Soldier Mike Nichols has come to Sweetness, Georgia, for one reason: to get help for his troubled black Lab, a decorated rescue dog, at the town’s new military dog training facility. He doesn’t expect to be referred to dog groomer Lacey Lovejoy instead!

Straitlaced Mike and free-spirited Lacey couldn’t be more different. Yet the longer he works with Lacey, the more his attraction to her grows. They clash often, but their heated encounters also lead to a steamy night together that leaves them both reeling.

But when Lacey’s job is done and it’s time for Mike to move on, can their animal attraction turn into a permanent partnership?

A Southern Roads series novella.

Baby, Hold On

Stephanie Bond

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

“Does that feel good?” Lacey Lovejoy looked into Chaz’s chocolate-brown eyes and smiled as his eyes slitted in ecstasy.

He didn’t reply as she kneaded deeper into his back and shoulders, just emitted little whimpering noises of encouragement.

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, ending with a rolling massage over his back, just the way he liked it. The movements bunched the aching muscles in her forearms. “My turn next, okay?”

Chaz lifted his head and barked in agreement. Lacey laughed at her customer’s willingness to please.

“Why can’t I meet a man as easygoing as you?” she asked the Jack Russell terrier, roughing his newly groomed scruff. “Come on, handsome. Let’s get you over to Dr. Greenwood for that rabies S-H-O-T.”

The small spotted dog whined at the mention of Dr. Greenwood’s name, as if he knew what was coming.

“I know it’s unpleasant. I have to get a tetanus booster myself soon.” She set him on the floor and attached a leash to his collar. “But you’re a country dog now, and that means taking extra precautions. Miss Emily wants you to be safe.”

She grabbed her keys and led Chaz to the door and out onto the sidewalk, turning the back-in-5-minutes sign. There was no need to lock up. People rarely locked their doors in Sweetness, Georgia. It was one of the reasons she’d moved to this remote mountain town to open her own dog-grooming business, Here Comes the Groom.

Friends and family in Manhattan had thought she’d lost her mind and not only would be instantly bankrupt, but would come running back with her tail tucked between her legs. But she’d found her own little slice of heaven here, just as promised in the Undercover Feminist blog written by journalist Alicia Randall, who’d come to Sweetness herself with the intent to expose a cultlike environment where single women had been lured with the promise of lots of available strapping Southern men, and instead had wound up falling in love with the town’s unofficial forefather, Marcus Armstrong. Marcus and his two brothers, along with an army of men and women, had rebuilt the Armstrongs’ hometown that had been leveled by a tornado more than a decade earlier.

Lacey inhaled deeply to draw fresh, wildflower-scented air into her lungs, and exhaled happily, high on life. A breeze teased the ends of her unruly hair that had escaped a ribbon clasp, and cooled the perspiration on her neck. The unending gorgeous panoramic views of spring foliage from almost any vantage point in Sweetness made it difficult to believe the quaint little town and surrounding farmland had been reduced to the unrecognizable rubble depicted in the horrific aerial photographs of the damage on display at the city hall building. Not a single life had been lost, but the entire town had been wiped off the map.

But today Sweetness was as charming as a small town could be. The wide, welcoming Main Street was lined on either side with buildings that housed businesses ranging from Molly’s Diner to a general store to a hair salon, florist, bakery, professional offices—just about anything a person could need. Her sister had teased Lacey she’d be making the four-hour drive to Atlanta every couple of days for a glimpse of “civilization,” but after the frenetic pace of Manhattan, Lacey had found the slower speed of Sweetness quite to her liking.

She’d been delighted to learn the community had been established on the principle of recycling, partly out of ecological concern, partly out of necessity because the land had to be cleared of so much storm debris. Many of the structures on Main Street—including the sprawling boardinghouse that had become the hub of the town—were finished with a pleasing patchwork of reclaimed building materials. The eccentric but practical exterior spoke volumes about the kind of people who’d made Sweetness their home. Blue-collar, white-collar, laborers, engineers, medical professionals, tradesmen, ex-military—everyone blended here, and the town was becoming more diverse every day.

