Chapter 1 Read online

  “Afraid of flying?”

  “Nope. Just don’t like small planes.” When I did have to fly, I preferred jets, big ones. The propeller outside my window looked fragile, spinning like a tiny windmill in a West Texas sandstorm.

  He scanned the gauges. “Safer than driving. In a pinch you can land this Seneca V easier than a 747. Look, two engines.” In case I’d missed them, he pointed at each. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He reached over and patted my arm.

  Since this was my year for making resolutions, a few months ago, I’d declared myself a born-again virgin until the right man came along. I’d read somewhere you could do that. Despite my inner warnings, an involuntary wave of desire surged through my newly virgined parts.

  I shrugged off his hand, trying to hide my reaction. “Shouldn’t you keep your hands on the wheel or stick or whatever you call it?” I tucked a lock of hair behind one ear in an effort to appear casual, but my hand trembled.

  He chuckled. “You know, you aren’t at all what I expected.”

  Bristling at his arrogance, I glared at him. His eyes held mine for a moment, then wandered lower. My back stiffened. I was glad I’d worn my best jeans and had my top tucked in. My stomach was still flat and my waist small, but when it came to breasts, he might have to use his imagination.

  “And what did you expect? For me to be covered in dog hair, with slobber running down the front of my shirt?”

  He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. I looked for fillings. He couldn’t be perfect.

  Kudos for Author Ann Whitaker

  DOG NANNY was a finalist in the

  2008 Linda Howard Award of Excellence Contest.

  Dog Nanny

  by

  Ann Whitaker

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Dog Nanny

  COPYRIGHT Ó 2008 by Ann Whitaker

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 706

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2008

  Print ISBN 1-60154-448-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To my husband, Bill Whitaker,

  for his enduring faith in me and my writing;

  and to my mother, Ava Howard,

  for giving me a passion for reading

  and the gift of laughter.

  Their unconditional love and support

  can’t be matched.

  Acknowledgements

  A Texas-sized thank you to the following: my first reader, Terry Spear; my wonderful Elements of RWA critique partners for their encouragement, insightful comments, eye for detail, and enthusiasm for my writing; authors Lynn Reynolds and Cara Marsi, for leading me through the wild rose garden; pilot, teacher, and fellow writer Sarah McNary and her husband, flight instructor Lt. Dave McNary of the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department, who taught me how to “talk pilot”; Lisa Oatman, for answering my early questions on airport protocol; Marilyn Patterson, for offering yet another set of eyes; Gwen Kane, for her long-term support and whose love of animals has always inspired me; and to my patient editor, Cindy Davis, who talked me through this maiden flight.

  SPECIAL DOGGY TREATS to…

  our love child, Jolie Blon, and Mardi Gras, our Tiny Tim, who taught me adopted animals have a special knack for working their way into our hearts. Extra treats to all the special companion-animals who await our reunion on Rainbow Bridge.

  Chapter One

  “I want my dog de-loused,” said the Pekingese-faced woman with the Welsh corgi body. “My husband says we got crab lice from sleeping with her.”

  I looked at the floor so she couldn’t see me grimace. Her husband might have gotten crabs from sleeping with someone, but he didn’t get them from the frightened Chihuahua the woman dangled at arm’s length over the examining table. Her perfume alone was strong enough to make a louse run for fresh air.

  My nostrils burned, and I felt a headache coming on. A dog in the waiting room yapped incessantly.

  Dr. Arthur was unusually patient. For the third time, he tried to explain. “Ma’am, lice aren’t transmitted by dogs. Lice can’t survive on domestic animals.”

  “Well,” the woman huffed, “I want a second opinion.” She waddled to the door on her short corgi legs and thumped the door shut.

  “People,” I grumbled. “There ought to be a test before they can own a dog.”

  Normally, Dr. Arthur would agree, but today he just laughed. “Lighten up, Julie. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining—”

  “It’s summer. This is Texas. The sun is always shining.” Why was he so cheery? The waiting room was packed, it was ten o’clock on Friday morning, and I was already starving.

  After the corgi woman, we treated a butt-scooting dog, a carsick cat, and a gerbil with separation anxiety. By noon I was dog-tired. Of people. The corgi woman’s problems had been a painful reminder of my last boyfriend’s infidelities.

  When we locked the doors for lunch, Dr. Arthur motioned me into his office. A broad smile creased his face. “Good news.”

  A raise? That would be good news.

  He sank into his leather chair. “I’m closing the clinic for a month.”

  Had I heard him right? “You’re closing the clinic?”

  Though Dr. A was pushing sixty, his smooth round face and pink cheeks reminded me of a cherub. “I’m not getting any younger, you know. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. Climb the Alps.”

  “The Swiss Alps?”

  He spread his arms wide. “The chance of a lifetime. Switzerland beckons.”

  “Like The Sound of Music?”

  He laughed and leaned back. “You and your old movies. You need a real life. Don’t worry. Your job will be here when I get back.”

  If he comes back.

  He was going to Switzerland. In the meantime, I would be jobless for a month. So much for a raise.

