The Truth About Cats & Dogs (11 page)

“In the car, yes. I take them out for bathroom breaks, of course.” She put her fingers back in the ice and tried not to wince.

“Let me take you to the hospital,” he offered. “They can give you something to put on it, to take the pain away.”

“It's not that bad,” she said. “Really, it's not.” And even if it was, she couldn't sit in an emergency room for hours while the dogs froze in the car.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” he said, looking out the front windshield. “He's here.”

“That was fast.” The tow truck, its flashing lights announcing its arrival, drove past them and then backed up alongside the Dumpster. The driver got out and waved to Sam.

“Hey, Mr. Grogan,” the young man called. “What can I do for you?”

“You
know
him?”

“I put in a call to an old friend.” He took his coffee and hopped out of the van. “Wait here for a sec.”

“But—”

“Please,” he said, a frown creasing his perfect, handsome face. “It's the least I can do after the trouble Darcy and I have caused.”

The man was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept his help. These kinds of things didn't happen to her. Oh, there had been transport volunteers who didn't show up, sick dogs, a Peke that wasn't a Peke at all—luckily she'd been able to turn him over to someone with Maltese Rescue and he'd quickly found a home with a retired schoolteacher—and more than a couple of wrong turns, late nights and hours spent waiting in traffic on Interstate 95.

But two days ago, when she'd decided to drive the entire transport herself—three volunteers dropped out at the last minute—she'd foolishly assumed her beloved van would live forever, or at least until she could afford to replace it. She'd told herself she didn't have any choice. This was the last chance to get these dogs. They'd been in a high-kill shelter and
wouldn't last much longer. And poor little Samantha needed surgery, not euthanasia.

She would figure this out, Jess decided, watching Sam Grogan talk to the grinning driver of the tow truck. There was still a little room on the credit card and plenty of time to fix a van. She'd be on the road in no time at all.

“I
T
'
S NO TROUBLE
,” Sam assured the woman for the fourth time. “Well, actually it's a
hell
of a lot of trouble,” he admitted, hoping she'd smile again. “But I'm not going to drive away and leave you and the yapping trio stuck at the Krispy Kreme.”

“They're not yapping.”

No. Now they were panting. When he looked over the front seat toward the three crates lined up along the bench seat, he saw black faces and pink tongues through the cage doors. “Do they always stick their tongues out like that?”

“Yes. It's a Peke thing.” She hesitated before unhooking the seat belts that held the crates in place. “Are you sure you don't mind?”

“I told you,” he repeated. “It's not that big a deal. We'll follow the tow truck to the repair shop. It's not far away.”

“Well, I really do appreciate this.” She handed him a crate and started unhooking the next one. “So you're a football player.”

“Was.” He watched her fumble with the seat belt on the middle crate. “Let me do that.”

“I've got it.” To prove it, she handed him another crate with a panting hairball inside. “The state trooper was impressed. I thought he was going to ask for your autograph.”

“There are a lot of Washington Redskin fans here.”

“What do you do now?”

“Now I talk about sports.”

“On television?”

“Yeah.” He turned away to take the dogs to his car. He didn't want to talk about his job, not now. He was supposed to be on vacation this weekend—the Redskins had a “bye” and didn't play again until a week from Monday night, in Miami. He was supposed to be in Hawaii tomorrow, on his honeymoon with the new Mrs. Grogan—not that Susan had wanted to change her name to his. Old-fashioned, she'd called it. He figured she'd change her mind. He'd also thought she'd grow to love Darcy. Neither had happened.

Darcy greeted him with a wagging tail and a slobbering kiss to his shoulder when Sam lifted the tailgate. His ears perked up when he smelled the red-haired visitors.

“Be nice,” Sam told him, setting the crates carefully on the rubber mat. “Don't scare them.”

Darcy wagged his tail a bit uncertainly and whined as if he couldn't understand what the dogs were doing inside the crates instead of playing with
a big, lonely mastiff. The barking started up again, but stopped when Darcy stuck his nose close to one of the cages.

That was only the beginning, Sam realized, carrying another crated Pekingese to his car while the woman—he really had to find out her name—followed him with shopping bags filled with gifts and a large backpack. Sam also carried a bag filled with various important dog items, such as food, bowls and bottled water.

“You don't exactly travel light,” he said, earning a shy smile from the dogs' guardian.

“The stockings are for a shelter in Fredericksburg.”

“Stockings?”

