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    Man's Best Friend
    Man's Best Friend
    Man's Best Friend
    Ebook288 pages4 hours

    Man's Best Friend

    By Nina Coombs Pykare

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    About this ebook

    Jenny Carruthers hadn’t expected to adopt a furry pet like Fido. But Fido had plans for her, and when Brad Ferris, handsome photographer, came into her life, Fido realized that Brad was perfect for his human. If only Jenny would realize it… But his mistress had “issues” from the past and Fido would have to use some very good dog sense to get these two together. Contemporary Romance by Nina Coombs Pykare writing as Nina Coombs
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBelgrave House
    Release dateJan 12, 2013
    ISBN9781610847278
    Man's Best Friend

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      Book preview

      Man's Best Friend - Nina Coombs Pykare

      Pykare

      Chapter One

      The October wind whistled down the street of the Cleveland suburb, scurried between the middle-class houses, and tugged at the long dark brown hair of the woman standing with her hand raised to knock. The big scruffy dog beside her whined and tugged at the leash. Jenny Carruthers hesitated. She looked down past two ragged ears into soulful brown eyes pleading through snarled hair. Don’t worry, boy. You’ll be inside in a minute. You’re home now. The dog whined again and pressed his cold nose against her fingers. She jerked her hand away, out of his reach. She hadn’t petted a dog since ... None of that. You’re not mine. I don’t have a dog anymore. And I don’t want one.

      She felt the stinging behind her eyes, but there was no time for tears now.

      She knocked, huddling down into her jacket. Should have worn her heavier coat. The wind was cold. The sooner this dog was returned to his owner the better. Being around dogs made her think of Torrie. And that hurt too much.

      She knocked again. Come on. Answer the door. Still no one. Maybe the owner was out looking for the dog. Well, she’d knock once more, then leave a note. She raised her hand again. And the door swung open.

      Her breath left her lungs in one great emptying whoosh. The hunk standing there could have posed for a Cosmo centerfold. Above his bare tanned feet, faded jeans looked like they’d been enameled to his thighs. His bare chest was a mini-jungle of golden furry hair that invited a woman’s exploration.

      In one of his big hands he gripped a bright red bath towel. Absently he rubbed his chest with it, hiding his body from her fascinated gaze. For a moment she wanted to reach out and brush the towel aside, to look some more.

      Sorry to keep you waiting. You caught me in the shower.

      His voice was deep and sexy, reminding her of warm summer nights and parked cars on Sweetheart Hill and the feel of—She raised her gaze to his face. I—ah— He not only had a great chest, he was swallow-your-tongue handsome. Blond curls, still damp, clung around his face and brushed his neck. A mustache didn’t conceal his strong, even teeth. Or lips that looked like he could kiss with the best of them. He had a bold nose, a chin that said he took no guff, and gray-green eyes that held a hint of mischief. Those eyes gazed down into hers and her stomach did a series of somersaults that landed it in her mouth.

      Yes? he said in that deep sexy voice. What is it?

      She struggled to find her wits and get her tongue to work. I—ah—I saw your poster. I found your dog.

      He glanced at the animal beside her, then back at her face. My dog?

      "This is three-twenty-five Oak Street, isn’t it?"

      Oh, yes, he said. This is. But—

      Good. She hurried on, afraid to stop talking for fear she wouldn’t be able to start again. What was there about this man that interfered with her breathing? After all, she’d seen hunks before, even been engaged to one. And she’d sworn off men anyway, so what did she care what they thought. I saw your notice on the telephone pole outside the grocery store. And then I found this dog hanging around in my backyard. He came right to me when I called out ‘Fido.’ So I knew he was yours and—

      That? the man exploded, opening his eyes wide. That? And he burst into loud laughter.

      He had a nice laugh, but why was he laughing now? Well, some people did laugh when they were nervous. But why should he be nervous? A hunk like that had no reason to—

      "That thing’s not my dog."

      The dog pressed against her thigh, almost as if he understood he was being insulted. Automatically she reached down to scratch behind his shaggy ears. It wasn’t his fault this guy didn’t have any manners.

      She glared at the man. The notice said big dog, bushy-tailed and bright-eyed, answers to the name Fido. Didn’t it?

      The man nodded, his eyes still gleaming with laughter. Yes, I guess it did.

      Well, she snapped, he is and he did.

      The man coughed, like he was swallowing another laugh. What was so funny anyway? She was sick and tired of—

      Maybe so, he said, but he’s not mine. My Fido is smaller. Cleaner. And a she.

      She snorted in exasperation. Well! You could have said so.

      He shrugged those magnificent shoulders. And then he burst into laughter again.

