Animal Attraction: San Francisco Dragons, #2

1

Maggie, get on your computer right now and go to the Dragons’ team website. There’s a video you have to see. Jade’s voice vibrated with excitement.

Why? What’s up? Cradling her phone between her ear and shoulder, Maggie Hudson took a bite of her microwaved meatloaf dinner as she opened up her laptop. Did they post a new slow-mo of Gideon Aguilar?

As hockey fans living in San Francisco, Maggie and Jade adored the NHL Dragons. Even though the team was stinking up the ice this season, she and Jade never missed a game on TV and Gideon Aguilar was a new and welcome addition to the roster. He was arguably one of the sexiest NHL players in the league and the slow-motion video the organization posted last week showed Aguilar exiting the team’s chartered plane. He had a garment bag over his shoulder and was wearing black slacks, a black sweater and sport coat—nothing special, but he had something, a savoir-faire that drew attention. Maybe it was the slight breeze ruffling his hair or that loose-limbed self-assured walk.

No, it’s not Aguilar, Jade said. "It’s your favorite. Corbett. The latest At Home with a Dragon. I’ll hang on while you pull it up."

Oh, that’s different.

Maggie took another bite of meatloaf as she watched the opening graphics for the popular series of videos from the Dragon hockey club. Running about five minutes long, the clips documented bits of the personal lives of the players. Maggie always enjoyed these behind-the-scenes looks. The last one went viral because they shared a photo on camera that wasn’t supposed to be shared. And if this segment was about Spencer Corbett, all the better. Even though, at thirty, she was old enough to have baby-sat him when he was a kid, he was her favorite player.

A beautiful young woman with bright white teeth and blond hair set with perfect waves filled the screen. "Welcome to another edition of At Home with a Dragon. I’m Danica Jackson and today we’re visiting Dragon defenseman Spencer Corbett. Hi, Spencer. Thanks for letting us spend some time with you at home."

No problem.

And who’s this?

A dog had bounded into the frame and jumped on Danica’s legs excitedly and Maggie gasped. It was a black and gray pug she’d recognize anywhere. She put her fork down slowly and leaned closer to the computer monitor.

Oh my God.

It’s Kirby, isn’t it? Jade asked on the phone.

Most pugs were tan with black muzzles. Some were all black, but Kirby was a unique ombre blend of gray and black. His fur looked as if someone had run out of black ink and tried to spread it as far down his gray body as they could.

Maggie took a deep breath. You know it is. Oh my God. I can’t believe this.

One day she’d come home from work to find Kirby was gone. One of the neighbor kids had kicked a ball into her backyard, went in to get it as she’d told them they could, and hadn’t made sure the gate was latched when they left. As a result, Kirby had gotten out. Sick with worry, she’d searched the area and talked with all the neighbors. She’d posted lost signs everywhere, checked the shelters, and offered a reward, all to no avail. It had been three months and, heartsick, she’d given up hope.

Until now.

That is my dog, she exclaimed. Spencer Corbett has my dog.

I knew it! That’s why I called you, Jade said.

Maggie focused on the video again. Corbett claimed to have found Blackie wandering the streets in the middle of the night a little over two months ago. He’d named him Blackie? How original.

Corbett was talking. With his coloring, he’s lucky he wasn’t run over. He was in pretty bad shape when I picked him up, but he’s fine now. He and Lulu are best friends. Lulu’s my other dog.

On screen, the perky Miss Jackson cooed. So you rescued him from the streets? Spencer, you’re a hero.

No you’re not, Maggie thought. You’re a dog thief! Kirby had a collar on. He always had a collar on.

Maggie pressed pause on the video. This is unbelievable. Spencer Corbett has my dog. I need to get in touch with him ASAP, but I don’t think I can just call up the Dragons’ front office and get his phone number.

Why not? Jade asked. "It’s not like you’re just a fan wanting his autograph. He has your dog."

That’s true. These are unusual circumstances, but they might not believe me.

Well, you could always call the media. They love these kinds of stories. ‘Famous hockey player reunites a lost dog and his owner,’ right? They’ll jump at the chance for a cute feel-good story like this.

At work the next day, Maggie had little time to think about Kirby, because it was the 100 th day of school and, as a first grade teacher, she had a ton of activities planned. The most complicated one was the quilt of 100 squares. They’d been cutting out the fabric squares all week and today they were going to take turns sewing the quilt with the help of two parents. The quilt would then be auctioned off at an upcoming fundraiser. After school, the first grade teachers had a team meeting, which ran a little long and she had some errands to run that couldn’t be put off any longer. (The universe was constantly trying to teach her not to procrastinate, but the lessons weren’t taking.) As a result, she didn’t get a chance to call the Dragons until she got home just before five that evening. Kirby belonged to her and damned if she was going to let anyone take him away from her.

