Ruff Way to Go (29 page)

“No, there
isn’t. Could I have the puppy, please?”

“I found him
scratching at my gate, trying to get in. So, naturally, dog lover that I am, I
let him in. I cannot believe that you, who teach people how to handle their
dogs’ behavior problems, would actually allow a young puppy in your charge to
get loose like this and run across the street. Such news would hardly help your
business if someone were to spread the word around.”

“Is that a
threat?”

“No, my
dear. I’m hardly the sort to engage in neighborhood gossip.” She fixed her eyes
across the street, where my mother and next-door neighbor were still talking. “Unlike
some people I could name.”

Her thinly
cloaked insult of my mother set my teeth on edge. “Odd that you make these
insinuations about my care of the puppy just after I informed you that your
husband and not you would be getting custody of your dog.”

“Are you
accusing me of stealing your puppy?”

“No, just of
not being sincere about the source of your hostility toward me.”

“So call me
small-minded, but you are not one of my favorite people. And if I can cause you
the same kind of pain that you caused me, I would not hesitate to do so.
Unfortunately, I am not about to take your cocker spaniel or your shepherd to
teach you that kind of a lesson. I cannot stand to hurt even you that deeply.”

She thrust
Fez into my arms, then whirled on a heel and shut the door.

Somehow, I
doubted she would be offering me a special low price at her store anytime soon.

Mom and I
wedged a rock in the hole underneath the fence, and I took off for work. My
mind wasn’t fully focused, and the day seemed to drag. Late that afternoon, I
went into my office to catch up on paperwork and the like. Sundays were
typically quiet and offered none of the distractions that I readily looked for
while trying to avoid this type of work.

To my
surprise, Russell trotted down the steps into our walk-out basement office. He
was dressed casually, jeans and a purple collared short-sleeved knit shirt. He
gave me a big smile that immediately warmed my heart. “Hi. I was hoping I’d
find you here. How’s everything going?”

“Fine.” I
suddenly realized that the last time we’d spoken, I’d had to abruptly cut short
our phone conversation. “Oh, jeez. I just realized I never called you back
yesterday. I...got into a bit of a mess with Suds’s former owner, but he’s
safely locked up now.”

“Locked up?
What happened?”

“He beat
Suds, who had to be rescued by Animal Control, then he decided to take matters
into his own hands and get Suds back. Using me to run interference. Anyway, it’s
over now.”

He studied
my face for a long moment, then said, “I have a feeling you left a lot of
details out of that story. Which maybe we can remedy. Are you doing anything
tonight?”

“No, I’m
free.” I didn’t want to seem too anxious, but held my breath in anticipation,
hoping he would ask me out on a date.

“Would you
be interested in going out for dinner with me tonight?”

“I’d love
to.”

“Great I’ll
come pick you up at your house around seven.” He gestured at the door behind us
and took a step backward “Think I’ll go now, before you have the chance to
change your mind.”

“I won’t
change my mind.”

His smile
broadened, his dark eyes sparkling. “Great,” he said again. “Still, I’d...
better go. See you at seven.”

“I’ll be
looking forward to it”

“Me, too,”
he said, and pushed out the door.

Seven o’clock
just couldn’t seem to come fast enough that evening. I got dressed
up—heels and a blue knit dress and scarf—then finally decided that,
rather than watch the clock, I’d spend time with my dogs. To my surprise,
partway into some brush-up obedience training with the three of them, Russell
stepped through the gate.

His face
instantly grew pale at the sight of Pavlov, currently off the leash.

“Russell. I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean for you and Pavlov to
cross paths. I didn’t realize it was
so late. Plus I thought you’d ring the doorbell.”

His eyes
still on Pavlov, he said, “I’m a little early. I saw you back here as I turned
the corner.”

To my
horror, Pavlov forgot her manners and barked at him and started to trot toward
him.

“Pavlov!
Sit! Stay!”

The poor man
had already broken into a sweat. One of Russell’s earliest memories, he’d once
told me, was of his brother being mauled by a German shepherd. He had such a
strong fear now that it was physically painful to have to watch him near my
beloved shepherd.

“Pavlov, lie
down. Stay.”

Russell
blushed and averted his eyes. “Sounds idiotic, I know, but I forgot your dog
was going to be here. I didn’t prepare myself, or I’d have been fine.”

“That’s
okay.”

From inside
the house, Mom threw open the screen door. Suds barreled out, barking at
Russell, who shrank back and cried, “No. Stop. Get back!”

“Suds, come!”
I yelled, but Suds jumped up on Russell. “Suds, down!” The dog ignored me, and
I tried again, thinking she might know the other frequently used command for
this. “Suds, off!”

Russell
looked nearly apoplectic and was shielding his face with his arm.

“No! Bad
dog!” I grabbed Suds’s collar, and for the first time in my life, I was so
angry at the dog—despite her injured muzzle—that I was sorely
tempted to step on her hind paw to discipline her.

Mom had
heard the commotion and came out, joining me in my apologies to the beet red
Russell for the dog’s behavior. She took Suds back inside, talking sternly to
her as she went.

“Not exactly
an impressive entrance,” Russell said. “I’d have rather tripped and fallen on
my face.”

I felt too
inhibited to reach out and touch Russell’s cheek reassuringly, though I knew
that would have driven home my
words more effectively. “It’s not your fault,
Russ. Lots of people are afraid of dogs, and with much less reason man you
have.”

“Do you
still feel like going out with me tonight?”

“Of course I
do.” Truth be told, if anything, I still felt like throwing my arms around him
to compensate for the miserable greeting he’d gotten from my dogs.

