Baby, Hold On (4 page)

Lacey led an anxious Sheridan to a grooming area and whispered, “Your master could use some training of his own.”

Chapter Five

For the better part of an hour, Mike’s ears were piqued for sounds of distress coming from the grooming area, but the only noise he heard was Lacey’s voice, unintelligible and constant, like a song playing low, over and over.

And even the quality magazines in the waiting room couldn’t keep his mind from wandering back to the citrusy scent of her soft curls, and the silky slide of her lithe body against his when he’d helped her down from the ladder. He only hoped she hadn’t been able to feel his animal reaction.

Mike squirmed in the chair and checked his watch for the hundredth time.

When they finally emerged from the grooming area, his heart bounced unexpectedly at the sight of Lacey’s sunny face. While he digested his response with a hearty dose of dismay, he zeroed in on Sheridan. The difference in the big black Lab was noticeable. The damnable pink toy was still lodged in his mouth, but he seemed more alert and his tail wagged. Mike was instantly on guard. “What did you do to him?”

The little wrinkle between her brows reappeared as she handed over the leash. “I massaged him, brushed him, checked his ears, clipped his nails—typical stuff. I couldn’t get him to drop the toy so I could check his teeth, but I assume Dr. Greenwood covered that.”

Mike nodded, then knelt to hold Sheridan’s head. His dog’s eyes looked more clear and focused. What had this woman done in such a short period of time to effect this kind of change? Then Mike sniffed. “What’s that smell?”

“I use an essential oil during the massage—it’s good for his skin and coat.”

Aha.
“A stimulant?”

Lacey crossed her arms. “Of course not. It’s natural and safe.”

But Mike was skeptical, and mentally kicked himself for letting Sheridan out of his sight. Lacey Lovejoy seemed like a nice person, but what did he really know about her? Barry and Dr. Greenwood vouched for her, but they were trusting people. The woman could be using dishonest means—feeding the animals something or drugging them—to perpetuate the idea of her being a “dog whisperer.”

He straightened, supremely irritated with himself for bringing Sheridan here in the first place, all because he couldn’t get the vision of Lacey silhouetted in the sun out of his mind. “What do I owe you?” he asked abruptly.

She shook her head. “No charge. It’s the least I can do after you rescued me.”

His thoughts were momentarily derailed by her iridescent green eyes, then he recovered. “That’s not a fair trade.” He removed his wallet—he didn’t want to be indebted to her.

“I insist,” she said, holding up her hand stop-sign fashion.

The front door opened, admitting an attractive brunette and a leashed Pomeranian.

“There’s my next appointment,” Lacey said, signaling she considered the topic closed. To the woman, she said, “Hi, Julie.” Then she bent over to pet the fluffy little dog. “Hi, Daisy.”

Daisy responded with a series of sharp yaps. To his chagrin, next to him, Sheridan flinched. And when the little dog walked over for a nose-to-nose introduction, Sheridan shrank against Mike’s leg, whining.

“Sorry,” the woman said, then scooped up her toy dog. She offered Mike a flirtatious smile. “Daisy can be a little forward. You must be new in town.”

Lacey stepped up. “Julie Whelk, meet Mike Nichols.”

Mike shook the pretty woman’s hand and exchanged a greeting, but all he wanted to do was get Sheridan out of there, and out of the reach of the touchy-feely country dog groomer.

“I need to get going,” he said.

“Too bad,” Julie said, pouting.

“Okay,” Lacey chirped at the same time.

Mike urged Sheridan toward the door.

“Goodbye, Sheridan,” Lacey called.

His dog didn’t respond because his mouth was full of the ridiculous pink toy the woman had made, but his tail wagged happily…the traitor.

* * *

Lacey watched the pair leave, vacillating between sadness and anger. The man didn’t trust her, that much was clear. And while his concern for his dog was touching, the fact he thought she’d do anything to hurt the animal—as Southerners would say—rubbed her the wrong way.

“Yum,” Julie said, staring after Mike. “I hope he plans to stick around.”

Lacey squashed a pang of jealousy—Mike Nichols was gorgeous, and so was Julie, so of course they would notice each other. It wasn’t as if she had any claim on him just because he’d changed her lightbulb. “I wouldn’t count on it,” she offered. “He’s in town to put his search and rescue dog through a course at the training facility.”