      Crim-in-ently! She didn’t have to stand there and listen to some bozo laugh at her. Even if he was a hunk. Well, what could she expect? Men were like that. Lying so-and-sos like Hugh said they’d love you forever and then took off the minute some slinky blonde beckoned to them.

      Dishonest bosses like Morris called your work their own and made piles of money for themselves. Men were all alike. No good. That’s why she’d sworn off them.

      She turned her back on this one, fleeing down the steps and out onto the leaf-covered sidewalk, his laughter echoing in her ears. Ignorant so-and-so! Let him find his own blasted dog!

      She dragged the stray down the street, her sneakers making a satisfying splatting sound against the pavement in spite of the fallen leaves. She’d like to splat him—laughing at her like that. Too bad it wasn’t his face down there she was stomping! Why hadn’t he made his stupid poster more specific? Anyone with sense knew Fido was a male dog’s name.

      Suddenly, without warning, the stray dropped to his haunches. He was a big dog, and she wasn’t expecting him to stop like that—so quickly. The leash jerked her off balance and she ended up on her behind, sitting right there on the sidewalk among the damp leaves, swallowing curses she’d rather scream out loud.

      The dog came over and pressed itself against her, whining again. I know, she said. You didn’t mean to make me fall. But nothing was hurt. She scowled, Unless you count my dignity—and my bruised behind.

      What was she doing with a stray on a leash anyway? Guess there’s no need to keep you on this now. She undid it from around his neck and waved him off.

      Calm down, she told herself. Just forget the creep. So he laughed. So what? He’s not worth getting all upset about. He’s not.

      It was good advice, but, like a lot of advice, hard to follow. And the dog still sitting there didn’t help. Get out of here, she told him, trying to shoo him away with her hand, out toward someone’s yard. "I’m not looking for a dog. My dog’s dead. My only dog."

      He looked at her with those sorrowful eyes and whined. "Sorry, boy, I can’t help you. I thought I was taking you home. But I guess you’re lucky you don’t belong to him. That man’s a no-good—

      I’m so sorry, the stranger said, coming up behind her.

      She felt the blood flooding her cheeks. He would have to catch her like this! Sitting on her behind on cold, wet concrete, looking like a real fool.

      I’d have caught up with you sooner, he said, hurrying around in front of her, but I had to put shoes on. He shivered dramatically. It’s cold out here, you know.

      She had a fascinating glimpse of bare tanned ankles above well-worn sneakers. Then he slid his hands under her elbows and pulled her to her feet. Somehow she ended up against him and discovered that her hands were inside his unbuttoned jacket, on his bare chest, on that bare furry chest!

      I—ah— She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t get her tongue to come unstuck from the roof of her mouth. All she could do was look up at that handsome face and remind herself that she’d sworn off men. Sworn off them forever.

      I’m really sorry, he said, little lines crinkling in a friendly way around his eyes, nice eyes peering at her with concern. I shouldn’t have laughed at you. Are you all right? I saw you go down. He patted her back, his hand soothing. I hope you didn’t hurt anything in that fall.

      For one wild second she almost burrowed against him. His chest was warm under her fingers and his face was so close to hers. His lips were even with her eyes, those kissable lips that seemed to be pulling her toward him. If she stretched just a little, lifted herself the tiniest bit on her toes, she could reach—Enough already! Stop it! I’m—I’m all right, she mumbled, feeling anything but.

      He sighed, his green-gray eyes twinkling; then he shrugged. The motion made his flesh move invitingly under her hands. There she stood, her hands against a stranger’s bare chest. She ought to take them out of his jacket; she ought to move away from him. She ought to, but she didn’t.

      Well, he said, those wonderful warm eyes smiling down into hers, I am really sorry.

      Her hands were still inside his jacket, still resting against his flesh. She could feel his heart (humping under her fingers. She took them away, finally, regretfully, feeling their emptiness as they lost the feel of his skin.

      Listen, he said, smiling down at her, it’s awful cold out here. Why don’t you come back to my place and have a cup of coffee? Please. Let me show you that I’m not such a bad guy after all.

      I— she began. No men, she reminded herself. But she was cold. Well, I guess I could use a cup of coffee.

      * * * *

      From behind a nearby bush Fido watched the humans walk away together. Good job! he told himself. That laughing man human ought to make the woman human laugh, too. That’s what she needed—lots of laughing. There was too much sadness in her. He could smell it a block away. Just like he could smell the goodness in the man. And the loneliness in them both.

      He’d been a little rough on her, maybe, stopping so quickly like that, making her end up on her behind on the sidewalk. But he hadn’t had much choice. Humans took a lot of training, and he hadn’t had this one long enough to teach her anything. So, if he wanted to let the man human catch up to her, he had to resort to drastic measures. Do something to make her stay there till the man could get there.

