His hand snaked out from under the sheet and groped in the dark until it landed on top of the offending appliance. Brand groaned and started back into blissful sleep.
A wild tongue slurped the sheet off his face. Galli shook his head until he got the sheet out of his mouth and his drool all over Brand and his bed.
“Go away,” Brand said and tried to roll over. Tough to roll when you had a hundred pounds of frisky puppy pinning you in place.
Brand sat up and managed to wrangle the dog back to the floor. “Thought I was done with early mornings.” He swiped a hand over his face. “Coffee. Dog training.” He checked the clock again glad to see he at least had time for coffee. Dragging all the way, he arrived in the kitchen to see Galli had taken care of the coffee. Dry grounds were strewn from one end to the other.
“Damn,” he muttered as Galli danced at the door. He went back to get dressed. No way was he walking the devil in his boxers.
It took him a few minutes to figure out how to put the new collar on but he managed. He walked the dog around waiting for the great deposit. That taken care of, and cleaned up this time, the two of them headed over to the kennels, both eager to see Dixie again.
When she came into view, Brand found out it took a while to calm Galli down even with the head collar. When he planted his butt on the ground, Brand took a moment to enjoy the view. Dixie, inside a fenced yard, leaned over a tiny dog. She wore leggings that showed off her legs and a large, loose man’s shirt. Whose shirt is that? The tiny dog paid close attention to what she was saying. Brand paid close attention too. Dixie turned and stepped out. The dog didn’t. He danced at the end of the leash then walked opposite of Dixie even though his face was turned backwards.
Brand grinned.
“Baby, stop.” Dixie waited for the dog to settle down. The dog stopped. Dixie took one step and the dog went the other way.
Brand stifled his laughter.
The battle continued until Baby—who named a dog Baby? Even if it was the size of a guinea pig—walked quietly by her side.
“Looks like you won.”
Dixie’s head jerked up. “It wasn’t a fight.”
“Looked like one to me.”
“It’s a good thing I agreed to train your dog then. Fighting doesn’t teach or train. Repetition does.”
“I’ll take your word on it.”
She had to calm the tiny dog down again. The sight of an Irish Wolfhound seemed to flip a switch inside him. Barking, jumping and growling finally quieted as Dixie brought his attention back to her. Funny, Brand thought, that Galli just sat there watching the show. He turned his head a couple of times as if to ask, what the heck? The dog would fit inside Galli’s food bowl. Brand tightened his hold on the leash.
Dixie returned from putting Baby up.
“What was that?”
“That was Baby, a Chihuahua with dominance issues.”
“He’s kind of small to dominate anything.”
“He doesn’t know he’s small.”
“Huh.”
“Are you and Galli ready to start training?”
“That’s why we’re here.”
Dixie went all professional on him. She was polite but distant, focused on Galli and quick with corrections. To him, not Galli.
“No. If you let him get ahead of you he thinks he’s in the lead.”
“If he’s ahead of me, he is in the lead. I’d say that makes him smart.”
“Smart is good. Well-trained is better.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stabbed him with those clear blue eyes. “What do you think Galli’s going to do the first time he hears all those jet ski engines start up belching noise and smoke?”
He grinned. “Since they’ll be brand new they won’t belch anything but the hum of a new engine.”
“They belch poison. Carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, hydrocarbons and carbon dioxide, which is proven to affect changes in the global climate. They’re noisy, too, even new. When ten or fifteen of those engines start up, all at once, my dogs will go crazy barking, howling and jumping. So will Galli. Is that what you want?”
“I’d be in heaven if fifteen jet skis were rented at one time.”
She sneered at him. “At what price? Your success will ruin the quality of life on Mimosa Key, in Florida, and change weather patterns for decades.”
He didn’t know where his anger came from but it was suddenly front and center. “I want to run a successful business that will attract tourists to the island and support the economy.” He huffed out an annoyed breath. “You want to live in some backwards, off-the-grid place, go right ahead. Mimosa Key is a progressive, growing community that welcomes new businesses. They certainly can’t rely on run-down kennels to generate enough taxes and tourists to support this town.”