Luckily, someone answered the phone. Thank you for calling the San Francisco Dragons, how may I direct your call?

My name is Maggie Hudson and I need to talk to Spencer Corbett.

What is this regarding?

He has my dog. I saw on the video he found a dog and it’s mine. The dog he found belongs to me.

Yeah, you and about a hundred other women.

Click and dial tone.

Maggie stared at the phone angrily. Was that true? Were there women out there bogusly claiming that Kirby was their dog, just so they could meet Spencer Corbett? That seemed so desperate. Not to mention stupid. Once those liars got in the same room with Kirby, it would be clear he didn’t know them.

After revising her strategy, she decided to try again.

Thank you for calling the San Francisco Dragons, how may I direct your call?

Yes, I’d like to speak to someone in the PR department, please.

There was a pause as she was connected.

Dragon PR, Jason Chang speaking

Hi, my name is Maggie Hudson and I wanted to tell you what a great job you’re doing with the Dragon Channel. We fans can’t get enough.

Thank you very much. The crew works hard.

"The reason I’m calling is that today I saw Spencer Corbett in his At Home with a Dragon segment and I’m afraid he has my dog. He said he rescued him from the streets, and I don’t doubt that, but it’s my dog and I need to find out how I can get him back. I can prove he’s mine. Kirby has unusual coloring for his breed and I have about a thousand pictures of him on my phone."

Ms. Hudson, I understand your position and I empathize. Of course you want your dog back, but we’re unable to share Mr. Corbett’s phone number with the general public. I’m sure you understand.

Of course.

But I can certainly give him the message.

Maggie left her contact information and crossed her fingers. Kirby was alive and she knew who had him. Spencer Corbett, her favorite hockey player. She’d always gotten the impression that he was a nice guy, a guy with morals. She’d seen him on TV cheering up sick kids at the San Francisco Children’s Hospital. He was always humble and reserved on camera. At fan events, he was friendly and seemed to really focus on the people he was meeting.

But seeing Corbett with Kirby had knocked her for a loop. Kirby had a microchip. Everyone knew about this technology, didn’t they? Why hadn’t he taken the dog to his vet and had him scanned? And what about his collar? Kirby had a collar with her phone number on it. What had happened to that? These were questions she intended to get answered even though it almost didn’t matter anymore. On the bright side, she knew where Kirby was and it was only a matter of time before he was back home.

2

The front offices of the Dragons hockey club were located in a building adjacent to the facility where the team practiced, the Dragon Ice Sports Center, also known as the DISC. People greeted Spencer Corbett as he walked down the hall toward the marketing department. On the walls hung action portraits of some of the most famous Dragons players. He gave a nod to the photo of Jonathan Forsgren, a man Spencer had looked up to as a kid and whose number 11 hung in the rafters of the Dragon Arena.

When he got to Justin Chang’s office, he rapped his knuckles on the doorjamb. Hey, I got your message. What’s up?

Justin, Senior Director of Marketing and Digital Media, raised a finger and continued talking on the phone. His desk looked as if a file cabinet had exploded on it. The wall calendar behind him was covered with writing, highlighted circles and Post-its. He looked harried as he hung up the phone.

Sorry, Justin said. I’m swamped. I lost a key guy to the Sharks, damn it, and the Benedict Arnold gave me zero notice. Just handed me his resignation letter and left. I fucking taught him everything he knows and this is how he… Justin shook his head. "Sorry. You aren’t here to hear me rant and I can’t really spare the time anyway. So here’s the deal. Ever since that At Home with a Dragon video aired, we’ve been fielding a lot of calls from women claiming that you have their dog."

Spencer leaned against the doorjamb. Huh. Go figure.

Most of them we’re writing off. But one of them, this one, might be legit. He plucked a sticky note off his computer screen and handed it to Spencer. Her name is Maggie Hudson. She says she has pictures to prove it.

Did you see the pictures?

Nope. Not my circus. Not my monkeys, Justin said, picking up the phone again and punching in a number. I’m just passing along the message.

When Spencer got home, he was greeted at the door by Lulu and Blackie. Blackie was energetic. His little curly tail was wagging like crazy. Lulu, despite her age, got up to greet him more sedately, like a grand old duchess determined to keep up appearances.

