I snapped the leash on the hundred-pound ball of fur that was my charge for the week. I was babysitting Hoover, the Old English Sheepdog that belong to Mr. Ryder, the owner of Charlotte Harley Davidson. The Ryder family was out of town, visiting friends in Europe, and I’d volunteered to house- and dog-sit for the week so they wouldn’t have to board him.

This was what my life had become in the three months since I turned my back on RMC. My free time used to be full of partying, fucking, and good times with friends. Now, all my old friends were lost to me and I was housesitting because I had nothing better to do. On the up side, Hoover was a loveable mutt, lying with his head in my lap Friday night, allowing me to slowly scratch his ears as I watched the Ryders’ giant television. Though the Ryders had a fenced backyard, it was such a lovely day I thought Hoover might enjoy a walk in the park. I knew I would. We were in the earliest part of spring and I was tired of being cooped up inside.

“Come on,” I urged, leading the dog down the front steps to my car parked in the drive.

I paused, frowning at my Mustang, wondering how this was going to work, or if it would work. I shrugged, unlocked it, and opened the passenger door. I slid the passenger seat forward and held my hand with the leash into the back.

“Uh…jump!” Hoover looked at me, almost like he was laughing at me, his amazing blue eyes bright and his mouth hanging open. I twisted my mouth to the side as I thought, then patted the rear seat. “In you go, Hoover!” This time he jumped in with no trouble. “You’re such a good boy,” I purred, scratching his head as I dropped the lead into the floor.

I slid the seat back, shut the door, then hurried around to the driver’s side. As I started the car, a giant fuzzy head appeared between the seat, the dog’s breath hot as he panted on the side of my face. I put my hand up between the seats and nudged him back. I turned the air conditioning up to high and directed the airflow to the back as much as possible.

When the car started moving, Hoover settled into the seat. I couldn’t see him anymore, but I knew he was back there from the steam engine-like panting and the occasional smacking sound as he licked his lips. The car was warm, the interior heated by the spring-time sun, but even as the air conditioning cooled the car, the dog continued to pant. I finally decided that was normal for him and stopped worrying about it.

When we reach the park, I picked up the leash and slid the seat forward. The dog nearly knocked me down in his enthusiasm, jumping out before I was fully out of the way. I snickered at his exuberance as he paused and looked at me, that same grinning look on his face. I smiled back at him and scratched him vigorously behind the ears before we started off.

He walked with me pretty well, though I found out if he really wanted to go somewhere, there wasn’t a lot I could do to stop him. I only weighed thirty or forty pounds more than he did, and he had four-wheel drive. About ten minutes into the walk, he and I reached an unspoken agreement where I wouldn’t pull on him so long as he didn’t try to go too far off the path and didn’t stop for very long at a time.

We were coming up on the backside of the park where there was a big open field. According to the sign that showed all the paths, if I stayed on this path I would eventually end up back at the parking lot where my car was parked. The total distance was about three miles, and the way Hoover was puffing and panting, that was probably plenty. I didn’t want to have to explain to Mr. Ryder how I walked his dog to death.

As we came out of the copse of trees, Hoover stopped, his head up and ears perked forward. He stood still for a moment, then began charging for the two men playing Frisbee. I dug in my heels, hauling on the lead.

“Hoover! No!” Shouting ‘no’ and pulling on the lead had, so far, been enough to make the dog stop pulling, but not this time. “No! Hoover!” I tried again as I held on tight and struggled to stop the dog. He was amazingly strong and nearly pulled me down.

Hoover darted behind a man running along the path. As the lead snapped tight behind the man’s legs he stumbled as his stride was broken. Hoover continued to pull, determined to get to the men playing Frisbee. He pulled me sideways and right into the path of the man. Between his stumbling and my off-balance pulling on the leash, the impact was jarring, hard enough that I lost my grip on the lead.

I cried out from the impact, surprise, and dismay as we began to fall, our legs tangling together and destroying any hope of either of us regaining our balance. His arms went around me, clamping me tight to his body as he twisted sideways, taking the brunt of the impact of the fall on his shoulder. We hit the ground in a bouncing, rolling, tangle of arms and legs.