And, again, he said the absolute wrong thing. “Dixie, I—”
“Your hour is up. And keep the collar and leash. I’ll add it to your bill.” She turned on one heel and walked off.
Brand watched her walk away. The anger was gone as if it never existed. The hurt in Dixie’s eyes would remain.
* * *
Dixie clamped her teeth together. There would be no tears in front of the gas-engine freak. She maintained her speed until she reached the door to the small apartment that came with the job. Her job.
Brand Taylor was an ass. She stomped across the living room.
“Rundown kennel? Huh!” She stomped back across the room. “Let’s see him train his own dog.” She started across the floor but stopped halfway and dropped onto the couch.
How could fate hand her the most handsome man she’d ever seen and gift him with a desire to destroy the environment? The environment right next door to her first, very important real job? A job she loved and wouldn’t quit if they built a coal-burning plant next door.
But he wasn’t just good looking. He loved his family. Proof was in the dog food and training he was going through for his cousin. He was focused—no, don’t go there again—and organized. He knew what he wanted and went after it. And didn’t complain about the noise from seven dogs barking at inappropriate times. And he was falling in love with Galli even if he didn’t want to show it.
“Then he goes and insults me!”
She wasn’t a ram-the-whaler-ships, gung-ho, guerilla environmentalist. She recycled ruthlessly, she drove a hybrid car and didn’t litter. That did not make her a fanatic. It made her a responsible citizen.
Groaning in frustration, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. The tears had been pushed aside by annoyance. Because, damn it, Gasoline Man was right. Mimosa Key was a progressive town looking to expand and welcome new people and business. Why would they block a jet ski rental? There was even a plan to add a gas station to bring the grand total up to two. They weren’t urban, but they were growing.
She liked that they didn’t bulldoze the old to build the new. Of course the hurricane had bulldozed part of the island, but it had been rebuilt as a beautiful resort that enhanced the small town feeling instead of thumbing its nose at it.
Her attitude was the only one thumbing its nose at Mimosa Key. She groaned. She sat up.
“So what? I made my case and the Council voted to recommend the ski rental shop. That should take care of that, right?”
There was no one to hear her except the seven dogs in her care. She’d go work them, now, one at a time and put this episode behind her. Do the job she loved so much.
One hour with Dervish and Dixie was ready for a stiff drink. He’d sit and not get up. He’d heel but lean into her so she’d stop or be pushed into the fence. And smile the whole time. But, he was making progress.
“Let’s get you back in the kennel.” Dervish grinned and dragged her to the open door. “Okay, not that much progress.” She brought him back to her side then gave him a good head rub and closed the kennel door.
She decided to treat herself and go into town for lunch. A quick wash and a change of clothes later, she headed for Mimosa. She decided on the Toasted Pelican and one of their cheeseburgers. The waitress took her order and set a foaming glass of beer in front of her in less than a minute. Dixie grinned, thanked her and lifted the glass only to freeze when she saw Brand Taylor walk in. Unfortunately—and this was getting to be a habit—he caught her eye before she could look away. He smiled and walked to her booth looking like a beach bum. The board shorts and T-shirt, combined with leather sandals, made him look…delicious.
“Are you old enough to drink that beer?”
Until he opened his mouth. “Ha, ha. You’re a funny man.” She took a long, cool drink and set the glass down.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Yes, I do.”
He slid into the booth across from her.
“Do you speak English?”
“I speak it but I don’t understand it.”
“That explains a lot.”
He laughed. He had a nice laugh.
The waitress returned. “Hey, Brand. How’s it going?”
“Good, Denise. Thanks.”
“The usual?”
“That’d be great.”
He knows a locals bar and the waitress by name and has a “usual”. How did he get settled in town without me knowing about it?
But, to be totally honest, she was devoted to the dogs and the kennel and rarely came into town. She sighed.
“Why the sigh?”
“Why not? Here I am, about to enjoy my lunch, and in walks my neighbor,” she said, making air quotes. “The neighbor who—”
“Is very happy he ran into you. I like you, Dixie. I’d like to get to know you better.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Why do I like you, or why do I want to get to know you?”