“That dog? It’s a beautiful animal, but it seemed a little skittish to me.” She pursed her mouth. “But then so did the owner.”

“He’s not well,” Lacey explained.

“The dog, or the owner?”

Lacey bit her lip. Good question.

* * *

“Are you absolutely sure?” Mike asked Dr. Greenwood.

The man sighed. “Yes.” He gestured to the test results lying on the exam table. “There’s nothing physically wrong with Sheridan that I can find.”

“Maybe you should run more tests.”

Dr. Greenwood steepled his hands. “Mike, this is good news.”

Mike glanced over to where Sheridan lay curled in the corner, facing the wall…still holding that maddening pink toy. “Of course I’m glad you haven’t found anything serious, but look at him—something is wrong.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” the doctor agreed. “But it doesn’t appear to be physiological.”

Mike arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying my dog is crazy?”

Dr. Greenwood smiled. “Not crazy, but maybe depressed or traumatized. Animals are susceptible to the same kinds of stress triggers as humans. Search and rescue dogs are exposed to more than most.”

“Yes,” Mike admitted. “But he’s trained to endure all those situations.”

“Was he injured on his last mission?”

“No. Sheridan was in top form, like always.” Now, he noted anxiously, his dog didn’t even perk his ears when he heard his own name.

“Could be that he’s just exhausted,” Dr. Greenwood offered. “Maybe he needs to rest.”

“He’s been resting for over two months,” Mike said. “If anything, he’s been too sedentary. He’s supposed to start the refresher course at the training facility in ten days.”

The other man scratched his temple. “I can prescribe vitamins, change his diet—that might raise his energy level.”

Panic licked at Mike’s stomach—Sheridan was only four years old, below the median age for an SAR dog. He should have at least five good years of service left. He wasn’t going to give up on the best dog he’d ever handled. “What now?”

“I can refer you to a veterinary behaviorist in Atlanta.”

“What can they do for Sheridan?”

“They’re trained to diagnose medical
and
behavioral problems.”

“But you just said he’s fine physiologically.”

“He is.”

“So…this is a mental thing?”

Dr. Greenwood lifted his hands. “Maybe. I just don’t know.”

“You think a veterinary shrink can fix him?”

“Again, it’s hard to say.”

So, more time and expense, and maybe another dead end. The window to get Sheridan ready for the training course was closing down fast. Mike glanced at his timid dog, and wanted to bellow in frustration.

“There is another option,” Dr. Greenwood offered.

Mike looked up. “What?”

“Maybe Lacey can help.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “We’re back to that nonsense?”

“She’s not trained in canine behavior,” the other man admitted. “But she does seem to have a connection with dogs. I’ve seen her work wonders.”

Tension ballooned in Mike’s chest. As if Lacey Lovejoy hadn’t dominated his thoughts enough the past few days… The sensation of her backside spooned against his front as they climbed down the ladder was seared into his mind…as was the wag in Sheridan’s tail as they’d left her place.

He glanced back to his dog, who looked up at him with mournful eyes. He’d give just about anything to see that wag again…

Even if it meant putting Sheridan in the hands of a charlatan.

Dr. Greenwood closed the file, as if to punctuate he’d done all he could do. “You’re planning to be in Sweetness for a while anyway. What could it hurt?”

Mike set his jaw. His pride, for starters

Chapter Six

Lacey was trying to thread the needle of her sewing machine, when a knock sounded on the door to her room in the boardinghouse.

“Come in,” she called without looking up.

The door creaked open. “You might try soap,” Traci Miles offered.

Lacey lifted her head to squint at her attractive friend. Traci worked in the hair salon and had been in the original group of women who came to Sweetness to help settle the town—the woman was a font of common sense. “Soap?”

Traci walked inside and gestured. “My mother used to put a bar of soap within reach of her sewing machine to wax the end of the thread so it would go through the eye of the needle.”

“I thought you were supposed to lick the end.”

“Nope. That makes the thread expand.”

Lacey pursed her mouth. “Good to know.”

“When are you going to let me straighten your hair?”

