Chapter Thirty-Five
Jess froze beside Sam, her eyes on the dozens and dozens of little white poodle faces, their sightless eyes bringing a look of worry to her pretty face. It was like a scene from a creepy movie where little stuffed animals came to life after dark and ran around killing people.
Thankfully, there were several hours of daylight left.
“Oh, crap,” she said. Quickly recovering, she scowled and lifted her nose in the air. “Don’t judge me.”
How couldn’t he? She obviously had some sort of obsession that bordered on pathology. How had he not seen signs before now? He was good at reading people.
“What is this, Jess? Have you seen someone? There are a lot of competent professionals out there that can help you recover to some measure of normal.”
“Stop it.” She reached for the closet poodle. “These are the reason I don’t need therapy.”
As if.
She held the dog up for his inspection. One of his ears was larger than the other. “These are toilet roll covers. My Nana taught me to crochet when I was little.”
The explanation helped a little. Still, there were a lot of them. She was a poodle hoarder.
“You might want to get them fixed,” he said drolly. “They’re reproducing at an alarming rate.”
Clearly annoyed, she shoved the poodle in his hand and took up another. “My father was in the Airforce since before I was born. I was shy, so making friends wasn’t easy. I suffered from anxiety. My father thought I should get over it and my mother went with what he thought was best.” She ran her hand over the poodle head. “My Nana thought I needed a stress reliever, so she taught me how to crochet. And since TP roll poodles were all she knew how to make, I made them, too.” Her voice caught. “They remind me of her.”
At least she had a reasonable explanation. He started to relax. It was easy to imagine a little girl in a strange new place needing something to comfort her. “And now you hoard them?”
“I don’t hoard them.” She hugged the dog. “I used to give them away at nursing homes and care centers. They’re very popular amongst seniors. Since moving to Ann Arbor, training to be a PI, and being so busy getting settled in, I haven’t had time to make the visits.”
He tipped the poodle over and saw where you put the roll. In the back of his mind, he sort of remembered one of his grandmothers having something similar in her bathroom. Only he was pretty sure hers was a goat.
Relieved she wasn’t an obsessive crocheted poodle collector, he figured he could help her out.
“I tell you what. When we catch Olive, I’ll help you disperse these around the city.” He put the dog back on top of a packing box. “If you’re going to spend time with me, you’ll need room for a new batch.”
Jess pursed her lips. “I’ve already made two since the wedding. I ordered more yarn yesterday on my favorite website.”
Sam chuckled.
* * *
Jess dug out some clothes, shoes, and a pair of rose colored throw pillows. She smiled as she shoved them into his hands before he could dart out of reach. “These are temporary until you get a new couch. Then we’ll get something that matches your manly interior.”
He groaned.
“It’s either that or I’m taking the poodles home with me.” She reached for the closest pair and paused. Her eyes were full of mischief.
Knowing he was trapped, he shoved the pillows into the cardboard box at his feet. “At least Spike will have two new chew toys.”
Yes, and probably secretly covered in chicken broth for optimal doggie chewing enjoyment.
She wouldn’t put it past him. He did have a disdain for throw pillows. And he thought she had issues.
“Someday, Detective Cranky, when you’ve married some lucky girl with the patience of a saint, you’ll have to get used to feminine touches around your house. We women see the lack of personality in a home as an affront to womankind.”
The idea of Sam marrying anyone else made her heart ache. She was running toward falling hard for him. The idea of that was truly terrifying.
“Thankfully, marriage is far off, if ever. I can keep my house the way I like it. And my sanity.”
Curious, she lifted a brow. “You don’t want a family?”
“It’s not in my plan.”
The part of her that wanted marriage and kids knew he wasn’t the guy who’d rub her feet or bring her a cocktail after a long day of working stakeouts. She’d have to look elsewhere for her happily ever after. But the part of her that had her heart engaged wished he could be that guy. It had been a long time since she’d been in love, and damn, the detective was hitting all the right buttons inside her for the short haul.
It was those few buttons that he’d missed that made her realize he wasn’t her Prince Charming.
And would never be.
Holding back a sigh, she dug around in a box and found the prize. She lifted up the leather pants she’d promised him and shook them out. Though slightly creased from being in storage, and having gained a couple of pounds over the last year, she was pretty sure they’d still fit.
Sam grinned. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
He was such a guy.
“If you promise not to complain about Spike and pillows for the duration of our stay with you, I promise to wear these a few times.”
“Agreed.”
Despite the whole Kate Beckinsale in Underworld and Olivia Newton John in Grease—actresses who’d made wearing skin tight leather look effortless—wearing leather as a second skin wasn’t all that comfortable. But by the expression in his eyes, she knew the time between putting them on to Sam peeling her out of them wouldn’t be long. She couldn’t wait.
It took another ten minutes to find the items she wanted to take to Sam’s and she closed and locked the unit. Sam carried the big box as she led them to the old pickup he’d driven over. He put the box in the truck bed and they climbed inside.
A faded green over white, and with questionable shocks, the vehicle rumbled and rattled and drew attention as they drove to his house. There was no air conditioning or a modern stereo. Still, it had its pluses. “Spike would love to chew on these seats,” she said.
“Spike will never have a chance to find out.”
She kind of liked the old vehicles. They had more character than the mass produced cars and trucks of today. Maybe Summer was wearing off on her. Her convertible was cute, too.
They pulled into the driveway and Sam went around to collect the box of goodies while Jess joined him.
They got that far before a car crept down the street. Neither she nor Sam gave it any notice until the driver opened fire.