Have Mercy. Jo Leigh

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      He’d wandered back to the suites, standing outside Lulu’s room. The dog was already on her little bed waiting for her dinner. Lulu, with the painted toenails and daily grooming, not to mention a collar that was worth more than Mercy would earn in three years.

      A yelp made Mercy spin to the middle-dog pen. She handed Buster over to Will and headed straight for the ruckus.

      It was Cooper, the Belgian shepherd, who had a lot to learn about playing well with others. She went directly into the pen and to Cooper’s side. He dropped the bone from his mouth as he looked up at her.

      Tobi Wan Kenobi—a lovely beagle/pit bull—sat down, the bone he’d wanted so badly a moment ago forgotten in his attempt to please Mercy.

      She didn’t scold Cooper or Tobi, but she did make sure that they were calm and happy before she left them to play in the pen. No one got hurt, no feathers were ruffled. It might be after six but the middle-size dogs were going to get another run tonight, in fact, as soon as she got rid of Will Desmond.

      For his part, Mr. Desmond didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He was still outside Lulu’s suite, leaning against the door, his arms crossed comfortably over his chest.

      Talk about a pack leader. Whatever he did in Wichita, he was good at it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he ran a great big company, like an airline or a restaurant chain. He exuded that kind of power, the kind where everyone around him put on their nicest clothing in the hopes he’d notice.

      Which also meant he got all the girls. All the beauties. She couldn’t see him settling for second best. Not with something as important as status.

      “How’d you do that?”

      “Pardon me?”

      “You didn’t say anything. I didn’t even catch a hand signal. But both those dogs straightened up in a heartbeat.”

      “Oh. Well, they know I’m the pack leader.”

      He didn’t say anything for a long minute, then he smiled. As he did so his dimples made their debut. Two of them, one on each cheek. They were real dimples, too. Big ones that gave his smile resonance, that changed him from the man you wouldn’t dare cross to the man you wanted as your best friend.

      It wasn’t in the least bit fair. Sort of like Audrey Hepburn or Angelina Jolie. Not only were they stunningly gorgeous, but they were gorgeous actresses as well. Wouldn’t it have been nicer if they each got one fabulous gift and spread the wealth?

      “I think Buster’s going to be very happy here,” he said.

      “I’m glad you think so. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

      “I—”

      “Mercy, could you come to the front office, please?”

      It was the loudspeaker. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

      “Ms. Jones!”

      Mercy spun around at her name, said so harshly it could only be one of the pet owners. Ah, there she was, standing near the door. Mercy couldn’t remember her name, just that she belonged to Pumpkin, the nervous and insistent Chihuahua.

      Mercy headed toward the confrontation, wishing she could teach some of the owners about misplaced aggression and how to behave.

      “Ms. Jones.” The woman was older, maybe in her sixties, had an accent Mercy couldn’t identify and she was striking. Beautiful, really. Her hair was silver and sleek, cut in a style that should have been too young for her, but wasn’t. She dressed young, too. A nice pair of green pants, a white blouse with a lifted collar. She had nice jewelry, too. Nice as in expensive. “I was supposed to get a phone call this afternoon about Pumpkin’s massage.”

      “I’m so sorry. Was there something in particular you wanted to know?”

      “She was limping last night. Something happened here that hurt her leg.”

      “Why don’t we go check on her now?”

      The woman sighed, then nodded curtly.

      When Mercy turned around, Will Desmond was nowhere to be seen. He might have decided to go exploring on his own, which wasn’t good, but then Gilly wasn’t around, either. The rat. She’d probably absconded with Desmond, taken him somewhere intimate and private.

      Pumpkin’s mother followed Mercy to the suite, where Pumpkin greeted them with ferocious barking from atop her bed. Mercy opened the door and went inside. Surprisingly, Pumpkin’s mother didn’t. It took several minutes to calm the little tan dog down, but finally it was quiet again. Mercy was able to put Pumpkin on the floor. She proceeded to walk around, and there was no sign of a limp.

      “She seems to be doing well.”

      “I suppose so. But I still should have gotten a call.”

      “Yes, you should have. I’ll look in to it and find out what happened. I’m sorry.”

      Without a move to touch her dog, the woman turned toward the door. She took a step, then stopped. “I’m going out tonight, so you can keep her here. I’ll look in on her tomorrow.”

      “I’ll keep my eye on her.”

      The woman nodded once more, but instead of heading straight to the exit, she wandered down the line of suites. Finally, after looking at all the dogs, she made her way across the room and let herself out.

      Mercy picked Pumpkin up. The dog trembled, but didn’t bark. After a few minutes of gentle petting, Pumpkin settled and seemed to enjoy the contact.

      Something was off between owner and pet, but that wasn’t unheard of. “Poor little thing,” she whispered. “We’ll play tomorrow, you and me. We’ll get to know each other better.”

      Mercy put her down, then left the suite, only to be surprised by Will Desmond. He stood just a few feet away, watching her. Mercy closed the door behind her, then turned to him. “Was there something else?”

      He nodded. “I’d like to sign up to have you help me train Buster.”

      She shook her head. “That’s the one thing we don’t do. Not yet, at least. But I can give you several referrals who are excellent.”

      “No. I want you.”

      The words, even in their proper context, made Mercy flush. For a split second she pretended—but then it was over and she walked to Buster’s suite to look in on the pup. He’d piddled on the floor and he’d found a long, stuffed dog to play with. He seemed content, not at all frightened. That was a good thing. “I’m sorry. I don’t train dogs.”

      “You should. You’re amazing with them.”

      “I respect them. I don’t see them as little furry humans.”

      “So bend the rules. For Buster.”

      “I’m sorry. When you come back tomorrow, I’ll have the referrals ready. СКАЧАТЬ