The Truth About Cats & Dogs (13 page)

“Coming.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair and hurried to the door, Darcy following. One of the Pekes let out a small yip as Sam walked past the crates, but at least the room was quieter than it had been a few seconds earlier. He opened the door to face a wide-eyed young man behind a large trolley laden with domed dishes.

“Mr. Grogan?”

“Yeah. Come on in. It sounds like a zoo, but it's safe.”

“What about him?” He pointed to Darcy, who was
now panting at Sam's side. Sam took him by the collar and backed him up to the bathroom, shoved the dog inside and shut the door. A little redheaded Pekingese charged the moving cart, barking at the wheels and the kid's legs, before Jess scooped him into her arms and shushed him.

“Wow,” the man said, pushing the cart deeper into the room. “You guys must really like dogs.”

“We do,” Sam and Jess said at the same time. Sam didn't look at her, though. He suspected she would be smiling, which would make him want to kiss her again.

Which, in a day of unexpected happenings, would be the craziest thing of all.

“I
T LOOKS WONDERFUL
,”
Jess said, eyeing the table of food being rolled toward the chairs by the window. She scooped Ozzie into her arms and away from the legs of the hotel worker. Thank goodness for the dogs. Between Ozzie and the mastiff, Jess could pretend she was too busy to be embarrassed about that kiss.

That kiss
—and her reaction to it—still shocked her. In fact, waking up to find Sam wrestling with his huge dog had been quite a surprise. She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep so quickly, but the past few days of little sleep and too many hours on the road had caught up with her. There was something about stretching out on a soft bed in a warm room that overrode any discomfort she felt about relaxing in front of a stranger.

And then he'd fallen across her and she'd laughed at the mortified expression in his dark eyes. She couldn't remember how many months—if not years—it had been since a handsome male body had tangled with hers on a bed, so she'd laughed. And he'd kissed her. She had seen it coming and she'd welcomed it.

She had held still at first, testing the feel of his mouth against hers. And then she'd warmed to what would have been a perfectly lovely moment—if room service hadn't interrupted.

A lovely moment? With a stranger on a bed? Jess frowned. The storm must be affecting her usually sensible brain.

“What?” She was aware that Sam was staring at her and the young man was walking out the door.

“I asked if you want a glass of wine.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Does he bark
all
the time?”

She looked down at the yapping Ozzie and told him to be quiet, which he did. “I think he just wanted to let the stranger know that he was guarding the room. Some Pekes are like that.”

“Aren't
we
strangers to him, too?” He studied Ozzie as if he was afraid the little dog would leap out of her arms and go for his jugular.

“Yes, but I think he senses we're taking care of him. The three of them would have been put down today if I hadn't gotten them out of there,” she reminded him. Jess set the dog on the carpet and watched him walk past the beds and into his own crate. Darcy whined from behind the bathroom door.

“So he knows you saved his life.”

“Maybe. Can I let Darcy out?”

“Not yet. He's being punished for not obeying.”

Which brought them both back to what had hap
pened a few minutes ago on the bed. She hated feeling awkward with him. Despite everything, they'd managed to muddle through the day together.

Jess pushed her hair away from her face and concentrated on Sam opening the wine bottle. He performed that task with effortless skill, of course. He and his Susan had no doubt been Richmond's Most Elegant Couple. She imagined a tall, sleek brunette who smiled for the cameras and kept her arm firmly linked with Sam's whenever they appeared in public, the kind of woman who had a closet filled with “evening wear” and matching shoes for every outfit.

“Miss Hall?” Sam handed her a crystal glass filled with white wine. He looked distracted and didn't meet her eyes.

“Mr. Grogan,” she replied, lifting her glass as if toasting him. “Thank you again for rescuing me.”

“You're welcome” was his only response as he lifted his own glass to hers.

She didn't miss his tuxedo. The charcoal cashmere sweater and khaki pants appeared expensive and stylish, but at least he didn't look like someone else's groom. She thought she should say something comforting about his wedding, like how sorry she was and how she hoped things would work out, but there was no way she could get such words out of her mouth. If the temperamental Susan had said “I do” this morning, Jess would most likely be stranded in Richmond still, waiting for help from PUR and for
the storm to pass. There would have been no flights leaving Richmond and nothing to do but fiddle with her checkbook and watch the dogs pee against icy parking lot curbs.