The burgeoning community of potters, painters and other artisans was as progressive as any group Lacey had observed in SoHo. Inspired by the creative atmosphere, she had bought a secondhand sewing machine and learned to make funky clothes that suited her style, like brightly colored long cotton skirts and wildly patterned dresses that hid a day’s worth of pet stains and activity. She even made dog toys to give to her clients. Chaz carried in his mouth a pink stuffed bone he’d chosen on an earlier visit. His owner, none other than Emily Armstrong, mother to the Armstrong brothers, said Chaz had become attached to the toy, which made Lacey’s heart brim.

Her customers all had individual personalities, like people. Chaz, for example, was the friendliest dog she’d ever met. She allowed him to sniff and wander, laughing at his exuberant curiosity. When he spotted Nigel, a dark-faced pug, a few yards away, he dropped his toy, gave a happy yap and strained against his leash.

Lacey picked up the toy, then smiled at Nigel’s owner, Rachel Hutchins, and squashed the feelings of inadequacy that pinged her when she came face-to-face with the towering, voluptuous blonde. Lacey was pretty comfortable in her own freckled skin and her own pale hair, but standing next to Rachel, she felt preadolescent and gauche with her unremarkable figure and untamable curls. And it was impossible to dislike the woman because not only were Rachel’s curves generous, but she had a big brain, too.

Two years ago she’d spearheaded the trip taken by the group of women from Broadway, Michigan, who had answered the Armstrong brothers’ ad for single females with a pioneering spirit looking for a fresh start. The women had arrived when the town was little more than a road and a boardinghouse. Sure, the Armstrong brothers were the town elders, so to speak, but many credited Rachel for driving the town’s progress forward, especially when it came to quality-of-life issues. Rightfully so, Rachel had positioned herself to become the first mayor of Sweetness, and Lacey couldn’t imagine anyone running against her.

The woman was a force of nature.

“Hi, Lacey,” Rachel said cheerfully. “How’s business?”

“Great,” Lacey said. “In fact, I’ve hired Betsy Hahn to help on weekends.” She’d been saving to buy a hydraulic grooming table, but decided the money would be better spent on an extra employee, which hopefully would allow her to book more revenue in the long run.

“That’s good news,” Rachel said, “although I’m not surprised. People are talking, you know.”

Lacey arched an eyebrow. “About?”

“About the way you have with dogs.” She nodded to Chaz, who was enthusiastically licking a less enthusiastic Nigel. “Emily says he was downright mean before she brought him to you to groom.”

Lacey gave a little laugh. “Chaz wasn’t mean—a little cranky, maybe, but that’s typical for an older dog.”

Rachel looked down and cringed. Chaz was licking her toes as if they were candy. “His disposition seems to have improved.”

“Sorry,” Lacey said, steering the terrier away from Rachel’s tasty toes. “We’re on our way to Dr. Greenwood for an S-H-O-T.”

Chaz looked up and whined.

Rachel squinted, looking back and forth between Lacey and the dog. “Good luck with that. I’ll see you tomorrow for Nigel’s spa day.”

“See you then.” Lacey held out Chaz’s toy, which he happily took in his mouth, then she urged him forward.

When she’d first visited Sweetness, she’d fallen in love with the little town, though she’d had concerns it might not be able to support a dog grooming business. But when she’d spied the sign for Dr. Greenwood’s veterinary practice, she’d seen it as a good indication the pet population was growing. Doctor Greenwood had assured her the town needed her services and his news that a military dog training facility was under construction cinched her decision. As a New Yorker who’d witnessed the aftermath of 9/11, she had immense respect for service animals, especially rescue dogs and war dogs.

Judging from the number of flowers left regularly at the grave of Silky, a war dog buried in a hilltop cemetery outside of town, so did all the residents of Sweetness.

