn’t want anyway, so he could get x, y, z. God, I hate people.”

  “Some people,” he said. “You have the right to hate me, Claire. But I hope you don’t. You—” Shut up, he told himself, clamping his lips shut. He threw a ball for the dogs, and this time they all went for it, Dempsey winning.

  “I what?” she asked with something of a wince. He hated that he made her brace herself.

  “You once made me want to be a better person,” he said. “Yeah, I enlisted in tribute to my brother and to serve my country, but I also knew the army would give me direction—turn me into a good man.”

  She shoved her hands in her pockets, and suddenly he was aware again of how cold it was. “You were a perfectly good young man in high school,” she said.