No One Like You (4 page)

The dogs trailed him to the front door. He patted each one then singled out Atlas. “Behave,” he said firmly. “Later, Beth,” he called before he slipped out.

“Have a good day.” Her voice rose over the clatter of metal dog bowls as she loaded them in the dishwasher. “We’ll be fine.” She sounded competent.

Fine
didn’t last long. He wasn’t surprised to receive a text from her before he reached the end of the block. Seemed there was a tiny war going on at his place.

Atlas is chewing on the leg of the living room couch
.

Then another text.
Is he still hungry? Should I feed him again?

And finally, he could almost see her frantically typing on the keypad.
Where are his toys?

B
eth’s stomach sank. She was going to be fired; she could feel it in her bones. The moment Rylan walked out the door, Atlas morphed into Jaws. He dropped down beside the living room sofa and began gnawing the front leg on the only piece of furniture in the room. His bites weren’t small; he’d taken the entire wooden leg in his mouth. Chips flew from his lips. The couch wobbled. Tipped forward. One green overstuffed cushion slipped off. Atlas attacked it next. Ripping one corner before returning to the sofa leg.

The golden retriever and dachshunds barked excitedly, encouraging his bad behavior. Beth shook her head. She couldn’t believe that gentle Rue and little Oscar and Nathan would side against her. Where was their loyalty? She’d made their lunch. How quickly they’d forgotten.

The barking didn’t stop. Beth cupped her hands over her ears. How could three dogs make so much noise? Their barks bounced off the walls. Echoed down the hallway. She debated shouting, but doubted she would be heard. They were that loud.

Standing beside Atlas, she clutched her hands at her sides and raised her voice. “Stop that! No, Atlas,
no
.”

No
fell on deaf doggie ears. She needed to find another way to get his attention. Circling to the opposite end of the couch, she gripped the armrest and attempted to scoot it away from him. In her socks, she had no traction and didn’t get far. Her feet slipped, and she fell down on one knee. Pain shot up her thigh. There would be bruising.

Back on her feet, she put her weight behind moving the sofa several inches before Atlas got distracted. His ears suddenly pricked as if he’d heard something. Something she had not. What was up? Beth grew suspicious when he went from destroyer to deceivingly innocent. In seconds.

He trotted to his quilted burgundy dog bed along the far wall. There, he lay down, his chin resting on his paws. The other dogs gathered around him, too. They’d all gone quiet. The transformation was amazing to watch.

Beth stared at them and they stared back. She swore Atlas raised one brow. And that Rue winked at her.

She bent down and evaluated the damage to the couch and cushion. Sandpaper and paint wouldn’t fix the crooked leg. The sofa was on a permanent tilt. The foam stuffing in the cushion spilled out. She flipped it over, but couldn’t completely hide the tear. The cushion would need to be reupholstered.

She shook her finger at the Dane. “How could you, Atlas? You’re making me look bad.” Was that a gleam she saw in his eye? Or was she just imagining it?

Beth glanced toward a single bookshelf, secured to the wall below the wide-screen television. That gave her an idea. She crossed to it. Brown brick bookends supported mystery paperbacks and several hardbound biographies of famous baseball players.

She reached for a copy of Josh Hamilton’s
Beyond Belief
. Perfect. It appeared the right thickness to balance the couch. For the time being, anyway. Until she could find a furniture repairman.

She was about to fit the novel under the leg when Rylan’s voice stopped her cold. “Not Hamilton’s biography.”

She spun around. Her heart nearly failed. How long had he been leaning against the door frame, watching her? She hadn’t heard him come in. She’d bet the batch of dog biscuits she planned to bake later that afternoon that Atlas had the hearing of a bat. He’d recognized the McLaren pulling into the driveway and never warned her. The big dog had gone from difficult to manageable with Rylan’s return. Atlas had played her. Again.

Ry looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head at Atlas. Who did he blame for the mess? Her or his dog? She couldn’t tell from his expression.