We lay still, stunned by the sudden and unexpected tangle, before he rolled to his back, still cocooning me protectively against his chest. The impact hurt, but the man’s protective embrace had spared me the worst of the fall. The collision had happened so fast, I couldn’t do anything for several heartbeats as I waited for my wits to return.

“Oh my God!” I cried as I bounced to my feet, horrified by what had happened. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He grimaced as he sat up and looked at his knee. I chilled as my eyes instinctively went to where he was looking. His knee was bleeding badly.

“What the hell, lady?” he growled as he inspected his wound.

“I’m so sorry! Oh my God! You’re bleeding! You want me to call an ambulance! I’m so sorry!” I was almost in a panic and was babbling, talking over him.

“You need to get control of your damn dog!”

“I know! I’m sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor?”

He stood up. “No,” he growled, limping around in a tight circle, trying to walk it off.

As he tried to shake it off, I looked around and found Hoover, almost sighing in relief. The dog was standing at the side of the one of the guys with the Frisbee, looking at him with tongue lolling expectantly. The man pretended to throw the toy, the dog paying rapt attention, then running full speed in chase when the man threw the disc, the leash flapping behind, before the dog looped around the other man and stopped to watch and wait, ready to give chase again. It appeared he was happy where he was for the moment.

I turned my attention back to the most immediate problem. “You need some help?” I asked, holding my hands out in a silent offer of support.

“No. What I need is for you to learn to control your dog.”

“I know. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how strong he was. He’s not my dog. I’m dog-sitting for my boss this weekend. I’m really sorry. Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?” I forced myself to stop jabbering.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “No, I’m okay. Let’s get your dog before he runs off,” he said as he looked toward the two guys but turned back to face me. “Thom. Thom Gregg.”

“Carolyn McDowell.”

A smile cracked his lips as he shook his head and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

I took his hand. “Same here. I just wish blood wasn’t involved. Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked as I looked at his knee. The amount of blood running down his leg worried me.

“No, I’ll live. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m fine. I think you got the worst of it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” I turned my attention to the dog. “Hoover! Come here!” I called, clapping my hands. He ignored me and chased the Frisbee again.

“Hoover?”

I looked at Thom as I twisted my lips to the side. “I didn’t name him, but it’s a good name. The damn dog will eat anything. Hoover!”

One of the guys took Hoover’s leash and held it. “This your dog?” he shouted.

“Yeah. Sorry,” I yelled back as I started toward them, Thom limping beside me.

“No problem. I think he likes playing Frisbee.”

I took the leash when I reached them. “Thank you. Sorry to bother you.” I started pulling on the leash. “Hoover! Come!”

“Dude! Do you know your leg is bleeding?” the man asked.

Thom looked at his leg with exaggerated scrutiny. “’Tis but a flesh wound,” he said in a passible British aristocratic accent.

The dog didn’t want to go and strained against the leash. When the man threw the frisbee, Hoover gave chase, and had I not let go of the leash, I was certain he’d have dragged me down.

“Stupid dog,” I growled.

Thom set his jaw and stomped after the dog, the other man holding the Frisbee until Thom arrived. Thom picked up the leash, jerked it tight and started back toward me. Hoover still didn’t want to go, but he was no match for Thom, and after a couple of steps of being dragged, he started trotting beside him. He walked right past me, the dog in step with him, and I turned to follow. Hoover made a final lunge to get away when the two men resumed their game, but the dog quickly gave up the idea of escape and walked with us. I couldn’t be mad at him. He looked up at me with adoring eyes, his tongue hanging out as he panted.

As we approached the path, Thom adjusted his trajectory toward a boy of about ten sitting on a bicycle.

“Whose dog, and what happened to your leg?” the boy asked.

“Her dog,” Thom explained, handing me the leash. “I scraped my knee when the dog knocked me down.”