  I plopped down on a chair in front of his desk. “But this means no paycheck for a month. I really need that money.”

  Dr. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when have you needed money?”

  Like everyone else in Abilene, Dr. A knew my father amassed a fortune during the oil boom.

  “My mother has money, not me.”

  He leaned forward and patted my hand. “Didn’t your father leave you anything?”

  I sighed. “A house so big I can barely afford the upkeep. I’ve put it on the market, but who knows when it will sell?” I reached back to massage the tension from my neck. “That’s not the problem. It’s the new animal adoption center. Building is set to begin, and we still need money. I’m donating every extra penny I earn.” I was too embarrassed to mention the trust fund I couldn’t claim until I married.

  “Your mother hasn’t helped?”

  “You kidding? The only donations she makes are to the country club.”

  Dr. A rubbed his chin. “I might have a solution.” He turned toward his computer and punched a few keys. The laser printer hummed, and a sheet of paper slid out. Dr. A plucked it up and thrust it at me. “Friend of mine in Waco sent me this e-mail yesterday. Some w
oman he knows needs help.”

  My marriage is on big rocks. I squinted at the words and read them a second time. She must mean “on the rocks.” I read the next part out loud. “My husband says I have one month to get control of my two poodles or he’s leaving me.”

  When I looked up, Dr. Arthur was smiling. “The timing is perfect. I understand she also has money.”

  “So why doesn’t she call a real professional, like the Dog Whisperer?”

  “She did. His ‘people’ said he was too busy to spend a month in Waco.”

  I leaned forward and pounded my forehead on his desk. “I’m a vet tech, not a dog trainer.”

  “Didn’t you take some classes for certification?”

  “Years ago.”

  “But you do know dogs. Remember how wild your little poodle acted after you rescued him? That ugly face he made? Last I heard, he’d won some awards in obedience.”

  I blinked. “But Waco is almost two hundred miles from here.” An admittedly weak argument for a man about to travel halfway around the globe.

  He looked at me over his little reading glasses, his eyebrows raised. “That’s not so far.”

  “You want me to play dog nanny to two delinquent poodles?”

  He bestowed a beatific smile upon me. “Did you see how much she’s offering? More than you’d make here. With room and board. Besides, Waco’s not so bad. They call it the ‘Heart of Texas.’”

  I know a placebo when I hear one.

  “I’ll think about it.” Klaus Kinski’s line from Venom was my favorite stalling technique, but this time, I did need to think about it.

  Before he’d let me leave, Dr. Arthur insisted I look at the photograph attached to the e-mail. Two beautiful standard poodles: one black, one white. I could have sworn they were smiling at me.

  After leaving his office, I grabbed my lunch sack from the refrigerator and headed for an empty examining room for some alone time. I bit into my peanut butter sandwich and chewed over the proposal’s possibilities. Maybe a break would do me good. But Waco? I’d never even been to Waco. I didn’t know anyone who’d ever been to Waco. A whole month. In Waco. Training two big poodles.

  Poodles. My heart warmed at the thought. Who knew what their fate might be without a proper education? They could end up in foster care or become mangy street dogs not knowing where their next bone was coming from. Just call me a doggy do-gooder, but the idea of those poor poodles growing up in a broken home really hurt my heart. Dogs were so helpless. So faithful.

  Not only that, I’d be saving a marriage. Though I’d yet to experience the holy state firsthand, I did believe in the sanctity of the institution. Happy marriages did exist. Maybe new surroundings would help me find myself a husband before the battery in my biological clock ran out of juice. Next time, I’d find a man I didn’t have to fix.

  A month in the “heart” of Texas? Could that be a sign?

  On my own home front, I did have Philip, my live-in partner, to think about. Though he could deal with my absence, he wouldn’t be happy about my being gone that long. To tell the truth, leaving him wouldn’t be easy for me either. We’d been together three years now, and I’d gotten used to his head on the pillow next to mine each morning and snuggling against his warmth. I loved him unconditionally, but it was time to face facts—Philip simply wasn’t husband material. He was, after all, a ten-pound toy poodle.

  I gulped the last bite of my sandwich, dropped the wadded paper bag into the wastebasket, and marched into Dr. Arthur’s office. Shelves along one wall held an array of medical books; his wife and children smiled up at me from their framed photograph atop his wooden desk.

  I gritted my teeth. “I’ll do it.”

  He slapped his thighs. “I knew you couldn’t say no. I’ve already made arrangements.” Then he smiled kindly. “You know, we all need a little adventure now and then.”

  For him, that meant climbing mountains. My adventures, unfortunately, often involved a man. The wrong man. After my last regrettable experience, I’d sworn to stay away from the kind of men I’d been unlucky with in the past—darkly handsome, distant, and deceitful.

  Dr. A handed me a sheet of paper. “Here are the details. The lady’s sending her private pilot to pick you up.”

  My tongue dried up like a strip of beef jerky, and I could barely speak. “Pilot? As in flying?” Had Dr. Arthur forgotten my father, the crash?

