One Summer (11 page)

“I think we’re all grateful for work these days,” she said mildly. Although he suspected she was curious about him, as he admittedly was about her, Gabe was grateful she didn’t press. “The shelter’s been getting way too many animals whose owners can no longer afford to care for them, or have to give them up because they’ve lost their homes and are moving to apartments.”

She sighed, then said, “I’ll go get your dog for you.”

Gabe opened his mouth to insist yet again that it was not
his
dog, but she’d disappeared into the house before he could get the words out.

Oh, yeah. The lady was quick. And smart.

And, he reminded himself, dangerous. Because, as he’d lain awake long into the night, he’d found himself thinking about things he’d stopped allowing himself to think about years ago.

And wanting things he had no business wanting.

After having been the topic of so much gossip herself, there was no way Charity was going to pry into Gabriel St. James’ past. But it wasn’t so much what he said—after all, how many people had actually experienced a Beaver Cleaver childhood? It was the way he’d looked as if he’d pulled the pin on a hand grenade that made her realize that he hadn’t meant to offer her even a small glimpse into his past life. Which she could both understand and respect.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.

“You’ve got a complicated daddy,” she told the dog as she scooped him up from her bed, where he’d settled into the throw pillows for a well-deserved nap. “He isn’t going to be the easiest guy to win over. But I have every faith you’ll pull it off.”

If the wag of his fluffy tail and the happy swipe of his tongue on her face were any indication, the dog agreed.

“It’s obvious you two have a lot in common,” she said, continuing her pep talk as she carried him down the stairs, “since you’re both survivors. And tough.” After all, how many nine-pound dogs could be abused and dragged beneath a van and still come out of the situation with their sweet temperament intact? “And you know what? I think he needs you every bit as much as you need him.”

Even though he wasn’t prepared to admit it. Which might be because he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself. She suspected when you spent so many years in war, you learned never to show weakness. And it wasn’t merely warriors who’d developed that instinct that probably went back to caveman times. An instinct humans definitely shared with other animals.

She’d once treated a formerly feral calico cat who’d gone months hiding a broken leg that had healed crookedly on its own. Fortunately, after surgery and recuperation, it was doing fine, spending its days in the window of Tidal Wave Books, basking in the sun and the admiration of passersby and customers.

This little guy and the hard-edged, granite-eyed Marine would be good for each other. Which was why she was so determined to match them up.

“Who are you kidding?” she muttered to herself.

The truth was while she really did believe that the match would benefit both of them, she just wanted to keep Gabriel St. James in town a little longer. Not forever. She could recognize a rover when she met one. But just long enough to explore these unsettling, exciting feelings he’d stirred.

Charity had lived thirty-one years without experiencing a single sexual fantasy—unless you counted imagining herself as Amy March being courted by Christian Bale’s breathtakingly handsome Laurie, but that daydream had remained as sweetly mild as the
Little Women
movie on which it had been based.

Last night’s dream of the Marine’s dark hands leaving a trail of sparks over her breasts, her stomach, the crease of her thighs, his mouth hot and hungry between her legs, had definitely not been G-rated.

He was waiting on the porch when she came out.

Before he could object that he didn’t want the damn dog, as she knew he intended to, she simply shoved it up against his broad chest. As the ball of freshly shampooed fluffy black fur lifted its front paws to his shoulders, she backed away, giving him no choice but to grab hold.

“Good try,” he acknowledged her ploy as a pink tongue came out, and even with the inflatable “comfort collar” designed to keep him from bothering his wounds and neutering stitches, the little dog managed to lick the Marine’s face. “But I’m still not in the market for a dog.”

“So you say.” She folded her arms so he couldn’t shove it back at her. “Personally I think the two of you are a perfect match. And whether you want to admit it or not, you need him as much as he needs you.”

“And you know this how?”

“I bought your book this morning.
Semper Fi.
” She gestured to where it still sat on the table between two of the chairs. “My stepfather’s right. You’re very talented.”

