Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers Book 6) Read online

  “Are you done having fun at this dog’s expense?” Declan challenged. “Wait. Scratch that. I’m asking the man who ran his dog for town mayor.”

  “And won.” Connor reminded him. “Why are you in a suckier mood than usual, Big D?”

  “Oh, let’s see, I worked twenty-eight hours, finalized three new training exercises, interviewed volunteers, revised the policies-and-procedures manual, and inspected the engine.”

  “Why aren’t you chief again?”

  “Good freaking question, Connor. I guess because we already have one.”

  “Who sure knows how to delegate.”

  Declan agreed with a soft grunt in the dog’s direction. “Don’t forget I’ve suddenly got a new best friend with no chip, no collar, and attachment issues. And to top it off, my grandmother has me doing her bakery run.”

  “Like I said, that’s why they call you the responsible one and me the handsome one.” Connor knelt in front of the dog, threading his fingers into the thick fur on his monstrous head, then stroking the distinctive widow’s peak on his face. “Speaking of handsome. You’re a showstopper, you know that?” He glanced up at Declan. “Who’d give this guy up, though, seriously?”

  “God only knows,” Declan replied.

  He’d worked at this station for so many years, there wasn’t a dog story he hadn’t heard. For some reason, when people ran out of money, luck, or time and were too ashamed to take their pet to a shelter, they left them at the fire station. Nine times out of ten, Declan was the one to step in and take care of the poor beasts, who had no idea why they were in a strange place where sirens screamed and boneheads howled back.

  “Whoever it is, they’ve had seventy-two hours to have a change of heart. Garrett’s been running notifications and pictures, too, throughout his whole lost-dog network. Nothing left to do but take this guy to Waterford Farm today and get him into the adoption program.”

  “He’ll go fast,” Connor said. “He’s too pretty not to find a home.”

  “But he sheds like a sheep.” Declan plucked at hairs on his uniform trousers, then slung his pack over his shoulder. “Let’s go, Lusky,” he called, watching the dog rise slowly. “I’m going to have Molly look at him first thing. I don’t think he’s quite right.”

  “Good idea. Oh, and pro tip? Since I can’t be there to guarantee a win, get on Shane’s team for touch football. He’s been working on plays.”

  Declan threw him a look. “You know I don’t get on the field with those lunatics.”

  “You should.” He pointed at his brother. “A little lunacy would help you, man.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  Connor rolled his eyes and disappeared into the station, and Declan took off.

  A few minutes later, he pulled his truck into the garage of the brick ranch house he called home, ready for a shower and fresh clothes. The shift had been busy, but Declan had caught enough sleep that he didn’t worry much about getting the shut-eye he usually needed after twenty-four-plus hours on duty.

  But instead of relaxing on a Sunday morning, listening to some classical music, drinking coffee, and catching up on the news, he responded to yet another text from Gramma Finnie. This one a reminder that Linda May invariably ran out of raspberry croissants, and no one really wanted any substitutes.

  So hurry it up, lad.

  The responsible one, huh? Well, someone in the family had to be. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmured as he led the dog back out to his truck.

  At the open passenger door, Lusky crouched down and refused to jump, instead letting out one of his signature wails.

  “Come on, you’re not that fat.” Declan wrapped his arms around the dog and lifted him into the truck. “Hope Linda May lets tricolored bear-wolves in her place.”

  In town, he snagged one of the secret parking spots behind the bookstore that only locals knew about, since there wasn’t another space to be found. No wonder his grandmother had sent him on this errand instead of going herself—the bakery was packed with the after-church crowd and leaf-peeking tourists scarfing down the world-class raspberry croissants.

  When he reached the front of the line, Linda May, who wore her signature Best Baker in Bitter Bark name tag, offered Lusky a treat. “I didn’t know you had a dog, Declan,” she said as she bagged up the croissants.

  “He was surrendered at the station. Any chance you’ve seen him before? We’ve been trying to track down an owner, if only to get some medical history and an age.”