“I'm sorry—” she began, but he interrupted her.

“I am, too. What happened on the bed was an accident, a mistake,” he assured her as seriously as if he were announcing the Redskins were in last place and had decided to quit for the rest of the season.

“It wasn't
that
bad, was it?” She couldn't help teasing him and watching the surprise flicker across his face.

“No. I wouldn't say that.”

She took a sip of her wine, and then slid between the table and the bed to one of the upholstered chairs.

“I mean, I certainly didn't expect to see you and Darcy on the bed, but you have to admit it was funny.”

“Yes,” he said, his mouth lifting at the corners. “An odd version of a honeymoon.”

“How can you laugh about it? Didn't you want to—Never mind, that's none of my business.” She took a deep breath and started over. “Sit down, Sam. I meant that I was sorry about your wedding.” She crossed her fingers under the table. She wasn't the least bit sorry, not if what she'd guessed about Susan was true.

“I don't think I am.” He took a seat across from her and lifted the domed lid on the plate in front of
him. “Not anymore. I've been thinking about it—you have a lot of time to think when you're driving thirty miles an hour in the snow—and maybe everyone was right.”

“Right?”

“That it was for the best.” Sam unwrapped his silverware and tossed the linen napkin in his lap. “These crab cakes smell great.”

Jess guessed that meant the serious conversation—and the subject of his wedding—was over.

“Tell me,” she said, lifting the lid from her own plate, “do you know anyone who would like to foster a Peke?”

“Foster? What does that mean exactly?” He cut a section of crab cake with his fork and looked at it with undisguised relish.

“Take care of for a while,” she explained. “Until we find the right home, take care of any medical needs, figure out the dog's personality and what kind of a home he'll do best in.”

“These are damn good crab cakes—Is that what you do for a living, find homes for dogs?”

“No. We're all volunteers.” She took a bite of the crab cake. “Wow.”

“Told you.”

“The big decision is whether to eat the crab cakes first or start with the chowder.” She looked at him for help, pretending to herself that this was a real date. Certainly no one could blame a woman for wanting
to fantasize about Sam Grogan, sportscaster, athlete and all-around nice guy.

“Whatever you want,” he said, spearing another chunk of crab cake. “You can make up your own rules when you're eating in your hotel room, you know.”

“And here I thought I'd be back in Rhode Island tonight.” She took another sip of wine.

“What would you be doing?”

Jess thought for a moment. “Washing the dogs. Soaking in the tub. Checking e-mail.” She grimaced. “Not very exciting, is it?”

“‘Exciting' is overrated.” He smiled at her, which had the affect of making her remember the way those lips had touched hers and what the feel of them had done to her insides. “If it wasn't for the wedding—and that's the last time I'm going to mention it—or our trip to Connecticut, I'd be home studying my notes for tomorrow's games and eating leftovers.”

“Do you travel a lot?”

“Yeah.” He refilled her wineglass. “And now I'm in Baltimore, having dinner with a mysterious woman from New England.”

“Mysterious?”

“I don't know where you live or what you do for a living. You're not married, you don't have children, you love dogs and you volunteer to drive them around to new homes. You don't have a lot of money and you're too softhearted for your own good.” When
she started to protest, he pointed out, “You drove into a Dumpster rather than hit a dog.”

“You're making me sound like an idiot.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, but an entertaining one. Tell me what you do when you're not hauling dogs from state to state.”

“I dust.” She took the lid from her chowder bowl and picked up a spoon. “I vacuum. I scrub.” He waited, clearly interested. “I have my own housekeeping business.”

Sam looked impressed. “That's hard work.”

“One of these days I'll go back to school—when I decide what I want to be when I grow up—but for now I like the independence.” What she wanted was a home, a husband, children and a huge fenced yard for any and all dogs that needed homes, but it wasn't something that Jess confided to anyone aside from her best friend. She'd sound old-fashioned and be accused of that biological-clock nonsense. Just because she liked babies and dogs and all things domestic didn't mean she wanted to run down the aisle with the first sperm donor who put a ring on her finger. Her parents had had a wonderful marriage; she'd grown up in a happy home, unlike a lot of her friends. And she wasn't willing to settle for anything less than that same kind of love.

Sam finished the crab cakes and started in on the mashed potatoes. “How did you start rescuing dogs?”

