White Picket Fences

And it wasn’t all that good.

CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT MAKES YOU so sure the pet-therapy club would be a waste of time?”

She threw up a hand. “What’s an animal going to do for some frail old person that modern science and medication isn’t already doing? Except bring germs into an already fragile environment? Or scare them half to death.”

He sat back, hands steepled under his chin. “Germs?”

She was not going to be intimidated. His opinion of her mattered not at all. Her time did.

“Everyone knows that dogs, you know, lick themselves.”

“Yeah.”

“In, uh, inappropriate places.”

“They also have the cleanest mouths of just about any creature, including human beings. They excrete a natural antiseptic which is why, when they lick a wound, it heals faster.”

She hadn’t known that—exactly—but it still didn’t change her mind. “So how many old people need wounds licked?”

“It might also interest you to know,” he continued as though she hadn’t even spoken, “that it’s been scientifically proved that petting an animal—a dog—reduces blood pressure in people.”

He was a veterinarian. He’d dedicated his life to caring for beasts. He was supposed to say stuff like that. “So does medi—”

“Pets also provide relief from depression—a disease that abounds in nursing homes.”

Nothing a good psychiatrist couldn’t do.

“Listen, I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “I just don’t have the time this semester to chase off to Phoenix on the off chance that we’ll find some depressed old person with high blood pressure. An old person, moreover, who wants his privacy invaded by a college kid and a dog.” Put that way, the project sounded as invalid as she believed it to be.

He shrugged. “So get someone else to take your place.”

Didn’t he think she’d already tried that? “I can’t.” Having your brother as president of the university for which you worked definitely had its drawbacks.

“You’ve never had a pet, have you?” His smile slid all the way through her. Her legs were a little shaky now, too. Must be hunger. She had an energy bar out in her glove compartment that was calling to her.

“No.” And she didn’t want a pet. All that hair and slobber. Ugh. It gave her the willies just thinking about it.

Besides, dogs bit. Randi shuddered.

“This is probably a little forward, but I’d like a chance to convince you how worthwhile this program is. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

No. I meant no.

“It’s a date, then.” He stood up before Randi could tell him she’d said the wrong word. She didn’t date. Before she could tell him she’d changed her mind, he said, “I’ll pick you up at six, if that’s okay with you. We can drive into Phoenix.”

A date. She didn’t remember how to go on a date. It’d been years since she’d even tried.

She had to tell him she’d said yes but meant no.

Somehow, Randi found herself back in her Jeep with absolutely nothing accomplished. The man had the strangest effect on her. She was still stuck with pet therapy. And there was another pressing problem on her horizon, as well.

She had twenty-four hours to find something to wear.

IT TOOK ABOUT ten minutes to wipe the smile off Zack’s face. What the hell was he doing?

So Randi Parsons was an attractive package. Her sexy long legs in those tight black shorts had been enough to wind him. And she was smart and sassy, too. But he’d been with several attractive intelligent women in the ten months since Dawn had filed for divorce. Had enjoyed them very much. He wasn’t in any way desperate for an attractive woman.

And he could sure as hell find one who offered a lot more promise—a lot less aggravation—than Randi Parsons. The woman hated animals.

And she was an athlete. Just like Barbara Sharp.

What did that make him? A masochist?

BECAUSE HE’D PLAYED CATCH with Sammie every night for the past five nights and the poor girl deserved a rest, Zack stopped by Ben and Tory Sanders’s apartment, instead. He had a sample bag of dog food for Buddy—the dog he’d talked Ben into adopting when the young man had first come to Shelter Valley the previous fall—and a free pass for Ben’s seven-year-old daughter, Alex, to take horseback riding lessons. The owner of the stable was a client of Zack’s.

“You two are looking good,” he said to his friends, married almost a month now, as he sat across from them in the living room. They were sitting about as close as they could sit without actually touching. Alex was in their bedroom, playing a video game that Tory had hooked up to their television for her.

Tory looked at Ben, smiled and then looked down.

“We’re doing great,” Ben said. “Thanks for the riding lessons,” he said, his eyes forthright as they met Zack’s. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It was nothing.” The stable owner had been more than happy to pay part of his monthly bill with the lessons.

“Consider it rental payments for your truck all those times last fall when you drove me into Phoenix to pick up my furniture,” Zack told his friend.

“You got the whole place furnished yet?” Ben asked with a grin.

“Just about.” Zack took a sip of the lemonade Tory had served him. “The spare bedroom is still empty, and the office needs more than a desk, but otherwise, I’m done.”

Buddy came in from the bedroom, sniffed Zack’s shoes and then hopped into his lap.

“Buddy, down,” Ben ordered.

Buddy lay in Ben’s lap.

“Buddy, get down,” Tory said softly.

Buddy dropped to the floor and ambled over to lie down at Tory’s feet.

“It’s clear who’s the boss around here,” Zack teased his friend.

Ben leaned over, scratching the dog’s ears. “It’s about time to try those obedience classes again.”

“Not if you’re taking him,” Tory said with a grin.