As she and Chaz made their way down the sidewalk, she greeted familiar faces and unfamiliar faces alike—everyone was friendly…it came from living in a place of one’s choosing, she supposed. Her eye traveled to the white water tower perched on a ridge above the town. It was the only original structure, and she found its presence comforting…and romantic. The Armstrong brothers themselves had used it as a canvas to graffiti messages of love to the women they’d dedicated themselves to.

Lacey sighed, wondering how it would feel to have a man so head over heels for her that he would make a public spectacle of himself.

A group of burly men emerged from the diner and headed her way. The men touched the bills of their hats and made room to let her and Chaz pass—she was still getting accustomed to Southern men’s manners. A couple of them flitted admiring glances over her bare legs and offered flirtatious smiles.

Lacey blushed. There was no shortage of men in Sweetness, to be sure…but no shortage of women, either, now that word had gotten out that a veritable army of eligible ex-military men were laboring away in the remote town. Yet Lacey couldn’t blame her lack of male companionship entirely on the stiff competition—while she had a way with four-legged beasts, she’d never quite mastered interacting with the two-legged variety.

Dogs were simple—feed them and love them, and they stuck around. But men…well, her mother had dedicated her life to the care and feeding of her father, and it hadn’t kept him home.

In a word, men made her nervous.

She gave the workers what she hoped was a coy smile in return, then pulled in Chaz’s leash and crossed the street to the building that housed several professional offices, including Dr. Greenwood’s practice. He occupied an expansive office on the first level that extended from the front of the building to the back, with access to a loading dock and wide doors to accommodate larger animals. Farming had once again taken root outside the town limits of Sweetness, and although Dr. Greenwood made “house” calls for livestock, he’d made allowances for the occasional oversize walk-in patient.

She pushed open the door to the lobby and allowed Chaz to scamper inside in front of her. The lobby was surprisingly empty, the “people” magazines nicely stacked (if a little chewed), with wide seats and couches to accommodate pets and owners together, if necessary. In lieu of plants, landscape murals adorned the walls. Hildie, Dr. Greenwood’s vet tech, walked toward them carrying her purse.

“Hi, Lacey. I was just on my way to lunch. I know Chaz has an appointment, but Dr. Greenwood is seeing a walk-in at the moment. Can you wait?”

“Sure,” Lacey said. “We’re early anyway.”

Hildie smiled. “Okay. See you later.” She reached down to give Chaz a scratch, then left with a wave, turning the out-to-lunch sign that meant patients and their owners were welcome to come in and wait until Dr. Greenwood and Hildie returned. Or if there was an emergency, everyone knew one or both could be found at Molly’s Diner across the street.

Lacey sat on the couch and reached for a magazine that looked interesting. Chaz explored the room, dragging his leash behind him. From a room down the hallway, a bark sounded and before Lacey could grab him, Chaz had bounded off to investigate.

“Chaz, no!”

But by the time she caught up to him, he had nudged open the door left ajar and run inside. Dr. Greenwood and another man swung their heads around in surprise. She had a fleeting impression that the dark-haired stranger was attractive…very attractive.

Chaz made a happy beeline for the large black Labrador retriever sitting on the floor. Lacey’s heart blipped with fear, afraid the little dog had picked the wrong playmate—even animals that were normally good-natured could bite or attack when they were ill.

But instead of pouncing, the unleashed black Lab scrambled backward, eyes rolling, and cowered in a corner. Chaz dropped his pink stuffed bone and climbed on the bigger dog, licking its face ardently even as the larger dog howled in protest.

Lacey dived for his leash. “I’m sorry, Dr. Greenwood—”

“It’s okay, Lacey—”

“Get your dog away from mine,” the other man cut in, his face stony.

Lacey flinched at his sharp tone, then scooped up Chaz and beat a hasty exit, smarting. The friendly little terrier had posed no danger to his much larger breed.

