Beaglemania (36 page)

I stared after her with a grin on my face so wide that I felt as if it was becoming etched there permanently.

“What a day you’re having,” Carlie said.

“I’ll say.” It had been amazing. Perfect. I’d been exonerated from committing murder and the rest, Honey had found a home, and HotRescues’ security issues were resolved . . . not to mention Brooke’s health problems. Could it get any better?

Maybe I should go home and not tempt my luck.

“Too bad I can’t use that stuff about Brooke and her dog on my show,” Carlie said. “I’d have had fun figuring out how to work it in. Oh, well. I need to get back to my clinic now, but I’ll call you later. Maybe we can get together for dinner.”

“Sounds good.” I heard a noise behind me, as if the door to the parking lot was opening. Had Brooke forgotten something?

Before I turned to look, Carlie said, “Well, hi, hero.”

I knew who it was, of course. Rolling my eyes at Carlie’s attempt at humor, I turned again. Sure enough, it was Matt.

He wasn’t alone. He held a leash, and on it was a beautiful, beautiful dog, mostly black and white, with some merle gray. She—I believed, at first glance, it was a she—appeared to be mostly Border collie, perhaps with some Australian shepherd thrown in. My favorites.

“Well, hi, sweetheart,” I said, slowly kneeling.

“I didn’t know you cared that much,” Matt countered. I looked up to see a twinkle in his brown eyes, and I laughed.

“Sure, I care. But I care more about your friend.”

“Oh, my heart.” Matt bunched his fist over his chest, as if I’d struck him there. I laughed.

He took a few steps toward me as I rose again. Our lips met in a quick, friendly—yet strangely tantalizing—kiss.

“Gotta run,” Carlie said. “I’ll definitely talk to you later, Lauren.” She left.

I was alone in the reception area with the guy who’d been so great and accommodating and even protective last night, when I’d needed his help.

And with this wonderful dog.

“Who is she?” I asked.

“She was called Zoey by her owner, who was, from all reports of her neighbors, one really nice senior citizen who died a few days ago from a heart attack. She didn’t have any family around. The locals weren’t sure what to do with Zoey and brought her to the East Valley Shelter earlier today. She’s been processed in, but . . . Well, I thought of you right away. And I don’t mean HotRescues. You ready to adopt a dog yourself, Vancouver? If not, I’m not leaving her.”

“I didn’t . . . I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it seriously, and . . .”

I looked down. Zoey was staring up at me, looking utterly serious. And lonely.

I had a feeling that the good stuff of this day was about to be topped with the greatest part of all.

I looked back up at Matt.

“You want to go to lunch with Zoey and me now to talk about it before you make this huge decision?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. I bent again to hug the pup. She was warm. Substantial. Snuggly. And she seemed to lean into me. “How about it, Zoey? Do you want to have lunch and talk about it?”

As if she understood our words—and I had an utter belief that she did—she barked.

I had a feeling I knew what my answer would be.

 

SIT, STAY, SLAY
NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FERRETS
FINE-FEATHERED DEATH
MEOW IS FOR MURDER
THE FRIGHT OF THE IGUANA
DOUBLE DOG DARE
NEVER SAY STY
HOWL DEADLY
FELINE FATALE

 

 

BEAGLEMANIA