  She shook her head as she handed him change. “And that’s not a face you’d forget, is it?” Her gaze shifted past him as her face lit up. “And neither is that! Hello, Evie Hewitt. I heard you were in town, Doctor!”

  Declan froze in the act of sliding a bill into his wallet, his mind going blank for a second. It always did during a rare Evie sighting.

  Every time, he’d pray for the courage and strength to say something—anything—that could explain why he’d let their friendship become a casualty of that fire. But the words would never come, or the ones that bubbled up would sound hollow and pathetic, so he stuffed them back down into the emotional basement, where they’d been rotting for twenty years.

  And then he was miserable for weeks.

  Could this time be different? Please, God. Please.

  “Oh, who do we have here?” Evie’s voice behind him punched as effectively as a fist to his solar plexus. It was still sweet and pretty and as clear as it was on those sweaty, unwelcome nights he dreamed about her. “A Husky-Malamute mix?”

  Okay, maybe God wasn’t going to intervene. But…Lusky? Because who could connect with Evie better than an animal?

  The dog stood a little behind him, so Evie obviously didn’t know Declan was there, giving him a few extra seconds to brace for impact before he turned.

  But as he did, the dog rose up and slapped his paws on her chest, howling in a way that perfectly reflected how Declan felt every single time he saw her. Overwhelmed, dazed, and full of longing, love, agony, and ecstasy. If he could bellow like this dog, Declan might be able to explain away the last twenty years.

  “Oh!” Evie stumbled back, holding out her hands and laughing in surprise. “That’s quite a greeting, my friend.”

  “Sorry.” Declan managed to pull the dog back, and only then did Evie lift her gaze to look at him. And there, in that split second when she realized who he was, he saw a flash of something he remembered so well in her laser-blue eyes. That beautiful, warm, affectionate look that had been wiped away by a tragedy and time.

  “Declan!” She backed away again, as if the sight of him had even more of an impact than the dog’s giant paws and loud cry.

  “Hello, Evie.” Yes, he had the unfair advantage of preparation for the moment, but nothing ever really prepared him for her.

  “Declan,” she said again, barely a whisper, as he could have sworn he saw a veil of protection fall over her face.

  But it didn’t hide the fact that she got prettier every time he saw her. Her striking pale blue eyes still made a dramatic contrast to her nearly black hair, which now fell a few inches below her shoulders, so shiny and straight he imagined it was like raw silk to the touch.

  Her face had lost its youthful softness, but that accentuated her cheekbones and the hint of a cleft in her chin that had always fascinated him. Still slender, still graceful, still stupefyingly gorgeous.

  “I had no idea you were in town,” he said.

  “I haven’t been here that long.” Her gaze dropped over his face and chest, then instantly returned to his eyes. “Granddaddy had a sudden craving for a raspberry croissant.” The explanation came out sounding a little nervous, as if he’d asked what she was doing at the bakery. Or as if she expected him to be cool and distant because he always was.

  Not this time. Not this freaking time.

  “Oh dear,” Linda May interjected. “The next batch of raspberry is still in the oven. Will Max take strawberry or chocolate chip?”

  “Here.”
Declan held his bag out to her, the other hand still clamped on the dog. “Take mine.”

  “Your Linda May raspberry croissants?” She lifted her brows. “Do you know the street value for that bag?”

  He laughed, the joke so…Evie that it relaxed some of the tension stretched across his chest. They could laugh, right? They always could laugh.

  He tipped his head toward a nearby table being wiped down. “How about we wait for the croissants together?”

  She considered the offer, her eyes warm with surprise. And maybe a little happiness. She glanced down at the dog as if Lusky had the answer.

  He barked once, then lowered his head to gaze upward with a sweet, submissive plea in his eyes.

  “He’s begging so I don’t have to,” Declan joked. Kind of a joke. Also kind of one hundred percent true.

  As she laughed at that, her shoulders dropped, and he could see the very moment she made the decision. “Then I say yes.”