She retreated to a chair in the lobby, maintaining a firm grip on Chaz’s leash. Her heart went out to the cowering black Labrador who obviously had an overbearing master.

She lifted her chin. Maybe the stranger wasn’t so attractive after all.

Chapter Two

Mike Nichols opened his mouth to apologize to the young woman, but she was already gone. He sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Dr. Greenwood. “I didn’t mean to snap at the lady.”

“It’s my fault for leaving the door open,” Dr. Greenwood said, closing it. “Lacey is the local groomer. She brings her customers by sometimes if they’re due for a checkup. She meant no harm.”

Not his proudest moment, Mike acknowledged with a grunt.

In fact,” the doctor continued, “folks around here say she’s a bit of a dog whisperer.”

Mike gave a derisive laugh. “A dog whisperer? What the heck is that?”

The doctor shrugged. “She just has a way with canines. Calms them down.”

Mike frowned and nodded to his black Labrador. “Sheridan doesn’t need to be calmed down. Three months ago he was the best search and rescue dog I’d ever worked with. Now look at him. He has zero energy and acts as if he’s afraid of his own shadow.” Frustration ballooned in his chest as he watched the once-fierce dog hunker down on the floor, trembling.

Dr. Greenwood made a thoughtful noise as he glanced over Sheridan’s chart. “He seems to be healthy, but I’ll run a full battery of blood tests and review the scans, see if anything shows up. It might take a few days, though.”

“Sheridan and I will be in town for a few weeks. I’m putting him through a refresher course at the military dog training facility.”

The doctor frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, at least until we know if there’s a physical problem.”

“I won’t overwork him. But he hasn’t been in the field in a while, and I think the discipline will be good for him. For now I’ll just put him through familiar exercises until he can take an advanced class.”

“You know your dog better than anyone,” Dr. Greenwood conceded. “How can I get in touch with you when the results of the tests come back?”

“I’m staying in one of the cabins on Clover Ridge. My cell number is on Sheridan’s paperwork.”

The doctor nodded, and the men shook hands.

“Sheridan, come,” Mike said.

At his dog’s hesitation, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Sheridan, come.”

The dog pushed to his feet, slowly. Then he dipped his black head to pick up the pink stuffed bone the other dog had left behind and walked forward to allow Mike to hook a leash to his collar.

Mike’s mouth tightened at the sight of the toy. “Sheridan, drop it.”

But the dog only whined.

“It’s okay,” Dr. Greenwood offered. “Lacey makes them for her customers. He can keep it.”

Except Sheridan was an alpha dog—no pink toys allowed. “Sheridan, drop it.”

More whining, no dropping.

Mike blinked. He’d seen Sheridan balk at a command, perhaps be momentarily confused in the heat of the moment, but the dog hadn’t disobeyed a command outright since his early days as a training pup.

“Er, perhaps he’s confused after the examination I gave him,” the doctor offered, opening the door and extending his arm toward the hallway.

Mike acquiesced—the man had other patients. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” He led Sheridan out into the hallway, squashing the alarm that niggled at him.

When they entered the lobby, the woman whose dog had barged into the exam room sat in a chair with a firm grip on the terrier’s leash. She made eye contact and gave him a little smile. She was cute in a gypsy sort of way, petite and earthy. With her brightly colored clothes and wild blond hair, he could see why people might attribute her success with dogs to mystical qualities. He didn’t believe in that stuff, but he did feel contrite for barking at her like a dog himself.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. “I overreacted.”

“No need to apologize,” she said. “It was my fault.”

“Lacey Lovejoy, meet Mike Nichols,” Dr. Greenwood said.

She stood and extended a slender hand. He shook it, startled by the strength he felt there. But then again, hadn’t the doctor said she was a groomer?

From the floor, her dog yapped a greeting, straining at the leash she’d reined in.

“Sit,” she said, and the terrier obeyed.

And so did Sheridan.

Mike clenched his jaw, but saw his opportunity to get rid of the pink plaything. “Here’s your dog’s toy. Sheridan, drop it.”