As he gave them both a dog biscuit, he berated himself for mentioning on the air that he’d found Blackie on the side of the road because now he had a decision to make.

To call or not to call this Maggie woman.

His conscience told him the correct course of action would be to find out if Blackie was really hers and if he was, to return him. If their positions were reversed, he’d certainly want his dog back.

But it wasn’t that simple.

His family had rescued Lulu and her brother Frank, both labs, thirteen years ago. He had a lot of fond memories of those dogs accompanying them on summer camping trips and then later, when he’d moved away, welcoming him home when he went to visit his parents. After his mom and dad passed away two and three years ago, he took the dogs and they’d lived with him ever since. They’d been his little canine family.

But then Frank had developed an untreatable cancer. The loss had hit Spencer hard and Lulu harder. She had fallen into a depression Spencer couldn’t lift her out of. She didn’t seem to want to live anymore. It was a struggle to get her to eat or do anything but look at the door as if hoping Frank was going to trot into the house. He’d told her Frank got sick and wasn’t coming back, but she was a dog. She didn’t understand.

And then, as if by heavenly intervention, he’d found Blackie.

When he’d brought Blackie home, Lulu had perked up and over the next few days, she’d started eating again, wagging her tail. She’d even taken on a motherly role with Blackie, cleaning his smashed-in black face whenever she got the chance, and Spencer felt a spark of hope when he saw that.

But now, Lulu’s renewed lease on life was in jeopardy. Even though he knew Maggie Hudson deserved her dog back, Maggie wasn’t going to die if Blackie never found his way back to her. Whereas, he was pretty sure Lulu wouldn’t survive another companion suddenly disappearing on her.

To call or not to call.

As he headed toward his bedroom for his game day nap, he decided to put off the decision. He’d only just gotten the message this afternoon and figured he could take a day to figure out what he was going to do. The message said Maggie had been looking for her dog for months, so a couple more days wasn’t going to make much of a difference.

3

What kind of jerk didn’t give back a person’s dog?

The PR man said he had personally given Corbett the message only a couple of hours after she’d called. As the days continued to pass with no word, Maggie grew increasingly frustrated and even angry.

Finally, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Kirby belonged with her and damned if she was going to let some immoral, spoiled, self-centered jerk who only pretended to be a nice guy for the public, get away with keeping her dog, even if he was an NHL player.

After making the decision to hunt down the dog-napper herself, she had watched the video segment again, this time watching for clues as to where he lived. They mentioned Hillsborough. Of course. Very high-class neighborhood. That narrowed it down quite a bit. He dropped the name of an Italian restaurant he frequented that was within easy walking distance of his house. That narrowed it even further. She printed a map of the area and marked a three-block radius out from that restaurant. They showed a few seconds of him walking away from his house with the dogs on a leash and she froze the video and took a picture of the view.

Then because he mentioned a team party he was hosting to watch the All-Star game, she decided to go to his house and accuse him of dognapping in front of all his friends. With any luck, peer pressure would make him give up Kirby. Was it going to be horrid, shaming a Dragons player when for more than ten years she’d rooted for the team with all her heart as a hockey fan? Yes. Could she have gone to the media and exposed him the way Jade had suggested? Yes.

But what it all came down to was she thought he was morally despicable and she wanted to tell him so to his face. She wanted the satisfaction of taking her dog away from him personally.

It took her about fifteen minutes of search-cruising before she found his place. Looking toward downtown San Francisco, the view matched the photo.

As she parked her car, the realization hit her that she was about to barge in on what might be the entire Dragons hockey team. Before she’d arrived, all she’d focused on was getting Kirby back. She’d imagined herself going in and righteously claiming her dog. Her main emotion had been indignation. Now, a case of the jitters undermined her determination.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

She looked up at the spectacular two-story house. The sprawling property looked as if Arts and Crafts architecture and Japanese landscaping had a baby. Lush mature trees cast shade over mossy rocks and boulders. The wooden bridge leading to the front door crossed an actual pond, complete with brightly colored koi fish. As she looked around and the luxuriousness of the neighborhood sunk in, the jitters progressed into near-panic. She’d passed the Sierra Point friggin’ Yacht Club on her way, for Pete’s sake.

No. She would do this. Kirby was hers. Even if she couldn’t offer him posh digs like these, they belonged together. She’d had him since puppyhood. They had a bond that couldn’t and wouldn’t ever be broken. Even now, he was probably wishing he were home with her, cuddling on her old sofa watching reruns of Friends and eating microwave popcorn. She told herself the players were only people, like her. People with unusual, high-profile jobs and bodies like gods.

