The Truth About Cats & Dogs (15 page)

D
ARCY REFUSED TO EAT
.
The mastiff turned his nose up at every kind of food offered and slunk back to his enormous pillow bed in the corner of the living room. Sam took him to the vet, but the woman couldn't find anything wrong.

“It must be emotional,” she suggested. “Has he had any disruptions in his lifestyle lately?”

“No.” Sam could hardly explain that Darcy had participated in a Pekingese Underground Railroad rescue mission or caused an old van to crash into a Dumpster. “He ate a lot of doughnuts last weekend.”

“Chocolate?”

“No. Glazed sugar.”

“That wouldn't be the problem,” the vet said, giving Darcy a pat on the head. “Is he grieving for someone? A death in the family, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Maybe he senses your own stress,” she continued.

Sam self-consciously relaxed his clenched jaw muscles and tried to take a deep breath. He didn't feel like telling this no-nonsense animal doctor that he'd
fallen in love with a woman he hardly knew the day he'd been dumped by his longtime fiancée.

“He's not running a fever and he's certainly not dehydrated. I think something's bothering him, though. Emotionally.” She studied Sam as if it was entirely his fault. “Maybe he's spending too much time alone.”

“I'm on vacation this week. He sleeps with me every night.” Except for last Saturday, when the dog had insisted on sleeping in Jess's room, in front of the crate that held the female Peke.

“Give him a few more days,” she advised. “If he seems as if he's in pain, bring him back and we'll run some tests. Boil some chicken breasts and white rice, keep him on a plain diet, see what happens. He's sure to perk up once he gets over whatever it is that's upsetting him.”

If only it was that easy, Sam mused. A little boiled chicken and bland rice wasn't going to make either Darcy or his owner forget what had happened last weekend.

They were doomed to suffer for a while longer.

Until Boston.

 

S
HE CHANGED HER MIND
a thousand times.

“Go,” her best friend Mary ordered. “How many romantic weekend offers do you get?”

“Don't do it,” her favorite client said. “He sounds as if he'll break your heart, and I should know
something
about men by now. I'm on my third divorce.”

If you don't think we're somehow meant for each other…don't come…
The words echoed in her head at the oddest moments, such as when she was at home clipping the snarls behind Samantha's ears or scrubbing tile in a Bellevue mansion kitchen or stuck in traffic behind the wheel of her newly purchased, very reliable, two-year-old Toyota RAV4.

“How can you not go?” Mary asked. “You're in love with him.”

“No,” Jess lied. “I'm not. Not really.”

“I'll keep the Peke for you,” her friend replied. “Don't forget to buy new underwear.”

Sam's mother sent her a note attached to the adoption form and fee: “We loved meeting you, dear. Make sure Sam brings you back again. Ozzie and I are doing just fine together and hope to see you soon.”

There was no word from Sam, so Jess fell in love…with Samantha, though Jess had sworn she wouldn't grow attached to another little dog quite so soon. The auburn Pekingese, having survived surgery, shots and an ear infection, quickly learned that the best place to be was with her new human. Preferably on the bed.

And that was exactly where Jess spent her evenings, watching television and wondering how her life could have changed so much during one brief weekend trip to West Virginia. And what would happen if she really did have the courage to go to Boston.

If he was there—well, it could mean the beginning of something extraordinary.

And if he wasn't there? She couldn't think about that. She'd be like those women on the television show with the bachelor, the ones who didn't get a rose and went home sobbing in the limo.

Maybe it would be better to stay home and never know.

“Ignorance is bliss, Sammy-girl,” she told the little dog.

 

I
F EVER THERE WAS A GAME
that shouldn't go into overtime, this was it. Sam looked at his watch again and hoped the Redskins would complete a pass into the end zone so they could all call it a day and leave Foxboro.

Two minutes, thirty-eight seconds later, that's exactly what they did, leaving Sam scribbling game notes and getting ready for a final wrap-up.