Again, only whining. Exasperated, Mike reached down to take hold of the stuffed toy. “Sheridan, release.”

He wouldn’t. When Mike pulled, Sheridan pulled back until they were in a tug-of-war—which Sheridan won when Mike lost his grip. He was incredulous at his dog’s behavior.

“He can keep it,” Lacey said.

“That’s not the point,” he said evenly. “When I tell him to do something, he’s supposed to do it.”

“He’s a search and rescue dog?”

He nodded, surprised.

“I recognized the decal on his collar,” she said, gesturing. “Is he training at the local academy?”

“Yes…I mean, he will be. As soon as he’s well.”

The woman crouched until she was face-to-face with his dog.

Mike shifted uncomfortably.

She angled her head. “He’s not sick. He’s…afraid.”

Unable to contain his skepticism, he scoffed, “Oh? You’re a dog psychic?”

She pushed to her feet, a little wrinkle marring her brow. “No. I’m a dog groomer.”

“Well, when Sheridan needs a haircut, I’ll bring him to see you,” Mike said pointedly. “Otherwise, I think I’ll let the real doctor figure out what’s wrong.”

Her face blanched. “Of course. I didn’t mean to interfere.” She turned to Dr. Greenwood. “Which exam room should I take Chaz to for his rabies booster?”

“Room one is fine,” Dr. Greenwood said.

“Goodbye, Mr. Nichols,” she said cheerfully. “And good luck.”

He watched her and her friendly little dog go, as if she couldn’t wait to leave the room he was in. Disappointment warred with irritation as she swished away—he hadn’t asked for the kooky woman’s input, so he had no reason to feel guilty about refusing her so-called help.

His dog didn’t need a damn shrink.

Dr. Greenwood coughed politely. “Let me know if you notice any changes in Sheridan—good or bad. Otherwise, I’ll call you when I know more.”

Mike nodded and led Sheridan to the door, frowning down at the pink stuffed bone clamped in his dog’s jaws. Yet another step backward.

He was starting to regret coming to this place called Sweetness.

Chapter Three

“The doc will figure out what’s wrong with him,” Barry Ballantine said.

Mike wiped sweat from his brow. Even with a prosthetic lower leg, his former military buddy was setting a brisk pace for their morning run across Clover Ridge. Barry was an ex—Navy SEAL who ran the newly built dog training facility. Next to them ran Sealy, Barry’s German shepherd mix, and Sheridan, who showed no signs of fatigue…and still held the stuffed pink bone clamped in his mouth.

“What’s with the girlie toy?” Barry asked with a grin.

Mike frowned. “Some eccentric lady and her dog were at the vet’s office, and her dog gave it to Sheridan. Now he’ll only put it down to eat, and then he guards it like a damn treasure.”

“Eccentric? Curly blond hair, pretty?”

Mike shrugged. “She’s cute, I guess. Fluffy name.”

“Lacey Lovejoy.”

“Yeah, that’s her—lady’s got a screw loose.”

Barry laughed. “People around here think she can communicate with animals.”

“I know,” Mike said with a scoff. “She tried to psychoanalyze my dog.”

“What’d she say?”

Mike stopped running and massaged a stitch in his side.

Barry stopped, too, then threw a mock punch. “You’re getting soft, man.”

Mike gave a little laugh. “Shut up, man. I feel like crap. I got no sleep last night—Sheridan woke me up every couple of hours, howling.”

“Bad dreams?”

“Pain, more likely. I’m afraid it’s something serious, but I’m trying not to worry until Dr. Greenwood gets back to me with the test results.”

Barry nodded. “So what did Lacey have to say about Sheridan?”

Mike frowned. “She said he was scared.”

“Of what?”

“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. What a crock.”

“Maybe,” Barry agreed. “But she comes to the training center to groom the dogs, and she’s good with them—even the bad-tempered ones.”

“Sheridan isn’t bad-tempered.”