      He scratched at a persistent flea behind his ear. Time he had a bath. Well, no sense hanging around here. He’d better get back to the house and scout out a place to sleep. She wasn’t convinced yet that she was his human, so he’d probably have to spend another night outside. But she’d get the idea before too long. He could tell she was smart. That’s why he’d chosen her.

      Chapter Two

      The name’s Brad Ferris, Brad said, opening the front door for the woman and motioning her inside. Ferris Studios, specializing in children’s portraits.

      Her eyebrows went up. Children’s? He shrugged. What can I say? I like kids. He liked what he saw, too. The woman who’d been so angry was smiling at him now, her eyes deep brown, luminous, but, thank goodness, no longer reproachful, like the dog’s. Her mahogany hair, blown by the wind, framed a delicate face that was even prettier now that she wasn’t so ticked off at him. Her faded jeans clung to her long legs and a dark green jacket hugged her upper body. Neither one hid the fact that she was nicely put together. Very nicely.

      Instead of pulling her back into his arms as he’d wanted to, he showed her into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

      She opened her jacket, revealing a plaid flannel shirt. He smiled to himself—a down-to-earth woman. Just the kind he liked.

      How’d you lose your dog? she asked, settling into a chair.

      He made a rueful noise. Sheer stupidity, I guess.

      She gave him a questioning look, those brown eyes bright.

      I should’ve been more careful with her, he explained, She’s always been like that—open the door and she’s gone. A real dog explorer.

      She smiled at him and he felt his body growing warm. Of course that could be because he was still wearing his jacket. He took it off and reached for the shirt he’d left hanging over a chair. She was looking at his chest. Did she like it? If he could just pull her up and feel her touch him again ... Good grief! He had to stop thinking like that. This woman was a stranger. He couldn’t invite her to touch his chest! He shrugged into his shirt.

      We’ve only been in this house a few weeks. He buttoned the shirt with fingers that seemed to have become all thumbs. I’d been real careful, too, watching the door and using a leash whenever I took her out. If a snotty little kid hadn’t rattled me that day, sticking out her tongue just when I finally thought I’d gotten the shot her picky mother wanted, I wouldn’t have been so ticked off when I got home. And I wouldn’t have forgotten and opened the door too wide.

      Maybe she’ll come back yet, Mr. Ferris. Her voice was comforting and warm, a cozy-blanket voice he could listen to for the rest of his life. Wow, where had that come from? He’d only just met the woman. But would he ever forget the feel of her hands on his chest?

      I hope she does. He set a cup in front of her, filled his own, and sank into a chair. Call me Brad. What shall I call you?

      Jenny.

      Just Jenny? Why couldn’t he think of something smart and snappy to say? He wanted to, but his body was still reacting to the feel of her hands. Her warm, tender hands on his chest. He wished they were there right now. He wished ...

      Just Jenny.

      Get with it, he told himself. You can’t lose now. Get the necessary facts. You live around here?

      She took a sip of coffee. A couple of blocks away.

      He swallowed a sigh of disappointment. Well, that was it. He couldn’t push any further. He didn’t know how to. He wasn’t exactly Mr. Magic where women were concerned. He still didn’t know how he’d managed to get her to come back to his place for coffee.

      * * * *

      It was almost dark when Jenny opened her back door later that evening. What are you doing here? she demanded of Fido. I thought you’d gone home. When I left Brad’s I didn’t see you anywhere around.

      Fido sat up, wagging his tail and trying to look hungry. That wasn’t hard. He was hungry. He peered with longing at the bag of garbage she was holding. Saliva formed at the sides of his muzzle, but he didn’t move. Humans didn’t like pushy dogs. He’d learned that long ago.

      She went on out to the garbage can. She knew he was hungry. He could smell her distress at the knowledge. But she knew she shouldn’t feed him. He could smell her indecision, too. The wind caught the edge of her jacket, blowing up under it. It was getting colder. Well, maybe she’d give him a good meal. She had a kind heart.

      Jenny shivered in the cold wind. The stray was really hungry. Maybe she should give him a meal. Then, like all males, he’d be on his way.

      She sighed. She was getting to be a real male-basher. Well, whose fault was that? Today Morris had told her Smithers & Company loved the new designs she’d come up with. And today she’d found out, not from Morris, of course, that Mr. Smithers himself had congratulated Morris on his fine designs! Morris, who hadn’t drawn a decent plan in the whole year she’d been working for Morris & Pleasant, Architects, had taken complete credit for the plans she’d slaved over.