Lacey fingered a corkscrew. “It’s hopeless, I tell you. Did you come up just to condemn my curls?”

“No.” Traci leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s a really great-looking man downstairs in the front room asking for you.”

Lacey frowned. “Who is it?”

“Mike something. I was too distracted by his gigantic biceps to catch his last name.”

Her pulse blipped. “Mike Nichols?”

“That’s it.”

“Did he say what he wants?”

“No, but I assume it has something to do with the black Labrador retriever he has with him.”

Lacey bit down on her cheek. Considering how he’d almost accused her of doing something underhand to Sheridan when she’d groomed him, the man probably wanted to chastise her…again.

Traci wagged her eyebrows. “What do you want me to tell him?”

“Tell him…”
To go jump in Timber Creek.
“Tell him I’ll be right down. Thanks, Traci.”

Lacey switched off the sewing machine and stepped into the bathroom that was part of her comfortable suite in the boardinghouse that had been home since she’d arrived in Sweetness. Living here was nothing like living in her studio walk-up on the Lower West Side. There, she’d barely known her neighbors and had bars on her windows. Here, everyone not only knew each other, but each other’s family history and laundry schedule as well.

She glanced down at her casual outfit—a baggy yellow T-shirt dress and sneakers—and considered changing. Ditto for her repairing her unruly hair she’d hastily pulled into a ponytail. Then she reminded herself Mike Nichols didn’t care what she looked like. The man undoubtedly had his pick of women, and probably hadn’t given her a second glance.

Not that she’d welcome it.

Still, her heart rate bumped higher as she made her way down the stairs to the first level of the boardinghouse. As usual, the hum of voices and laughter was a backdrop to games in the rear great room, food preparation in the spacious kitchen and family-style meals in the dining room. The front great room was equally as roomy and inviting, but usually more quiet, and that’s where she found man and dog.

Mike, dressed in jeans and a polo-style shirt, did not look happy.

Handsome, but not happy.

Sheridan noticed her first and walked to the end of his leash, his tail wagging. He still held the pink toy in his mouth. She leaned over and gave his dark head a scratch to say hello and to calm her nerves.

“Hello,” Mike said, his voice wary.

“Hi,” she returned.

He shifted foot to foot. “I’m sorry to bother you on your day off.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Dr. Greenwood got the results back from the tests he ran on Sheridan.”

Panic blipped in her chest. “And?”

“And he didn’t find anything wrong.”

She smiled in relief. “That’s great news.”

Except Mike looked less than thrilled about it. “Yes, but…”

“But?” she prompted.

“But he’s not improving.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And I was wondering if you’d be willing to…work with him.”

Lacey lifted an eyebrow. “Work with him?”

He averted his gaze, then looked back. “Dr. Greenwood said you have a way with dogs, that you can get through to them.”

She bit her lip. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me to do.”

His expression was tight. “You once made the comment you think Sheridan is…scared.”

She nodded.

“Can you help him get past it?”

“I don’t know.”

He frowned. “You don’t know? I thought you had some kind of special powers.”

She gave a little laugh. “You’ve been misinformed.”

“Then what do you do, exactly?”

She shrugged. “I spend time with animals and try to respond to whatever problem they have.”

He looked dubious. “No offense, but that’s a little vague.”

She gave him a flat smile. “This isn’t an exact science. I just love dogs and they seem to like me back.”

On cue, Sheridan’s tail wagged.

After a loaded silence, Mike said, “Okay, fine,” as if everything had been decided. “Sheridan’s scheduled to go through a refresher course at the training center in ten days.”

Lacey balked. “Hold on—I can’t guarantee Sheridan will be ready for training in ten days, or ever. Every animal has its own timeline…and some problems simply can’t be fixed.”

He pulled his hand down his face. “I’m running out of options here. Sheridan is the best search and rescue dog I’ve ever worked with. I don’t want him to lose his certification. Can you help him or not?”

His concern tugged on her heart, but the man was desperate, and owners with high expectations were not only the most dissatisfied, but usually the worst to work with. She looked down at Sheridan, who stared up at her with sad, hopeful eyes, his mouth full of the pink bone she’d made with her own hands. She thought of all the people the dog had saved in his career…and the people he could save in the future if he were well again.