She told him about one of her clients, a busy sin
gle mother with no time for the little dog she owned, and how Charlie came to live with her for seven years until he died of heart failure. That was two years ago, she told Sam, who actually seemed to be listening. She'd been so heartbroken she'd volunteered to help with several small-dog rescue groups. What she didn't tell Sam was that she hoped that one of these days another little gold and white mongrel would prance into her life and fill the void left by eleven-pound Charlie, sleeping companion and fellow Milano cookie lover.

“What happened to the last boyfriend?” Sam poured himself another glass of wine. “And don't tell me there haven't been boyfriends.”

“He met someone else.”

“And broke your heart?”

She laughed. “Absolutely not!”

Poor Darcy let out another pitiful bark from the bathroom, which gave Jess the perfect excuse to change the subject. She needed to remember that Sam wasn't her dinner date, wasn't a man who would be in her life after tomorrow. However he might look and act and kiss like the man of her dreams, Sam Grogan was real. And famous. And not at all the type of guy who dated women who pushed around vacuum cleaners for a living.

She would let the little Pekes up on the bed with her tonight and tell herself she wasn't the least bit lonely. She would not think of Sam Grogan and the
feel of him against her breasts or the taste of his mouth or the way he smiled when he thought she'd said something amusing.

She would sleep with the dogs and be happy about it.

 

L
IFE WASN'T FAIR
. He didn't want to be stuck in the bathroom when he could smell food. Good food. People food. Those two Flat Faces better not be under the table, begging for food and accepting treats with their stupid little tongues. The one they called Ozzie barked, too, but now he grumbled, teasing Darcy by telling him that the food smelled good and didn't Darcy wish he could come out of that room and play. Samantha, the one-eyed girl, never said anything, but Darcy thought she might be nice. He wouldn't mind giving her another sniff.

Sam had forgotten him. Sam never forgot him at dinnertime, except when Smelly Susan came over to the apartment, which wasn't often. Old Smelly didn't like dogs and didn't much like his and Sam's home. When she slept over, Darcy had to sleep in a different room, on a bed all by himself.

“Woof!”

The nice lady said, “Can't you let Darcy out of there? I saved him a piece of my roll.”

Oh, boy. Things were really looking up now. Sam had finally found a girlfriend Darcy could like, even if she came with a couple of Flat Faces. He wagged
his tail when Sam opened the door, but he trotted over to the lady and squeezed himself into the small space between her chair and the bed. The buttered bread was a heck of a lot better than anything that came out of that bag of dog food Sam had brought along for the trip, so Darcy made sure that he ate it fast before the Flat Faces got any ideas about coming over and sharing. He gave the lady's jeans a kiss and looked across the table at Sam, who sure seemed sad all of a sudden.

Humans were weird. Even the best of 'em didn't know a good thing when it was sitting right in front of them. Darcy licked the lady's hand and waited for another fat chunk of bread. Good thing dogs were around to show the humans what to do.

 

“I'
M SORRY TO WAKE YOU
,” Sam said, trying to keep his gaze from dropping to Jess's nightgown. He concentrated on her eyes, on the wild curls that cascaded past her cheeks and down—no, he wasn't going to look past the lace collar of her flannel nightgown. Flannel wasn't sexy. Unless it was covering the body of—

“What's wrong?” She blinked, as if trying to figure out if this was real or a nightmare.

Sam, hovering in the doorway that connected the two rooms with Darcy whining at brain-aching decibels, didn't know how to explain. He'd thought the connecting rooms were a good idea, but now this kind of access seemed too darn tempting.

“Darcy won't stop whining. I'm afraid someone's going to complain if he keeps it up.”

She stared up at him. “You want to leave? In the middle of the night?”

Darcy brushed past her and trotted over to the crates where one of the Pekes lay snoring. The other one, Sam noticed, was on its back in the middle of Jess's rumpled bed.

“No! I hoped you'd let Darcy sleep in here. I guess he wants to be with the other dogs.”

“Okay.” She still seemed a little dazed. Those blue eyes of hers hadn't quite focused.

“Hey,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Are you awake?”

“I hope not.” She gazed up at him. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He didn't move, not to release her shoulders or to take a step backward. It was as if he was physically incapable of leaving her. She smelled like vanilla and soap, a combination he never thought would be erotic, but was.