I gripped the lead tightly, sensing Hoover wanted to return to the Frisbee game. Thom must have seen me tense because he quickly took the lead from me and glared at the dog. “Sit!” he ordered. The dog ignored him. “Sit!” he ordered again, pushing down on the dog’s rear hips. The dog sat.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Bailey, this is…”

“Carolyn,” I supplied when Thom faltered. I held my hand out. “Nice to meet you, Bailey.”

Bailey took my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Carolyn.”

I smiled. Such a polite kid. “Just Carolyn.”

Thom handed me the leash again. “You got him?”

“I think. I’m so sorry again. If you want to send me any bills, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted. “Accidents happen. The owner needs to teach his dog to mind, though.”

“He does pretty good at home. I guess he doesn’t get out a lot.”

“Well, nice to meet you anyway,” Thom said, nodding his head. “Bailey, let’s go. I need to get this blood washed off.”

I started to move off, relieved that Thom was such an understanding man. As soon as I moved, Hoover bounced to his feet and began to pull me toward the Frisbee game again. I didn’t even have time to yell before Thom was at my side, grabbing the leash and dragging Hoover to a stop. He jerked the dog around.

“Stop!” he snarled at the dog, glaring at the animal until the dog seemed to wilt and came to him, his head hanging low. Thom reached down and scratched Hoover’s ears.

“Wow!” I said, impressed.

“You just need to show them who’s boss. Want to walk with me? There’s a bench and water fountain up here. I’m going to have a seat and wipe up the blood. Maybe once he can’t see those guys playing Frisbee, he’ll behave.”

“I’d love to. Thanks. And thanks for helping me there. He’s just too big for me to hold.”

“No problem.”

I noticed he was walking with a bit of a limp. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re limping.”

He snorted. “Does it hurt? Yeah. But I’ll live. I’ll be back to running tomorrow.”

“You run often?”

“Every day, between three and five. Bailey and I come to the park, and he rides his bike while I run.”

“Dedicated.”

He smiled, dragging Hoover when he tried to stop. “I don’t know about that, but it gives Bláithín a break and it gives Bailey and me some time together.”

I nodded, wanting to know who Bláithín—he’d pronounced it Blaw-heen—was, but it was none of my business. I supposed she wasn’t a wife because he wasn’t wearing a ring. Hoover tried to stop again, and Thom kept right on walking, dragging the dog until he trotted to catch up. He must have seen my interest.

“I’m walking him, he’s not walking me,” he explained. “Pretty soon he’ll figure that he can either walk with me or be dragged.”

“You seem to know a lot about training dogs.”

He shrugged. “Not really. Just common sense. Dogs are pack animals. Once they figure out who’s in charge, they mind better.”

We walked a bit further, and every time Hoover stopped, Thom pulled him along. He didn’t jerk or hurt the animal, he simply ignored the fact the dog stopped. A couple of times he had to really dig in and pull, but he never stopped moving. By the time we reached the bench, perhaps a quarter of a mile from where we started, Hoover would stop, but he always trotted to catch up before Thom started dragging him. To say I was impressed at how quickly Thom established control over the dog would be an understatement.

While I held Hoover, Thom wet his hand at the fountain and scrubbed at the blood, repeating the process until it was almost entirely gone. He then went to work on his knee, hissing softly as he gently washed the blood away. When he pulled his shirt off and held it under the water, I nearly shit.

With his shirt on he was just a guy with nice legs and ass, but goddamn was he built. He wasn’t huge, but he had a runner’s body with a little more bulk and good definition. I looked him over again as he wrung the shirt out and moved to sit on the bench. As he dabbed at his knee, I reevaluated him.

He was a mess from running, still sweaty with his brown hair clumped and wet, but I imagined him looking like that after a good, hard fucking. Suddenly he was sexy as shit. He had a round face that made him appear open and approachable, the type of guy moms loved. With a small nose, friendly brown eyes, and that body, he looked like the type of guy a girl would love to go out on a date with because he’d be fun, and then take home and fuck stupid.

Bailey coasting to a stop in front of us broke me out of my daydream. Rock was the last man to touch me, and that was three months ago. Until this very moment, I hadn’t missed a man’s touch, but damned if I wasn’t missing it now.

“You okay?” Bailey asked, watching as his dad carefully swabbed his knee.