“You know what I mean—the difficult trainees, the ones that are hyper or antisocial. Lacey has a way with them.”

Mike lifted his water bottle for a drink, then poured a few splashes over Sheridan’s head, since he couldn’t seem to put down the toy long enough to pant and cool himself down naturally. The dog skittered sideways, which only irritated Mike more. “This is why you asked me to bring Sheridan here, to see this Dr. Dolittle lady?”

“Of course not. Like you, I thought Sheridan was just getting lazy, being rebellious.” Barry nodded to the black Lab. “But it’s evident something’s wrong—he’s a different dog than I remember.”

Mike chewed on his tongue. “Like you said, Dr. Greenwood will figure it out.”

Barry clapped him on the back. “Probably. Let’s head back.”

They jogged back across the ridge at a slower rate. Far below them were the buildings that made up the town of Sweetness. Straight ahead in the distance lay another mountainous ridge.

“The town is sitting in a bowl,” Mike observed.

Barry nodded. “That’s why the first tornado did so much damage when it touched down. The mountain ridges contained it and the longer it spun, the more powerful it became.”

“You saw it?”

“I saw it coming,” Barry said, his expression tight, “after the warning alarm was sounded from the water tower.” He shook his head, obviously still moved by his memories. “The size and the force of that monster is still indescribable. It’s something I hope I never see again.”

“How did you ride it out?”

“I ran to Moon’s Grocery and Mr. Moon herded everyone into the basement. When the storm was over, though, we were trapped, buried alive.”

Mike’s step faltered. “Seriously? How’d you get out?”

“Emory Maxwell and Porter Armstrong were home on leave from the Army. They dug us out with little more than their bare hands. And there were stories like that all over town. I still can’t believe no one died that day. The town looked like a pile of matchsticks.”

“I saw the pictures—they’re brutal.”

“When my family left town to move to Atlanta, I didn’t think Sweetness would ever be habitable again, but the Armstrongs have done an amazing job.”

“Wait a minute—you said the first tornado. There were others?”

“I wasn’t here, but last year another twister set down, not quite as powerful as the previous storm, but by all rights, it should’ve done some serious damage.”

“It didn’t?”

“Only minor stuff—a testament to how structurally sound the new buildings are. The training facility is as solid as a bunker.” His voice resonated with pride.

“You’re happy here, I can tell,” Mike offered.

Barry didn’t bother hiding his grin. “I am. If I hadn’t come back after my injury, I wouldn’t have met Lora again, or become reacquainted with the Armstrong brothers. They donated the land to build the dog training center on the condition that I would run the place. I feel like I hit the jackpot.”

“You’ve worked for everything you’ve got, and sacrificed more than a man should have to. You deserve a good life.”

“Thanks,” Barry said. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Anyone special back in Columbus?”

Columbus, Georgia, was where Mike was stationed at Fort Benning. “No. You know how it is—too busy, and the travel is erratic.” And now he was too worried about Sheridan to even consider a serious relationship. He was afraid if he took his eye off his dog for even a few minutes, Sheridan would slide further away.

“All I know is that one of these days, a woman is going to bring you to your knees.”

“Hey, just because Lora has you in a bind doesn’t mean you have to wish it on me.”

“Lora has me exactly where I want to be,” Barry said with a goofy grin. “You should be so lucky. Aren’t you up for reenlistment soon?”

“Six months,” Mike confirmed.

“I hear they’re offering nice bonuses.”

“Yep.”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

Mike took another drink of water. “I might reclass.”

Barry’s eyes widened. “Change your specialty? Give up dog handling?”

Mike shrugged. “Maybe it’s time for a change.”

“You’re letting this situation with Sheridan get to you. If he doesn’t return to service, it has nothing to do with your ability as a handler.”

Mike worked his mouth back and forth. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

Barry gave a little laugh. “Now who sounds eccentric? You and Lacey Lovejoy might have more in common than you think. Come on, old man, pick up the pace!”