“Who's the woman?” Rick, the cameraman, grinned at him. “You keep looking at your watch and that was the fastest report you've ever given. You got a hot date back in D.C. tonight?”

“I'm staying here in Boston for a few days,” Sam said, deliberately not answering the second question.

“You and your bride made up, huh? Cool.”

“Uh, no.” But there was no time to explain.

Sam hurried toward the waiting car he'd hired to take him to downtown Boston and the hotel where
he hoped Jess would be waiting. He'd stopped himself from calling her every night and most mornings. He'd taken Darcy for long walks, until the dog refused to move another paw. Neither one of them had recovered their appetites. He'd imagined what it would be like to make love to Jess, but he'd booked a two-bedroom suite, just in case she needed more time. He'd give her all the time she wanted, as long as he could see her again.

It was insane, feeling this way. But he'd stopped thinking about what others would say and he'd started concentrating on what he wanted out of life. There was something about Jess that made him wonder how he ever would have been happy married to Susan, a woman who didn't care for dogs and had waved aside any discussions about having children. She'd left a couple of messages on his voice mail, but he hadn't returned the calls. He didn't want to hear her apologies or her explanations and he didn't want to try to convince her that he was fine and yes, this was for the best, because she wouldn't believe that was exactly the way he felt.

“We've got us one hell of a traffic jam,” the driver muttered. “Could be here on 95 for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while'?” He still had time to get to his hotel, pick up his things and head to the Westin. He'd kept the room by the airport—just in case Jess didn't show up. He wasn't going to spend the night in the suite by himself.

“Don't know, not yet. Might be traffic from the game, might be an accident, could be both. Hard to say on game days.”

Sam grabbed his cell phone, called the Westin's front desk and introduced himself. “There will be a woman, Jess Hall, arriving at six to check into my suite. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can, please?”

He had told her six o'clock, knowing damn well the game would be over by three-thirty or four. Leave it to the Patriots to have a replacement quarterback who could complete passes.

The miles crawled by, at a pace so slow he could have jogged beside the car and not fallen behind. He cursed himself for picking Boston, worried that Jess wouldn't come at all, called the hotel and left two more messages in case he didn't arrive in downtown Boston until midnight.

When he finally made it to the airport hotel, he told the driver to wait while he raced inside to collect his things. There was no time for a shower, no time to change his clothes and shave again. On his way out he stopped near the gift shop and bought a bouquet of some kind of colorful flowers wrapped in green tissue and tied with a gold bow.

“Are those for me?” someone asked, and Sam, recognizing trouble when he heard it, looked up to see his former would-be bride.

“Susan.”

“You remembered my name.”

She smiled and several men covertly watched her. Elegant in a black suit, sexy with a low V-neck blouse and exquisite in thick gold jewelry she'd most likely designed herself, Susan commanded attention.

“What are you doing here?” Sam kissed her cheek and gripped the flowers tighter.

“Looking for you. I found out where you were staying and, voilà! Here I am.” She hooked her arm through his. “You should have returned my calls, Sam. Take your coat off and let's get a drink while I apologize for the shabby way I behaved at our wedding.”

“Apologize,” he repeated, totally aware that time was ticking away. It was after six now, closer to six-thirty. “You don't have to apologize, Susan. Your father already did that for you.”

She frowned and tossed her sleek black hair off her shoulders. “Don't be cranky, Sam. I've come to mend fences.”

“I have a date,” he said, holding up the flowers to prove it.

“Oh, please. Don't tell me you're finally flirting with the cheerleaders. Or is she someone from the local network?” She waved her manicured hand as if to make the other woman disappear. “Let's fly to Hawaii and
not
get married. A few days of sun will be good for you. You're looking pale.”

“I'm late.” Sam removed her arm from his sleeve. “And we're not going anywhere.”

“You're angry with me.” She looked as if she was
going to cry, but Sam couldn't stop to comfort her the way he used to.