Exasperated, she snapped, “Pick one!”
He blinked. “Okay. I like you because you’re passionate about your work, you stand up for what you believe in, and you’re making living with Galli possible. I want to get to know you better because all of the above and…I think you’re a beautiful woman.”
It was her turn to blink. He’d nailed it. Everything but the beautiful woman part, that is. She only wanted the best for her dogs. And they were all her dogs once they entered her orbit. Even Galli. His dog. His cousin’s dog.
“Do you own a dog?”
“What? You’re the one training Galli.”
“He’s your cousin’s dog, though.”
“Uh, technically. But he’s mine until Tim comes back.”
“Have you ever had a dog of your own?”
* * *
Brand thought back to Veronique, and Esme, the teacup poodle they had together. True, Veronique was the one who wanted a pocketbook dog. He didn’t know what he’d wanted so he’d gone along with her. Their breakup had given him a couple of bad weeks. But he’d grieved for both of them after the Paris attacks. Esme would be alive if Veronique hadn’t carried her around everywhere.
Nobody was carrying Galli anywhere.
Should he confess he’d once owned half of a teacup poodle? All the dogs at her kennel, with the exception of Baby, were good-sized animals. None of them was less than sixty pounds. Did masculinity depend on the size of the dog? And how could anyone answer that question without sounding like a moron?
But all the dogs at the kennel had other owners. Hmm. Where was her dog?
“Have you?”
“Of course. I’ve owned several dogs over the years.”
“And now?”
She hesitated. “Why do you want to know? And, besides, I asked you first.”
“Ooh. Mature conversation. I’ve missed it.”
She snorted. “You know the Bluetick Coonhound at the kennel?”
“I assume that doesn’t mean he has ticks.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “No, it doesn’t mean he has ticks.”
Glad he’d teased a laugh out of her, he grinned. “Does he have fleas? No. That would make him a Blueflea Coonhound.”
She shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Is there really such a thing as a Bluetick Coonhound? Sounds like a cartoon dog.”
“They can be kind of goofy but they’re loyal and tenacious and make great companions.”
“Tell me about this Bluetick Coonhound.”
“He’s mine.”
“They’re all yours.”
Her reaction was everything he could want. Shock, annoyance, surprise, wariness.
“I own him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Folsom Blues.”
“A Johnny Cash fan. I’d never have guessed.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m from the South. We’re all Johnny Cash fans.”
“Relax. I am, too.”
“You? No way.”
“Why not? ’Cause I’m not from the South?”
She leaned back and chewed on her bottom lip. He managed to not groan or leap over the table to help her.
“You seem more like the Barenaked Ladies type.”
“I like them too.”
“Back to dogs. He’s a Bluetick Coonhound which led me to blue, which was soon followed by Folsom. And Johnny Cash was on the radio when I brought him home.”
“Now that makes sense.”
The waitress came over to deliver their meals. Dixie looked at least resigned to eating lunch with him so his plan had worked. So far.
Glad to see she was a meat eater and not a salad picker, he dug into his steak and cheese with onions. Halfway through the fantastic sub, he noticed Dixie was staring at it.
“What?”
“Where are the peppers and mushrooms? Did they leave them off?” She looked around for their waitress.
“No. This is the way I eat it. I don’t eat fungi and peppers give me heartburn.”
The look on her face told him he’d just lost more points than he’d gained by talking dog with her.
“You don’t like mushrooms? Or peppers?”
“I love peppers. They don’t love me.”
“Huh.” She lifted one of the peppers they’d garnished her burger with and took a healthy bite.
He shivered. “Ahh.”
She crunched her way through the pepper then returned her attention to her burger.
“Don’t come to me when your throat is burning later tonight.” He took a satisfying bite of his sub when Dixie looked past him and slid out of the booth. His mouth full, he turned to see what had her jumping up hoping he wouldn’t have to say hello to someone until he swallowed.
Swallowing gamely, he saw her leap into a man’s arms. He inhaled and choked on the lump of meat that went down the wrong way. The man leaned over to pound him on the back.
“Take it easy there, son.”
With his eyes watering, he managed to finally speak.
“Perry?”