Dismayed by his buddy’s comment, Mike dug in, glad to suddenly be running too fast to necessitate a reply.

* * *

By the time he walked through the door of Molly’s Diner for breakfast, Mike had almost put his conversation with Barry out of his mind. He and Lacey Lovejoy had nothing in common.

The thought was reinforced when he spied her sitting at the counter, chatting with the bald cook, Clancey. Indeed, the woman was hard to miss, since she resembled a parrot with a perm. Inexplicably rankled, he took a seat at the opposite end and buried his face in a menu. But even from here, he could hear her tinkling laugh as she and the man discussed the similarities between, of all things, men and dogs. From the cook’s conversation, he was obviously gay, and the two were having a grand time one-upping each other with their jokes, prompting supportive comments from other customers sitting nearby, mostly single women.

“He’ll do anything for a treat,” Lacey said.

“He’ll bury his bone anywhere,” Clancey interjected, to uproarious laughter.

“He barks when another dog comes into his yard.”

“He’s loyal when you’re around, but roams when you’re gone.”

“He sniffs all your friends,” Lacey added, eliciting a burst of applause.

Mike frowned, not amused at the woman’s sense of humor. He glanced at his watch. Besides, didn’t she have a business to run? Maybe she wasn’t as much in demand as she was purported to be. Maybe she was all smoke and mirrors. Thankfully, the volley ended when Clancey returned to the grill, allowing Mike to peruse the blue plate special in relative peace.

“Good morning.”

He looked up to see Lacey standing there, in living Technicolor—a flowing turquoise skirt, a yellow peasant blouse, a flowered scarf that did little to contain her riotous curls. Her face, he realized with a start, was actually quite beautiful, once a person got past all that hair. Her cheekbones were high and chiseled, her nose fine and flaring, her mouth a pink bow. And her eyes were the strangest color of pale green, almost ethereal—probably contacts, he mused, to foster the perception she was “mystical.”

“Hello,” he said coolly.

“I was just wondering how Sheridan is feeling.”

“He seems better,” Mike lied.

“That’s good,” she said cheerfully. “The fresh air up here is good for every living thing, don’t you think?”

He grunted.

“See you around,” she said, then left on a breeze of some citrusy scent that tickled his nostrils.

He rubbed his nose and watched her leave, collecting people as she went along, who apparently wanted to talk about their pets. Outside, a dozen or so dogs of all shapes and sizes were tied up along a railing, food and water within easy reach. When she walked out, tails wagged and ears perked and they all began to bark in a canine symphony. Lacey stopped to pat and coo to each one, moving down the line like a celebrity receiving her fans.

Mike pushed his tongue into his cheek. It was as if she was the Pied Piper of Pooches.

When she stepped into the sun, brilliant rays of light glanced off her white-blond curls, setting them afire. For a moment, she did look a little magical, he conceded. Then his mouth went dry. Because starkly silhouetted against the voluminous clothes she wore was a surprisingly willowy, womanly figure.

Lacey Lovejoy had secrets, all right. She was hiding a hot little body under all that useless fabric.

She bent over, tilting a pretty spectacular behind into the air. His body responded to the way she moved, and erotic images popped into his head. An Irish setter was licking her smiling face, and Mike was struck with the most absurd pang of…jealousy?

The sound of a man clearing his throat brought his head around. Clancey, the cook, was standing there, staring at him pointedly. “See something you like?”

Mike realized with a start that his mouth was open and his tongue was practically hanging out. He straightened and closed the menu. “Blue plate special.”

“Coming right up.” The beefy bald man gave him the once-over, then sauntered back to the grill.

Mike frowned at the man’s back, then chanced another glance out the window. A sun-bathed, shimmering Lacey was walking away, and all the dogs at the railing were straining against their leashes to follow her.

Mike felt the pull of her on his own body…and acknowledged, with a disturbing twinge, that he was no better than the other hounds. He dragged his gaze away from her and murmured, “Down, boy.”

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