“Thanks. But what does you buying my book have to do with pushing a homeless dog on me?”

“He won’t be homeless if you take him.”

“Hell, in case you’ve forgotten, I don’t
have
a home.”

“Of course you do. It’s merely on wheels at the moment. Dogs are very adaptable. Much more so than cats. He’ll fit right in. Besides you can’t travel forever.”

“Want to bet?”

Although she’d carefully planned out her argument ahead of time, after looking through his photos, that curt question momentarily threw her off track. “You don’t have any place to go home to?”

“Nope. Haven’t ever felt the need for one.”

“I spent most of my life moving around whenever my mother remarried,” she offered. “Although it was admittedly difficult being the new girl in school all the time, by the third husband, it had pretty much become the norm.”

She’d grown up. Moved on with her life and was happy with who and where she was. But when just remembering how desperately she’d yearned for some stability caused a familiar ache inside, she absently reached out and scratched the dog’s head. “But I’ve discovered since moving here that finding a place where I can finally put down roots is proving hugely satisfying.”

Gabe shrugged. “Roots can tie you down.”

“Well, that’s certainly a different viewpoint,” she said mildly. “What about your family?”

“I don’t have one. How much do I owe you?”

And wasn’t he quick to change the subject? Oh yes, Charity thought. There was a story there.

She hadn’t realized, since moving to Shelter Bay, how much people in small towns got caught up in one another’s lives. The same way everyone knew about her debacle of a failed wedding (though not the reason, which she’d shared only with Sedona), she knew intimate details of their lives.

Such as the fact Mary Beth Addison, after a year of trying to get pregnant, had begun buying chaste tree berry and wild yam from Sofia De Luca in hopes of increasing her fertility. Despite having a degree in accounting from Willamette University, and possessing a CPA certification, cake baker Sedona Sullivan had grown up living what, to Charity, sounded like a halcyon existence on a commune in Arizona’s Red Rock country, for which she was named.

And then there was poor Adèle Douchett’s unfortunate fall, which had left her with dementia, and Kara Conway falling in love with Sax Douchett, her dead husband’s high school friend, and …

“Excuse me?” Dragging her mind from her neighbors, she realized Gabe had asked her a question.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Oh. I’m not sure, off the top of my head. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll get the paperwork.” She went back into the house, leaving him to follow. With the dog, which she’d still avoided taking back.

Retrieving the forms, she began clicking away on a desktop calculator. “Well, there’s the tick dip, and the exam, and since we have to assume he hasn’t had any vaccinations, I went ahead and did those. The rabies tag is on his collar.” Which was a lovely red tartan she thought contrasted well with his dark fur and gave him a bit of a rakish look.

He frowned at the collar. “Didn’t you have anything plainer?”

Yes! One didn’t get that particular about a collar for a dog he didn’t intend to keep.

“I’m sorry.” She flashed him her sweetest smile. “But we’re all out of the manly black-leather-with-steel-studs model.”

She tapped some more. “And the antibiotic. And the cream for his burns, and medication to prevent heartworm, which is, unfortunately, all too common, and—”

“It’s a damn good thing I
don’t
have a house,” he cut her off. “Because it’s sounding as if I’d have to mortgage it to pay your bill.”

Okay. That barb hit home. She tossed up her chin. “My rates are actually less than a lot of vets along the coast. And much less than in the cities.”

“I wasn’t challenging your prices,” he said mildly. “Just pointing out that owning a dog isn’t cheap.”

“No. But much of this is a onetime charge. Besides, look at it this way—having a dog will save you money on doctor bills.”

“And how, exactly, do you figure that?”

He did not, she noted, point out yet again that he had no intention of having a dog.

“There’s a growing body of scientific evidence supporting the theory that pets are beneficial to people in a multitude of physical ways. Not only did researchers at the State University of New York at Buffalo find that pet ownership is better than medication for lowering blood pressure under stress situations, other studies at UCLA found that having a pet corresponds to overall better health and fewer medical visits. As many as twenty-one percent fewer trips to the doctor.”