“Will be.”

Bailey’s face twisted, his lip curling up. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” Thom confirmed.

“Looks like it hurts.”

Thom snickered. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Anytime,” Bailey said with a grin before cycling away.

“He’s right. It does look like it hurts,” I added. “I’m really sorry. I feel terrible about what happened.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, standing up. “Like I said, accidents happen.”

“You come here every day?”

“To the park? Yeah. Why?”

“If I bring the dog back tomorrow, would you mind doing some more of that dog whisper stuff you do? Show me how to handle this beast.”

He grinned. “Sure. Want me to walk you to your car and give you a few pointers?”

I couldn’t help but smile, but not for the pointers on the dog. “Sure!”

We walked along the path with me holding the leash. When Hoover stopped, I kept going. Before it was a struggle to get him moving again, but as soon as the lead snapped tight, he followed on the trot. Thom and I talked about nothing, filling the silence with idle chit-chat. He’d started out with is shirt off, but as we approached the big open field where he was knocked down, he slipped the shirt back on.

“Damn, this shirt is cold!” he exclaimed as he rolled his shoulders.

I was disappointed, but it was still wet, so I was able to enjoy a little eye candy. “I imagine.”

Hoover stopped again, and when I tugged the leash a little, he ran past me, slowing to walk just before he hit the end of the lead.

“See?” Thom asked. “Now you’re the boss.”

“The real test will be when we get to where those guys were playing Frisbee.”

“I think you’ll be surprised. If he starts to pull, you dig in and try to jerk him inside out, then tell him to come, stop, whatever, like you’re mad. You hold your ground until he comes to apologize.”

“Like he did with you?”

“Right.”

As we got close, Thom’s hand hovered over mine on the leash. As expected, Hoover began to pull. I braced and pulled with everything I had in me, jerking the dog’s head around toward me, causing him to yelp softly in pain or surprise.

“No!” I growled loudly, putting as much anger into my voice as I could muster. I glared at the dog, holding his eyes until his head lowered and he licked his lips as he came to me, clearly ashamed. I decided to go all in.

“Sit!” I ordered in the same harsh voice. When he didn’t, I pushed on his rear end like Thom had. “Sit!” Hoover sat.

“Now tell him he’s a good boy in a happy voice,” Thom said.

“Good boy!” I praised, filling my voice with delight as I scratched Hoover enthusiastically all around his head and neck. He stood up. “Sit!” The moment his butt hit the ground I started scratching all over again. “Amazing!”

“You’re in charge now.”

“Come,” I said to start Hoover walking. “You don’t mind helping me with him tomorrow?”

“Nah. Bring him back and we’ll walk him. A tired dog is a good dog.”

“Thomas Gregg, dog whisperer.”

“Hardly.”

He followed me to my car and Hoover knew what was expected. As soon as I tipped the seat forward he hopped into the back. “Thanks again for helping me with Hoover.”

He nodded. “My pleasure. It might save someone else from getting knocked down.”

His grin was teasing, but my face heated in shame. “Yeah,” I muttered, unable to meet his gaze.

“Still, could be worse,” he added, his smile spreading. “It could have been a guy lying on me.”

“Oh stop!” I scolded.

“No, it’s true. If I’m going to get knocked down, I’d much rather it be by a woman. They’re so much softer and cuddly.”

A smile twitched at my lips. “I still feel bad.”

He winked. “Don’t. It’s not often I get tackled to the ground by a woman. I kind of liked it.”

I decided he could go on all day, but Hoover was panting like a bellows in my car. “I need to go before the dog passes out from the heat.”

“See you tomorrow. I’ll meet you here at three.”

“See you then,” I said as I dropped into my car.

I started the Ford and set the air conditioning to ‘frost bite’ to give Hoover some relief. As I backed out of the parking space, Thom waved in parting, the motion of his hand reminding me of how the Pope and the Queen of England wave to their adoring throngs. When I pulled away and he could no longer see me, I finally let myself smile. Thom was a nice guy. That’s what I needed in my life, a nice guy, not an asshole like Rock.