  “Give that dog a treat,” he said, grabbing one from a small bowl on the counter.

  It took a few minutes to get coffee, settle into the seats, and tuck the howler under the table with his cookie. But once they did, he took two croissants from his bag and placed them on napkins, and then they looked at each other, suddenly dead silent.

  Of course. And now the obvious question. What the hell happened to you, Mahoney?

  He swallowed. “So, how’s your grand—”

  “I hear you’re a captain—”

  They spoke right over each other, then chuckled at how awkward that was.

  Evie brushed some croissant flakes from her hands. “Go ahead.”

  “No, ladies first.”

  She nodded. “Just wanted to say congratulations. I heard you’re a captain.”

  Of course she was too classy to open with a demand for an explanation he wasn’t sure he could give. “Thanks. Got the promotion a while ago,” he said, lifting his coffee cup.

  “Next is chief?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  She smiled at him. “Your dream job.”

  The fact that she remembered that touched him. But then, he remembered her dreams. “And you, Evie? A veterinary neurologist, right?”

  “I am, or, I was.” She leaned back with a sigh. “A few years ago I took the job as head of the Veterinary Neurology Department at NC State.”

  He lifted his brows. “Wow.”

  “It means I haven’t had a scalpel in my hand for a while. At least when I was teaching, I was also practicing at the animal hospital.”

  Teaching. He’d heard somewhere—from Molly, probably—that she’d taken the teaching track at her alma mater. “Never imagined you’d give up the sick animals for a room full of students,” he said.

  “They both need me, only in different ways.” She glanced down at the pastry. “I started as a guest lecturer, then took a teaching position and some additional graduate studies to get yet another degree, and then, well, the school made it tempting to take the department-head job.” She lifted a shoulder, making him wonder if there wasn’t more to the story. “It’s not quite the high of hands-on medical work, but I thought it would be a chance to finally have control over my schedule.”

  “That makes sense.”

  Okay, small talk. Easy. Comfortable. Nothing earthshattering. He felt some air escape with relief, even a kick of happiness. Good to know that they could be transported back for a moment to one of the many conversations they’d had about career plans, more than a few right here in this bakery.

  “So…” He dragged out the word, unwilling to get too serious. This qualified as the longest, most in-depth conversation they’d had in two decades, and he didn’t want to ruin that. “You like faculty work?”

  “Well, I do admit I miss the unique thrill of being licked by a Saint Bernard and scarred…” She lifted her hand to show a pale white line on her skin. “By a hungry hedgehog.” She fluttered long fingers that could play the piano and operate on a tiny animal’s brain with the same grace.

  “You never could resist an animal in need.”

  “I still can’t, but running a department is a great job, and we have one of the best neurology programs in the country. Plus, the dean is a good friend of mine, and she gave me this semester-long sabbatical without blinking an eye.”

  “You’re here for a whole semester?” He was the one who blinked an eye. In fact, he had to fight to keep all the reaction out of his voice. Here for months meant…more casual contact like this.

  He might as well write off the possibility of a good night’s sleep until next year.

  “You don’t have to look like I announced I’m moving into the fire station,” she teased.

  “Did I? I’m surprised and…” Ridiculously pleased at this news. “Hey, there’s always an extra bunk there if your grandfather is driving you crazy.”

  “He’s not,” she assured him. “The house is a little bit of a headache, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down.

  Because that freaking house would always crush any chance of reconnecting.

  “My parents are trying to figure out what to do with it eventually,” she finished.

  “They don’t want to keep it?” he asked, keeping his gaze direct and his voice level.

  He might have his personal reasons for hating Gloriana House, but the classic Victorian was one of Bitter Bark’s most impressive landmarks, attracting tourists with all those windows and gables and a three-story circular tower.

  “Well, you know Dawn Hewitt, my mother the artiste and true hippie, currently living on a forty-foot sailboat somewhere in the Caribbean, where she is quite content.”

  “But it’s your dad’s family’s house, so…”

  “Well, my father’s wind blows whatever way Mom wants it to.”

