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“How in the fuck did you check?” I cringe as images of the dog biting her flood my brain. “No. I don’t want to know.” I shake my head to dislodge the vision. “If this is a puppy, how big will that thing get when it’s fully grown?” I mutter more to myself than to her.
“I think it might be a Sheepdog. I’m not sure. I’m going to take him home and try to get him an appointment at the vet.” She shifts the dog in her arms and holds up one of his front paws. “He’s got a sore spot here that’s going to need to be checked. Then, I need to stop by the pet store and get some food. And some toys.” The lady is a menace. She won’t stop rescuing things. Things that don’t need or want her help.
“Be careful. If you hurt the dog’s leg, he’s going to snap.” Fuck. Panic wells in my chest. “You need to put him down. Now.”
“What? Why?” Her eyes narrow into slits. “Because I could get hurt, right?” she sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. “God, I’m so tired of hearing people tell me I can’t do something.” She holds the dog closer.
“Don’t be irresponsible just because you’re trying to get back at your dad.” I know all about daddy issues.
My gaze lands on her arm as a drop of blood drips from her flesh to the sidewalk. Shit. “Did that dog bite you? It could have rabies.” I jump forward, and the dog growls. Son of a bitch. I jerk my hand back and sway back onto my heels.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Your arm. It’s bleeding.” I point in the direction of the blood. “Did that dog attack you?”
My voice sounds more panicked than I want to admit, but visions of her face being mauled or giant needles being injected into her flesh flash in front of my eyes. “If you were bit, we must have the dog euthanized to find out if it carries rabies. I told you going out and rescuing things was a bad idea. You’ve managed to get hurt again. Do you know how painful rabies shots are?” Fuck. Now, I’m the one rambling. I inch closer, preparing to throw myself between her and the dog if it gets upset again.
She looks at me like I have a horn growing out of my head. “Stop. Take a deep breath. I scraped my arm on the building when I accidentally bumped Sam’s leg. He didn’t bite me or attack me.”
“Thank God.” I eye the mutt with disdain. He looks shifty. The dog dips his head and lays it on Lola’s chest. Fine, Sam, old boy, you win round one.
“I’ve always wanted a dog since I was a little girl, and I’m going to have this one.” She snuggles him closer. “I’ve got to call Mr. Truman to let him know I’m going to be late. I worked over the last two nights, so I’ve got a little time to use.”
A shiver rips down my spine. “Please don’t snuggle so close to the dog. He must have fleas.” The dog’s hair is matted so tightly, I’m sure a pair of shaving shears are in his near future.
“Stop.” She kisses the dog’s head.
“Fuck.” This woman is a menace. “I’ll phone him and tell him we’ll both be late. We should take him to the shelter on Truman Road. They can fix his leg, get him all his shots, and check to see if he’s missing. That way, you can have time to get all the supplies you’ll need to properly care for him and check with your landlord to see if you can have a pet.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“You don’t think he’s lost, do you?” Her big blue eyes nearly drop me to my knees. Stop. She’s got a boyfriend. Or a fiancé. You’re only stepping in as a co-worker because Stella would expect you to.
“I doubt it. It looks like he’s been on the loose for a while. Someone’s dog probably had puppies, and they didn’t have a way to take care of them once they grew up and outgrew the cute stage. The original owners should have taken him to the shelter in the first place.”
Surely, she could have found a girly dog. A Palmerian or a Cocker Spaniel. A Shih Tzu. Anything but this overgrown mutt.
“Don’t you dare hurt his feelings.” She pats Sam’s back. “You haven’t outgrown your cute stage.”
Mites. Worms. All the nasty things this dog could be carrying dance through my brain. Who is Lola Sutherland? The girly girl that wears designer clothing and grew up in Washington D. C. socializing with dignitaries. Or the woman who seems to have an endless desire to help the underdog. Those things rarely go together.
Shit. You don’t go together. She’s back with her ex. And what would it matter if she isn’t? Your pedigree is worse than the dogs.
“You aren’t going to try and talk me out of keeping him?”
“Would it do me any good?”
“Nope. Not at all.” She grins, and my heart skips a beat. I should turn and walk to the front door of the building, buzz in, and make small talk with Pete.
I hold out my arms while sending up a quick prayer I don’t get bitten or infested with something. “Fine. If you aren’t going to give this thing up, let me carry him. It’s several blocks back to the garage, and I parked on the top floor.
“You don’t have to help. I can do it.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second. But why don’t you let me be a gentleman again and help you out? Besides, you’re getting dog hair all over what I assume is a fairly expensive suit jacket.”
She glances down. “Don’t worry about me.”
I rotate my palms up and hold them in front of Sam. He takes several seconds to sniff them and finally licks my fingertips. Did I win round two? “We also need to get some antiseptic on your wound and bandage it. I’ve got a first aid kit in my vehicle. Are you current on your tetanus shot?” She hands the dog to me, and his tongue swipes over my cheek. Fuck me.
“I’m current on my tetanus shot.” She touches my arm. “Be careful with his leg. He gets kind of jumpy.” The heat from her fingertips singes my flesh. I can’t keep this up without doing something stupid. I step to the side, away from her, to give me some space. “Are you ready?”