“No.” He gave her a quick hug and then stepped away. “I'm just not the right man for you.”

“You've met someone else.” Her perfect eyebrows lifted. “Lucky you.”

“You don't know the half of it,” Sam said, moving past her toward the door. If he'd had any doubts at all about which woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, they were gone now. The day he hadn't gotten married had been the luckiest day of his life.

 

“N
O
, M
R
. G
ROGAN HASN'T
checked in yet,” the desk clerk said. “And you are?”

“Jess Hall. I believe he made reservations?” She'd arrived exactly at six o'clock, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her from the train station as she worried that she would be too early or too late, or would be sitting alone in a lobby filled with poinsettias until the security officers escorted her onto the sidewalk.

“Yes. Would you like to check in? I'll have someone show you to the room.”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly. The thought of waiting for Sam in a hotel room felt strange. What would she do—unpack her one outfit and new black nightgown, watch the news, pace rings in the carpet? “I'll wait for him here,” she said.

“But Miss Hall—just a moment, please.” The
woman answered the ringing phone by her elbow and proceeded to try to solve some kind of emergency regarding Andrea Bocelli's accomodations. Jess decided to drag her suitcase over to a chair by the Christmas tree decorated with silver angels and blue tinsel.

So Sam had made a reservation. So far so good.

At six-thirty she moved to the bar and watched the front door admit rain-soaked guests, none of them Sam Grogan. She drank hot buttered rum and nibbled crackers. At seven she decided that it was time to take the last train back to Newport. Mary had promised to come get her and bring a box of tissues should her heart be broken, but Jess would call her from the train and request they stop for dinner and some wine instead. She absolutely refused to cry, at least until she was home with Samantha.

So much for love at first sight.

 

S
O MUCH FOR HIS ROMANTIC
evening. He arrived at seven-fifteen only to find that Jess wasn't there after all. He hadn't asked at the desk if she'd checked in. If his dreams were going to be trampled, he'd prefer to endure the trauma in the privacy of his own room. So Sam stood in the middle of a suite of rooms worthy of visiting royalty and realized it was depressingly and undeniably empty. He held his wilting flowers, his leather suitcase and his damp overcoat, and lost any hope that the woman he'd fallen in love
with had come to Boston because she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her.

He tossed the flowers in the wastebasket and poured a scotch from the nicely stocked bar in the living room. He waited several moments before calling the desk downstairs. Maybe she'd been here. Maybe she'd left a message.

And maybe he'd stay here after all and get drunk.

 

S
AM NEEDED COFFEE
. He could have made it himself with the coffeemaker in the kitchen or he could have called room service and had a carafe sent up, along with pastries and a fruit plate.

But if he stayed in the suite of rooms much longer he knew he would go mad. Last night had been hell and this Monday morning was so unlike what he'd pictured it would be that Sam knew the best thing he could do was keep moving. The hotel had a coffee bar. And where there was coffee there were doughnuts and bagels and Danishes, all waiting for a freshly showered man with a hangover, a packed suitcase and the knowledge that he'd missed something very special.

He stood in line at the overpriced coffee stand with a crowd of people wearing conference badges. He bought a large coffee and two croissants and, when he turned to leave the register, he bumped into a woman in a red sweater, a black suitcase beside her.

“Hey,” she said, and Sam looked up and focused
on the face of a woman he had never expected to see at eight o'clock in the morning. She smiled and the air disappeared from his lungs. “I wondered when you'd notice me.”

“How long—”

Jess ordered coffee and a Danish pastry before explaining. “I was here at six last night. Where were
you?
”

“Stuck in traffic. Buying flowers. Leaving messages for you. Having a nervous breakdown.”

“You bought
flowers?
” She looked at him as if he'd presented her with three dozen roses.

“You didn't get my messages?”

She shook her head. “I waited in the bar until seven and then I went back to the train station, but there was a delay out of New York and the train was going to be horribly late, so I came back here and got my own room.”