He moved then, crossing to the shelf. He made his own selection and tossed it to her. “
Planet of the Umps
will work better.”

Her body tensed as she caught the book. It wasn’t as thick as Hamilton’s biography. She muttered a nervous “Thank-you” and quickly inserted it under the lopsided leg. The sofa still sloped somewhat. She returned Hamilton’s bio to the shelf.

Ry crossed to the Dane. His expression pained. “What’s with the chewing? This isn’t like you, Atlas.”

Beth watched as Atlas rolled onto his side, closed his eyes, and played dead. Fortunately, they were at the house and not on a walk, she thought. She bit back a smile, amused by the fact Atlas hadn’t singled her out, and that he gave Ry a hard time, too.

“Don’t ignore me, big boy,” Rylan said on a sigh. His dog paid him no mind. Whatsoever.

“Where are his toys?” Beth asked, hoping to gain the dog’s attention.

“They’re in the hall closet.” The tone of Ry’s voice indicated he wasn’t pleased by the Dane’s pranks. “Atlas knows exactly where to find his wooden barbell, football, and tug toys. I put them away at night so I don’t trip over them. He usually retrieves them at first light. He lays them all out on the living room floor.”

“You mentioned he could open doors,” she recalled. Atlas had skills. “What about the other dogs? Do they have their own toys?” The dachs were smaller than a football. They would have problems dragging it around the house. Even if it was deflated.

“Rue and the dachshunds aren’t big chewers. Atlas will share his toys if one of them has the urge to gnaw. He plays dead to get attention at the most inopportune times.” Ry rubbed the back of his neck and added, “You were hired to organize my life and keep the dogs company while I’m away. For whatever his reason, Atlas acted out. I don’t get it, but I don’t have time to figure it out. I have a tight schedule from one o’clock on today and can’t stay long.”

“Did Atlas cause your Richmond assistant any problem?” She was curious and hoped it wasn’t just her.

Rylan shook his head. “Atlas pretty much ignored Connie. He ate and slept the day away when she worked.”

Interesting.
Beth took it all in. She strengthened her resolve to work through the big dog’s theatrics. She cleared her throat, promised, “I won’t bother you again. I refuse to let Atlas get the better of me.”

“Do the best you can,” Rylan said, supporting her. He then cut his gaze to the Dane. “He owes you an apology.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“He’s faking.” Ry stood over Atlas. “Tell Beth you’re sorry,” he said in a firm tone.

Atlas cracked his eyelids. He blew what sounded like raspberries, then slowly rose. With his head bowed low, he came toward her, and Ry followed. The Dane sat before her, and Rylan circled behind her. The dog tilted his head to one side, appearing repentant.

Beth found it hard to believe, but she listened as Atlas made a rumbling sound deep in his throat. She wasn’t quite sure if he was actually apologizing or still griping at her.

She reached out and scratched his ear. “Forgiven,” she said, expecting that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

The Dane had spring in his hind legs and, before she could step aside, he jumped up and put his paws on her shoulders. Startling her. His sudden weight knocked her backward. She landed flush against Rylan.

She was short and Ry was tall. Her shoulder blades scraped low on his chest and her bottom bumped high on his thighs. She accidentally elbowed his balls. He sucked a sharp breath as she slid down his body. He caught her before she hit the floor. His left hand curved her hip and his right cupped her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple as he tightened his grip.

His heat spread over her. His scent was pure male. The back of her head pressed his groin. His abdomen flexed. His dick stiffened.

They both went still. Barely breathing.

Now what?
Beth was afraid to move.

Atlas’s bark broke them apart. His tail wagged. Almost as if he was pleased with what he’d done. Crazy dog.

Beth scrambled to her feet. She took a stumbling step away from Rylan, just managing to stay upright. It wasn’t easy. She could still feel his hands on her. She looked down. Suddenly self-conscious. His touch affected her. Her nipples were visible points beneath the cotton of her top. Could he hear the rapid beat of her heart?