  “Helpful on a sailboat,” he joked.

  “Good one.” She pointed at him and laughed lightly, and it was like someone played a song he hadn’t heard in years. His laughter and hers, at a play on words. Man, it had been a long time since he’d heard that.

  “But, truth is, they’d be happy to sell Gloriana House when the time comes,” she said.

  Which left the obvious question. “What about you? I know you always loved the place…” He didn’t know how to finish that.

  She took a few seconds, sipping coffee before answering. “I have mixed feelings,” she finally said. “I do connect with the long line that came before me, including that remarkable great-grandmother I’m named after. But…” She shrugged. “My life is in Raleigh.”

  Her life had been in Raleigh for the past twenty years, a thought that always gave him a thud of disappointment. Maybe if they’d had more chances to talk… But when he’d shut down—and he sure as hell had shut down—she’d gone back to school and rarely returned. And he’d stayed shut down long past the statute of limitations on friendships.

  “Sure, sure,” he said with forced casualness.

  The table suddenly wobbled as the dog pushed up, finished with the chewy treat he’d been gnawing. He plopped his head on the table, eyes on Evie, because where the hell else would anyone with a beating heart want to look?

  “And you, handsome Husky, are a big gorgeous goofball.” She stroked the dog’s head. “When did you get him?”

  “He’s not mine,” he said. “He was left at the station, and I’m taking him to Waterford Farm to hand him over to my cousin Garrett, who’ll put him up for adoption.”

  “Really?”

  “Are you interested? I’m sure you have a dog or six, every one of them with a special need.”

  “You know me too well.” She gave a warm smile. “I actually don’t have a dog right now,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve lost a few a little close together, as happens when you have a weakness for the unhealthy ones, but lately…” She trailed off again. “This guy is beautiful.”

  Declan reached over and gave Lusky’s ear a rub. “Fair warning, he’s a howler.”

  “You are? Howl y
ou do that, doggo?”

  He shook his head, laughing. “Here come the howl puns.”

  She leaned closer to the dog. “Howl-lelujah, he remembers my bad jokes.”

  “Who could forget them?”

  “Because I’m howlarious, right, bud?” They both gave the dog a head rub at the same second, their fingers accidentally brushing. And that just made Declan want to snag her hand and hold it. Which would be wrong on so many levels. And also very right.

  And there was the problem that paralyzed him whenever he saw Evie.

  “What did you say his name is?” she asked.

  “We’ve been calling him Lusky at the station. One of the guys googled the Husky-Malamute mix, and they called that mix an Alusky.”

  “Lusky? Do you like that name?” she asked the dog.

  The dog put his big gold and black paw over her hand, lifting his head a little as if he wanted to tell her something. Of course, he did because…Evie. The original dog whisperer.

  Lusky opened his big jaw to let out a bellow, but Evie fearlessly covered his snout. “No howling in the bakery,” she warned softly. “It’ll make the cookies crumble.”

  And, son of a gun, he shut up. “Whoa, you’re good.”

  “Years of training. But when you do this…” She put her hand on his snout again. “Add a little pressure right under his chin with your thumb. It mimics the bite of the pack leader.” She held Lusky’s head steady, looking right into the dog’s eyes for a long moment. “Have you taken him to the vet, Declan?”

  “I’ve only had him seventy-two hours, per station policy, waiting for a claim on him. But Molly’s going to look at him today,” he said. “Why? You see something, Doc?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Something in his eyes.”

  He leaned forward, trying to see what she saw. “Not garden-variety abandonment?”

  She stroked the dog’s head and studied him some more. “Is that what’s buggin’ you, Lusky? Missing someone you love?”

  Declan sat back to watch her work her animal magic. “You always were Dr. Dolittle.”

  She smiled, no doubt remembering how he’d often called her that. “What can I say? Animals talk to me, and then I slice them open. Or at least I used to. I hope Molly can do a thorough exam on a Sunday.”