      She pitched the garbage in the can and slammed the lid back on. She’d like to stuff old Morris in there where he belonged, with the rest of the spoiled stuff. Brad now, he’d seemed nice. Nice to look at, too. But it was easy to be nice for a little while—and besides, she was through with men. They were too much trouble. And it was too easy for them to hurt you.

      The dog was still sitting there, in front of the back door, his look hopeful. All right, she said. I think there’s a can of dog food left in the cupboard. But after that, out you go.

      * * * *

      Three blocks away, the door to 325 Oak Street opened for the tenth time in the last hour. Brad Ferris peered out into the growing darkness. Where on earth had the blamed dog gone to? Fido, he yelled. Come on in now. Supper’s ready.

      But no dog answered his call. He hadn’t thought she would; not really. But calling her made him feel better. For a minute at least. He shut the door harder than he needed to. He should’ve been more careful with her. He knew she liked to roam. She’d always been like that— open the door and she was gone.

      Of course, on Fenton Street she’d always come home. Eventually. But this was new territory. She hadn’t had time to get to know it in a couple of weeks.

      He went to the kitchen and got a can of pop from the fridge. Back in the living room, he threw himself into his favorite beat-up chair. Tilted back, he lay, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t want to watch some mindless TV show. He didn’t want to sit here worrying about Fido either. What he really wanted was—

      He sat up with a start. He wanted to see Jenny, her mahogany hair blowing around her face, her expressive hands moving in the air as she talked. Why wouldn’t she tell him where she lived? She’d been walking, and she’d said she lived a couple of blocks away.

      He groaned. Fat lot of good knowing That did him. He couldn’t go knocking on every door around asking if an angry woman lived there! Funny how clearly he remembered her—her eyes, deep brown, luminous, reproachful like the dog’s, then smiling. Her mahogany hair, tangled by the wind, framing her delicate face. She had that long, leggy look he’d always admired in women. And a figure that even in a big flannel shirt heated his blood. Or was that just the memory of her hands on his chest?

      He shouldn’t have laughed at her the way he had. After all, she thought she was doing a good deed, returning his lost dog. He chuckled. If you could call that thing a dog. He looked like he’d been through a hurricane, his fur all matted and tangled. Been in more than one fight, too, from the looks of him. At least one of his ears had been torn. Probably a street dog, used to fending for himself.

      Brad sighed. But his Fido wasn’t. His Fido was a lady.

      Maybe the move here hadn’t been such a good idea. But he’d wanted a house of his own for such a long time. Renting didn’t seem the thing to do anymore. His business was established; he could afford a place of his own. Not a classy bachelor pad or a mansion on the hill, but a nice house on a nice street, the kind of house a family might live in someday, a house where he was boss, where he could have a dog, keep a beat-up chair, pound nails in the wall if he wanted to. A place where he didn’t have to answer to anyone—not to a landlord, not to the parents who never should have had him.

      Funny, all his life he’d wanted this house, a home of his own. And now that he had it, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about settling down, finding a wife, starting a family. All the things most guys wanted. He’d been thinking about it for quite a while. But photographing kids all day didn’t exactly put him in touch with the singles crowd. He hated bars; he wasn’t good at approaching strange women. And the ones who approached him were usually not the sort he wanted. He’d had more than enough of women whose only interest in life was money and the things it could buy.

      So he’d settled for a dog. And now he didn’t even have her. He got up and went to the door again. Where the devil was she? And where did Jenny live?

      Chapter Three

      The next morning Jenny dragged herself wearily out of bed. It was getting harder and harder to go to work. If only that head hunter would come through with another job. Much as she’d like to, she couldn’t just walk out on Morris & Pleasant, Architects. For one thing, she had this house to pay for. She couldn’t go home again to live—not without a job—and there weren’t many architects in the middle of Iowa farm country either.

      That was one reason she’d come to Cleveland. Mom and Dad had enough to handle, with Sue and her girls coining home to live. They couldn’t support their second daughter, too. And even if there hadn’t been any of that to think about, Hugh was back there. She didn’t want to be where Hugh was. Ever.

      Showered and feeling somewhat better, Jenny slipped into her coat, grabbed her purse, and opened the back door. Good grief! You again!

      The stray pushed himself to his feet. He cocked his head and barked at her once.

      Good morning to you, too, she said, fighting a smile. This was just a stray; she wasn’t going to feel anything for him. No more feelings for dogs. You might as well get out of here. She scowled at him, deliberately raising her voice. I’ll be gone all day. And I—don’t—need—a— dog.

      The dog wagged his tail and looked at her hopefully. Darn it! She didn’t have time for this. She

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