Rylan stared a second too long at her chest. He clenched the hand that had held her breast. He started to say something, but stopped. She didn’t know if it was the puzzled look in his eyes or the way he worked his jaw, but her stomach fluttered as if something between them had changed. Something small but significant. Something she didn’t quite understand.

Before Beth could ask him what was on his mind, he shifted his stance, then called to his dogs as he took his leave, “Try to be good.” Was that frustration in his voice? Or something else?

Barks and a howl from Atlas followed him out the door.

Beth sighed with relief over his departure. She needed to focus on the tasks at hand. The picnic needed her immediate attention. She returned to her office. Booted her computer. Then sat scrunched on her chair as the four dogs settled on the floor around her. Jockeying for the best position, they didn’t allow her much space. Atlas dropped down on his haunches and placed his paw on her left knee.

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She gave the Dane her raised-eyebrow look. He nudged her forearm with his nose. She gave in and petted him.

She then returned Halo and Landon’s phone calls before opening dozens of files. She scanned Rylan’s online photo album. There were pics and captions of family gatherings from when he and his siblings were small. He was the fourth youngest son of Barbara and Robert Cates, and one year older than his sister Shaye. Beth smiled to herself over one photo in particular. Rylan as a toddler gripped a Louisville Slugger that was bigger than he was. He’d been destined to be a baseball player even at an early age.

He fascinated her. She was surprised by her curiosity. And unnerved by her attraction. That wasn’t like her. She was cautious when it came to men. Her past relationships had fallen flat. She’d learned deception was the kiss of death.

Searching further online, she found photographs that depicted team parties. Whether at a bar, a club, or a restaurant, the Rogues could barely be seen for all the beautiful women surrounding them. Beth tugged on her cotton top. Plain and practical. Comfortable. Unlike the ladies in the photos. They all had long hair, deep cleavage, and curvy bodies. Their lips parted for kisses; their manicured fingers splayed on the men’s shoulders, arms, chest, and places the camera dared not go.

So much for her close encounter with Rylan. He could never be interested in her. She wasn’t his type. Not that he was her type either. She’d never dated an athlete.

Beth went on to skim a succession of pictures that focused on community events. Rylan participated in the Chalk Walk, where fans paid money to produce colorful chalk drawings alongside their favorite players on a long stretch of sidewalk in downtown Richmond. A class of sixth graders surrounded Ry. He was their hero.

The action shots came next. An amazing photo showed Ry scaling the centerfield wall. He’d grabbed a high fly ball and averted a home run. The man had jump. That must be his super power.

It didn’t take Beth long to realize that Rylan Cates was immensely popular. A man in demand. Not only by his family, but by the community and his fans alike. Such was the life of a professional ballplayer, she gathered. She sensed there was more to him than that, however. He seemed a man of substance.

Looking over his schedule, she noted he did his best to accommodate all those around him. Ry didn’t have a lot of free time. A few hours here and there didn’t make for much of a private life. No wonder he needed an assistant.

“Back to work. No more excuses.” She had a picnic to plan.

The truth was she was scared that she’d mess this up. She drew in a breath. Held it. Dispelled all negative thought. A previous mishap shouldn’t affect her present. She was starting over. Beginnings were always good. She’d gotten the courage to leave her old life, strike out on her own, so surely she could plan one little event.

“I Think I Can,” she chanted, repeating the mantra from her socks. She then typed Picnic, and started a Word file. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard. Organizing the get-together shouldn’t be too tough. Rylan wanted late-afternoon casual. She didn’t have to worry about ballrooms, bakers, caterers, decorations, photographers, entertainment. Or five hundred guests. Not even a self-centered bride and a drunken groom. Only the weather might give her pause since it was an outdoor event.

She shouldn’t have a problem in southwest Florida, but Mother Nature could be fickle. Such unpredictability had arrived in a thunderstorm the previous summer. Her career as a party planner had died a slow, rainy death. She cringed, remembering everything that had happened so fast that June day in Potomac, Maryland, then moved beyond her control.