She placed the shopping bags along the side of the car, where Darcy wouldn't be able to step on them. “I make them to raise money for animal shelters. See?” She lifted a tissue-filled Christmas stocking out of the bag to show him. Made of fabric with flowers, it had a lace cuff decorated with old buttons and a faded pink velvet rose.

“Uh, that's real nice.” It looked like something that would be sold in one of those upscale boutiques Susan loved to frequent, which was a little strange considering it was in a cardboard box in the back of the Escalade.

“It's not exactly a guy thing.” She smiled at him again. “Your wife might like one and I'd be glad to give you one to—”

“No wife,” he said, cutting off her words. He should have been standing in the church right at this moment. He'd looked forward to the ceremony, to the solemn promise to take Susan as his wife, “'til death do us part.” The only disappointment he'd anticipated when he'd dressed for his wedding was that his parents weren't going to be there to celebrate the day with him. Just as well now. Funny how things worked out for the best, just the way his mother liked to say.

“I'm sorry,” Dog Woman said, her voice soft. When he glanced up into those blue eyes, he saw that she looked absolutely heartbroken.

“Sorry?”

“Well, about your wife. You looked so sad when you said you weren't married that, w-well…” she stammered, “I thought—”

“You thought I had a wife and she left me?”

“I thought you had a wife and she died.”

“Stand back,” he said, before slamming the tail door shut. “I've never been married. I have no wife, dead or alive. You don't have to look at me like that.”

“Like what?” She followed him around to the passenger door, which he opened for her.

“Like you feel sorry for me.” Which was exactly what he'd dreaded, come to think of it. That's why he wasn't with his friends right now.

Her eyebrows rose, and those lovely eyes widened. “Well, of course I did. You
did
sound pathetic
and you
are
wandering around in a tuxedo on a Saturday morning as if you can't find your way home after a wild Friday night.”

“It was not wild,” he said, wondering why he bothered to explain. “And I'm not ‘wandering around.' I was supposed to attend a wedding this morning.” He shut the door and went around to the driver's side to get in. Dog Woman didn't look happy.

“Have I made you late?” She looked at her watch, then back at him. “What time do you have to be there?”

“It's over,” he assured her. “It was over and I came here to get a cup of coffee and something to—damn it, Darcy, where are they?”

The mastiff hung his head over the front seat, but didn't attempt to lick either one of the people sitting there.

“Please,” Dog Woman said, “tell me he doesn't bite or growl or attack women and small dogs.”

“He's never attacked anything larger than a bakery box.”

“Uh, nice boy,” she murmured, patting Darcy's brindled head. “You said he's a mastiff?”

“Mostly. We think he has some boxer and maybe even some Great Dane in him, too. Do you want coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

“I'm going to take the drive-through,” Sam explained, starting the car. “I think Darcy ate all the doughnuts when I left him alone in here.”

“He does look a little guilty.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, backing the car out of the parking space. “He should. He's caused a lot of trouble this morning.”

“It's not his fault,” the woman insisted. “In fact, I think it's me. I've been jinxed all day. My van was leaking transmission fluid and I was on my way to a repair shop and trying to figure out how to get the Pekes back to Rhode Island.”

“That's where you're from? Rhode Island?” He managed to get into the line of cars waiting their turn at the microphone. The place was mobbed this morning. It was a miracle Darcy hadn't been hit when he'd made his escape from the SUV.

“Yes. My name is Jess Hall, by the way.”

“Sam Grogan.” He turned to look at her, telling himself he was only being polite. She was prettier than he'd thought when he'd first seen her, but Sam didn't let that affect him, no way. He didn't really want to know her name or where she was from or if she had a boyfriend—he'd happened to see that she wore no wedding ring or engagement diamonds. He didn't want to know anything more about her other than she was a do-gooder dog lover who couldn't afford a decent car.

He'd offered to take her to the hospital to treat those burns on her hands—she'd refused. He'd offered coffee and doughnuts—she'd refused. All that was left was to give her and her possessions a lift to
the repair shop and his responsibilities were over. He could go home and get drunk. He could get out of this damn monkey suit and cancel his reservations at that fancy resort in Hawaii.

He was through with women. And the sooner he got this one back on the road the better.

While Jess Hall went into the auto body repair shop to talk to a mechanic, Sam sipped his coffee, ate a couple of doughnuts and ignored the pleading eyes of a dog that had already eaten a week's worth of fat and sugar.

And he reluctantly turned his phone back on.