I glanced
back and saw that Pavlov was dutifully lying down, watching all of this with
big worried eyes. I was torn between wanting to give both Russell and my
shepherd hugs, but the dog got preference because she was likely to stay in
this position forever, awaiting my command. “Pavlov, okay. Good dog.” I called
to Russell, “Just let me get my things and I’ll meet you out front.”

The moment I
heard him click the gate latch so that I knew he wasn’t watching, I gave Pavlov
the reassuring hug that Russell was probably more in need of, then said goodbye
to the dogs and rushed inside to wash my hands, grab my purse, and say good
night to my mother.

Mom
murmured, “I feel so bad for all but siccing Suds on Russell accidentally. Is
he all right?”

“A bit of
injured pride is all. I’ve got to run.”

“Tell
Russell again how sorry I am.”

Russell was
waiting in his avocado-colored Volvo, but he promptly got out and opened the
car door for me. I decided the best option was not to mention the dog incident
and hope that we could put it behind us. We made small talk during our long
drive to Boulder, the atmosphere charged, at least for my part, by nervousness.

We wound up
parking in one of the lots nearby and walking through the west side of the
Pearl Street Mall to a Mexican restaurant just a couple of streets away. The
mall is a touristy section of downtown Boulder a few blocks south of our
office. It’s a pretty red-brick street where sidewalk acts of jugglers and
musicians play for coins from pedestrians.

Our hands
brushed together, and he took mine, giving it a squeeze. I began to worry that
my palm was really sweaty and found myself babbling to cover my nervousness. “I’m
really
glad we got the chance to take a rain check on dinner. I’m so looking forward
to a margarita and a chance to relax.”

“Me too.”

“How are you
doing on that big job you’ve been working on for your client?”

“Finished,
thanks. I finally get some free time again.”

“Maybe we
can spend some of it together,” I said before I could stop myself.

He gave me
such a winning smile that my heart seemed to flutter. He had the softest dark
brown eyes I’d ever seen on a human being. If only he weren’t terrorized by the
one thing I loved most in this world.

We reached
the restaurant, where the aroma of salsa and spices greeted us. We were soon
seated. His arm brushed against mine as he held my chair for me, and I found
myself wanting to linger in the warmth of his body.

The waitress
was saying something about the specials, but she might as well have been speaking
a foreign language as far as my ability to listen. I found myself scanning the
menu without reading it, wondering if I was really feeling this attracted to
Russell or was just drawn to him as a safe harbor from all the hateful things I’d
recently stumbled upon.

“Does
anything look good to you?” he asked.

My cheeks
warmed. This was ridiculous. I needed to get a grip on myself. “Yes, but I
haven’t decided what I want yet. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Halfway to
the restroom, I saw a familiar-looking man sitting with a woman and was so
incredulous that I stopped and stared at the man in profile. There was no
doubt, though. Paul Randon.

He was
holding hands across the table with the woman I’d met earlier, his
secretary-cum-real-estate-agent. She was gazing into his eyes with unabashed
love, or, at least, lust.

I had seen
enough and turned on a heel and headed back for the table before Paul could
spot me. I sank into my seat and snatched up my margarita, wishing at the
moment that I could drown myself in it.

“That was
quick,” Russell said with an engaging grin. “Did you miss me?”

I wanted to
smile at his joke, but couldn’t. “I just...saw a neighbor that I didn’t
particularly want to see.”

“Are you all
right?”

I nodded,
not mentioning that my stomach was churning and that I’d lost what little was
left of my appetite.

Just then,
if I had any doubts about the nature of Paul’s relationship with this woman,
they were put to rest as Paul and his date left their table and headed past
ours toward the exit, his arm wrapped around her. His eyes widened when he
caught sight of me. He immediately drew away from the other woman, but walked
past us without a word.

“That’s
Cassandra Randan’s widower. He has a child, Russell. A little girl, five or six
years old, who’s just lost her mother.”

What Melanie
had blurted out during my babysitting had been the truth. Paul Randan was in
love with someone else, and he and Cassandra probably
had
been arguing
about them getting a divorce.

Had their
argument ended when he killed her?

Russell’s
gentleness and charm during dinner helped me put Paul into the recesses of my
mind, but the vestiges of our encounter lingered throughout our date. Even if
Paul was innocent, even if he and Cassandra had been on the verge of
separating, how could he treat her memory this way? How could he hang all over
some woman, when his wife had been murdered not even a week earlier?

Years ago,
Paul had to have been in love with Cassandra, had to have taken her out on
dates and believed his feelings for her would last forever. How was I supposed
to have faith in this courtship ritual when its victims and failures were so
readily apparent? Maybe the Fates were trying to tell me something. Maybe I was
one of those people who was truly meant to be alone.

Russell
drove me home. The windows in the Randons’ house were all black and the place
had a deserted aura to it. Paul must be at his female companion’s place. No
wonder he’d changed his tie at some point during his “meeting” the other day.

Only the
porch light was on at my home. Mom must have gone to bed early, or at least had
deliberately given that impression by turning the living room lights off. The
instant we parked, Russell launched himself out of the car and around to my
side to open the door for me. I smiled in spite of myself. The man really knew
how to make me feel as though he were fully in the moment and focused on me,
even if, sadly, the reverse wasn’t quite true.

We walked to
my front door in silence, but I was acutely aware of the warmth of his
body by my side, of the way his hand brushed against mine. The crickets were
chirping, heralding summer’s rapid approach.

I turned
toward him at the door, intending to apologize for dampening the evening with
my moodiness. The porch light cast soft highlighting upon his face and dark
hair. He looked incredibly handsome, and I suddenly felt as though I couldn’t
get a deep enough breath of air. In a strained voice, I muttered, “Thank you,
Russell. I had a nice time.”