“I haven’t been to a doctor since my preseparation exam when I left the military.”

“Well, you never know. Think of him as a preventative measure. Also, moving around as much as you do, you probably don’t have much chance to interact with people.”

“That’s actually one of the
best
parts of moving around as much as I do.”

He wasn’t making it easy on her. Fortunately, Charity enjoyed a challenge.

“There have been bunches of other studies showing loneliness reduces fruit-fly life spans and increases the chances of mice developing diabetes.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not a fruit fly or a mouse.” Balancing the dog on his hip, he pulled out his wallet and handed her a credit card. “Besides, you can be surrounded by people and still be lonely.”

“Got me there.” She ran the card and handed him the receipt to sign. “Which goes along with another study that suggests just the mental perception of isolation is enough to cause adverse effects in humans, including cardiovascular disease, obesity, and weakening of the immune system.”

He scrawled his name on the paper, took his card back. But he hadn’t yet put down the dog. “You have an endless supply of those, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say endless. But I did recently read that they’ve also had success using companion dogs to treat veterans suffering from PTSD.”

“What make you think I’ve got PTSD problems?”

“Oh, I wasn’t referring to you.” But he had answered just a bit too swiftly. Almost defensively. “Merely repeating what I’d read.”

“Well, for the record, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

They fell silent as they looked across the counter at each other. Meanwhile, the dog continued to gaze up at him like a religious pilgrim looking into the face of his god.

“If you’d just keep him for a couple days. While I try to find him a family,” she said.

“Two days.”

“Oh, that’s great. Thanks. I promise you won’t regret—”

“Two days,” he repeated. “If you haven’t found anyone by then, you’re getting him back.”

“Two days is better than nothing. And maybe you’ll just find that you won’t want to give him back.”

“Don’t bet your practice on that, Doc. Is the food any good at the Sea Mist?”

Surprised by the sudden change in subject, but not wanting to say anything that might have him changing his mind about taking the Shih Tzu with him, Charity said, “It’s great, actually. And the view from the patio is one of the best in town.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“What?” Was he actually asking her out on a date?

“Dinner. You.” He pointed at her. “Me.” At himself. “Together.”

He
was
talking date. “I can’t.” But, heaven help her, she wanted to. Even as common sense warned against it. “My mother,” she reminded him, with a glance toward the stairs Amanda had disappeared up.

“She’s an adult. She can’t spend a few hours on her own?”

“Of course. But as you probably caught on, from her refusal to face her telephone, she’s here because of a personal problem we need to talk about. I can’t just run off and desert her.”

He considered that while rubbing a dented jaw broad enough to park his motor home on. “Tomorrow,” he countered.

“Okay,” she said.

He nodded as if he hadn’t expected any other outcome. She should have been annoyed by his male arrogance, yet for some reason, Charity wasn’t.

He paused at the door, the dog still under his arm like a sack of potatoes. “I hope things work out for your mom.”

And with that, he was gone. Leaving Charity with no choice but to go upstairs and face her mother.

Bon Temps was the type of Cajun restaurant/bar/dance hall that one could expect to find down in the Louisiana bayou. Established by Cole Douchett’s parents, it had been refurbished and was now run by Cole’s brother Sax.

Mardi Gras masks hung on walls the color of boiled crawfish, and colorful beads, like those thrown from parade floats, had been strung between the light fixtures. But the best thing was the aroma that hit the minute a customer walked in the door.

It was the middle of the day, not exactly rush hour anywhere in sleepy Shelter Bay, yet the tables were filled. Two old men, former fishermen, judging from their weathered skin, were sitting by the window overlooking the harbor, nursing beers and eating their way through a mountain of scarlet crawfish. Another guy was playing pool at a table on the far side of the room.