There were twenty-seven voice messages. He wondered for a split second if Susan had changed her mind and wanted him to return to the church—not that he would, but it would have been an interesting conversation to have with his former fiancée—but most of the messages turned out to be from friends who said they were sorry to hear about the wedding being cancelled. Twelve of those were from five guys, reiterating the need to meet at Sam's apartment and entertain him for the weekend. Sam supposed they thought he wouldn't want to be alone.

There were three messages from his father, who'd had a phone call from Susan's father. The first was calm, asking Sam to call as soon as he felt able to talk. The second sounded more worried, with his mother's tearful admonitions in the background.
Call your mother
were the only words on the last voice
mail. Which meant Sam Grogan Senior meant business, especially since he'd used his severest tone and didn't care how grown-up his son thought he was.

Sam toyed with the phone for a second.
Sorry, Dad. I was stuck at Krispy Kreme this morning with a crazy dog woman who drove into a Dumpster.
He smiled, despite everything, and hit the button that would connect him with his folks.

By the time Jess Hall returned to the car, Sam had explained everything to his parents. Well, almost everything, he thought as the little blonde opened the car door and hopped inside.

“So, where are you now?” his father asked, clearly worried. “You're not alone, are you? Is Jim with you?”

“No, I'm heading home. I stopped to get coffee—”

“Which is not good for you,” his mother, a confirmed tea drinker, pointed out.

“I'm cutting down,” Sam assured her, which he did at least once a week.

“I wish we were there, the way we would have been if I hadn't gotten sick. We could have been there for you, when you needed us.” He thought she had started to cry again. “I'd like to tell Susan a thing or two.”

“Mom, everything is going to be fine.” He glanced toward Jess, who looked as if she was trying not to burst into tears herself.

“Where are you?” his father asked again. “You're not driving while you're on the phone, are you? I hate it when people do that. Just drives me nuts when—”

“I'm in a parking lot outside of Frank's Auto Body Shop. Darcy had a little accident—” His mother gasped, so Sam hurried to explain. “He's fine, but the woman who avoided hitting him ended up with some car trouble.” He saw Jess fumble around in her purse until she found a wad of tissue.

“A woman?” His mother perked up. “Please tell me she's young, beautiful and single.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Sam Senior sputtered. “What are the odds of that?”

“Well,” Sam drawled, glad his mother had stopped sniffling into the phone, “it's true. She's some kind of dog rescue person who drives them from West Virginia to Rhode Island. I have three dogs in the car right now. Four,” he corrected, adding Darcy to the list.

“What kind of dogs?” his father asked.

Martha had become positively chatty. “I'll bet we're right on the way. Tell her to stop in Westport and we'll fix her a nice meal. She could even spend the night if she wants. Give her directions, Sam.”

Sam laughed and turned to Jess. “My mother says you're to stop at their house and have something to eat. They're in Westport, Connecticut, and you're welcome any time.”

“Thank you,” Jess said. “Maybe next time.”

“Speaking of being welcome,” his father said. “Why don't you come home for a few days? Your mother's feeling lots better and having you around to spoil would cheer her up.”

“Next time?” His mother sounded disappointed. “What's wrong with her car, Sam?”

He turned to Jess. “She wants to know what's wrong with your car.”

“Too many things to fix,” she answered. “And, according to the mechanic, not worth the money to fix it, though he'll do it if I want, but it's going to take a couple of weeks to get parts. Big, expensive parts.”

“I think it's totaled,” he told his mother. Jess groaned.

“Then you should drive her and her dogs to Rhode Island,” Martha declared. “What is it, about three hours from here to Rhode Island, Sam? How long did it take us to go to Newport last summer?”

His father was quick to answer. “Three hours is about right. You know, your mother has a good idea. You were coming here anyway.”

“No, I wasn't,” Sam corrected, but he knew he was talking to two people who wanted to see him and reassure themselves that he was going to be okay, cancelled wedding and broken heart notwithstanding.

“I'll make my famous meatballs,” Sam Senior informed him. “What's her name? Does she likes meatballs? Will you be here tonight?”

“I don't know,” he said, answering the last two questions. “It's started to snow here.”

“Well, take your time,” his mother advised him. “We'll be here.”

“What kind of dogs?” his father asked again. “Not more like Darcy, I hope?”

“No. These are small hairy dogs. Pekingese.”

“Oh, my goodness,” his mother said. “This is turning out to be quite a day.”

And that, Sam decided, pretty much summed it up.