She went up to the front door where a sign said, Come on in. Hope you brought beer.

Gathering her courage, she knocked anyway.

No one answered. And it was kind of quiet. Maybe the party hadn’t started yet.

She tried the door and found it unlocked. Before entering, she took a picture of the sign, because if this devolved and the police were called, she wanted evidence that, technically, she was invited in.

Hello? she called hesitantly, crossing the threshold into the foyer.

The house was just as gorgeous on the inside as it was on the outside. She’d seen it on the video, but in person, it felt richer and more personal. A San Francisco Dragons player actually lived here. Spencer Corbett occasionally sat on that couch. He walked on this plush rug.

He—gulp—was standing right there, staring at her.

"Hey, I thought I heard someone knocking. I’m Spencer."

He had blond hair and arresting blue eyes and he looked different…clean. She was used to seeing him with red helmet marks on his sweaty forehead. He wore an NHL Players Association T-shirt and jeans, and he looked pretty damned good—his arms, his shoulders, his muscular legs and tight ass. He was slimmer than she’d expected, but even so, she knew how much power he could summon on the ice.

Another plus, he had all his teeth.

They shook hands and male-female awareness spread over her whole body in one delicious, tingly wave. She suddenly forgot he was an NHL player. Every molecule in her body was honed in on the gorgeous, virile man in front of her.

I’m M-Maggie. Stuttering, she felt as if her tongue didn’t belong to her. Desire, surprising but not unwelcome, smoldered between her legs.

You’re a little early. You want something to drink? He started walking farther into the house. I’ve got beer, wine, soda, iced tea.

Reminding herself of her mission today, she managed to get her body under control. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d ever be interested in a plain Jane like her.

No drinks, thanks. I actually just want my dog.

Realization dawned on his face. "You’re Maggie Hudson. I thought you were someone’s girlfriend."

Aha. Confirmation that he truly did get her message and subsequently ignored it.

I am someone’s girlfriend. I also want my dog.

He seemed taken aback. Wait a second. Whose girlfriend are you? Marty’s? Zimmer’s?

He’s not a Dragon. You don’t know him. I just came here to get my dog, she repeated.

Oh. He sobered. I’m really sorry I didn’t call you. I did get your message and of course you want your dog back. But it’s really complicated.

No, she said, it’s not. You give me my dog and I go home. It’s very simple.

If you could just give me five minutes to explain. Then he touched her elbow and let his fingers glide down until he was holding her hand. The desire reignited and she sincerely hoped her whole-body shiver wasn’t noticeable.

She swallowed hard. All right. Five minutes.

He led her into the kitchen where he gestured toward a large dog bed. An old chocolate Labrador lay curled up. Her tail wagged as Spencer squatted to rub her head. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment Maggie saw Kirby at the expansive doors that lead to the patio. He was pawing the glass like he was trying to dig a hole through it.

Kirby! She dropped her purse on the ground and lunged toward the door. After wrestling it open, she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him as he bathed her face in canine kisses. Joy swept over her as he expressed a similar emotion via his laid-back ears, wagging tail and scrabbly front paws.

The Labrador, Lulu, lumbered to her feet and gave one short bark and Kirby trotted over and gave her a reassuring muzzle-to-muzzle rub, then returned to Maggie and sat.

Maggie wrapped an arm around him and said, I rest my case.

Then it’s my turn to present evidence, he said, sitting down on the kitchen floor so he could pet the Lab. This is Lulu. She’s fourteen years old and on her last legs.

Maggie sensed a sob story coming and steeled herself, but as he explained about how Lulu’s brother, Frank, had died and how despondent Lulu had become and then what Kirby had done for her just by being Kirby, the shield of righteousness she’d been holding got a little heavy. She began to understand why he hadn’t contacted her right away. She also noticed a painting of Lulu and Frank in the living room. She could see it from where she knelt and somehow the artist had captured the bond between the two dogs in their open mouths, lolling tongues, and bright but soulful eyes and how they leaned against each other.

By the time he’d finished, Maggie’s hard resolve had softened. So had her desire to shame him in front of his teammates.

I’m really sorry about your other dog, but that doesn’t change the fact that Kirby belongs to me.

No, I know and I’m sorry. I was a dick for not calling you back right away. I just…I guess I have to accept the fact that Lulu’s…you know. He shrugged and squeezed Lulu’s neck affectionately. When it’s your time, it’s your time.

The despair in his voice that he tried to hide with an apologetic smile tore her heart out.

Damn it.

He got up and tugged at the legs of his jeans. He certainly wasn’t lacking