  He swiveled his chair toward the computer and peered at the screen. “His name is…let me see here…Nick Worthington. Meet him at the airport Monday afternoon at one.”

  With little time to prepare, I shifted into high gear. My sister agreed to take care of Philip, keep an eye on my house, and pick up my mail. Since I was low-maintenance, I packed one large suitcase and was ready to go. Maybe this assignment would be easier than I’d thought.

  That was before I saw the pilot.

  ****

  No sooner were my feet off the Abilene tarmac than I was in triple trouble.

  I judged the pilot to be a few years older than me, maybe mid-thirties—exactly the kind of man I’d vowed to avoid. Devilishly handsome, with dark hair and eyes blue as denim, like the ones that always broke my heart. Something told me that before I could even get a couple of dogs to sit, I’d have to vanquish this black knight sent to fetch me.

  Too, I hadn’t flown in a small plane since my father’s crash two years ago. So instead of looking at the man next to me in the cockpit, I gazed silently at the checkerboard fields thousands of feet below, my hands clenched together in my lap, my pulse racing.

  His soft voice startled me. “Are you always this quiet?”

  “Only when someone holds my life in his hands.”

  When I worked up the nerve to look at him, he gave me a slow, smoldering grin that made me think he’d like to hold more than my life in his hands.

  “Afraid of flying?”

  “Nope. Just don’t like small planes.” When I did have to fly, I preferred jets, big ones. The propeller outside my window looked fragile, spinning like a tiny windmill in a West Texas sandstorm.

  He scanned the gauges. “Safer than driving. In a pinch you can land this Seneca V easier than a 747. Look, two engines.” In case I’d missed them, he pointed at each. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.” He reached over and patted my arm.

  Since this was my year for making resolutions, a few months ago, I’d declared myself a born-again virgin until the right man came along. I’d read somewhere you could do that. Despite my inner warnings, an involuntary wave of desire surged through my newly virgined parts.

  I shrugged off his hand, trying to hide my reaction. “Shouldn’t you keep your hands on the wheel or stick or whatever you call it?” I tucked a lock of hair behind one ear in an effort to appear casual, but my hand trembled.

  He chuckled. “You know, you aren’t at all what I expected.”

  Bristling at his arrogance, I glared at him. His eyes held mine for a moment, then wandered lower. My back stiffened. I was glad I’d worn my best jeans and had my top tucked in. My stomach was still flat and my waist small, but when it came to breasts, he might have to use his imagination.

  “And what did you expect? For me to be covered in dog hair, with slobber running down the front of my shirt?”

  He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. I looked for fillings. He couldn’t be perfect.

  “No, I just expected someone more…someone older and more rugged, I guess. Instead…” His voice trailed off.

  When I didn’t respond, he looked at me again, this time with curiosity. I smiled to myself and swelled up a little, proud of my willpower. Then he winked, and I cursed myself for flushing. This man was way too sure of himself and his effect on women. But if I could handle dogs, surely I could handle one Lone Star Lothario. Besides, as soon as we got to Waco, I’d be rid of him.

  Though the sky was as clear as Nick Worthington’s intentions, suddenly the plane began to bump, first little dips, then harder ones.
I clutched the seat and squeezed my eyes shut, but I sensed him watching me.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “A little turbulence in summer is normal.”

  But it wasn’t merely the turbulence shaking me up. A combination of his masculine presence and my testosterone receptors confined in the small plane’s cockpit was breaking down barriers I’d erected.

  I fought back the best way I knew how. “Sorry I’m not great company. Missing Philip, I guess.” He’d never know his competition was a dog.

  His smile faded.

  “How much farther to Waco?” I finally asked.

  “Almost there.” His voice had turned distant.

  A few minutes later, we began our slow descent into unknown territory.

  When the landing gear locked into place with a thump, I lowered my head and closed my eyes. I swallowed hard to get rid of the sour taste in my mouth. Though I’d braced myself, I barely felt the wheels touch down. We taxied off the runway to a private hangar.

  He cut the engines, then reached out and lightly touched my upper arm. A pleasant quiver coursed through my body. “You can wait here in the air-conditioned office,” he said. “I’ll get the car.”

  “I can walk.”

  “Too hot. You’d melt.”

  Oh no, the old cliché about my being so sweet.

  He strode off without me, and when I stepped out into the sunshine, I understood what he meant. This heat wasn’t oven-dry like Abilene’s. Steam rose from the pavement, my T-shirt stuck to my chest like cling wrap, and sweat beaded on my upper lip and forehead.

  I tried to conceal my relief when I spotted Nick wheeling a black BMW convertible to the front of the hangar. Thank goodness the top was up.

  He alighted from the driver’s seat and lifted my bag with ease. Though I’d brought only one, it was heavy. As he tossed it into the trunk, I watched his face for signs of exertion, but if he felt anything, he kept it well hidden. Smiling, he opened the door for me. Evidently, chivalry was still alive in Waco, and for the moment I was grateful. I sank into the leather seat with a moan of contentment.