About the Author

KATIE MEYER is a Florida native with a firm belief in happy endings. She studied English and Religion before getting a degree in Veterinary Technology. A former Veterinary Technician and dog trainer, she now spends her days homeschooling her children, writing, and snuggling with her many pets. Her guilty pleasures include chocolate, Downton Abbey, and cheap champagne. Credit for her romance writing goes to her parents and her husband, who taught her what true love really is.

The Puppy Proposal

Katie Meyer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-00250-9

THE PUPPY PROPOSAL

© 2015 Katie Meyer

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Dedicated to:

My parents for giving me a love of books, and my husband for telling me to write my own already.

All the friends that supported me, especially Jilda, Rebecca, Elizabeth, the ladies of The Well Trained Mind, and the incredible women of Hearts on Paper.

All the wonderful veterinary professionals I’ve worked with, especially Mary C. Fondren, DVM who supported me in countless ways over the years.

And of course, my agent Jill and the wonderful editorial team at Special Edition, who took a chance on me.

Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

He’d almost missed it. Had the setting sun been just a bit lower, the light a bit dimmer, he would have missed it, it being the most pathetic-looking animal he had ever seen. The dog—if that was the right word for the wet, filth-encrusted beast limping along the side of the road—was obviously in trouble. There wasn’t much traffic right now on this stretch of highway, but the Paradise Isle Bridge was just ahead, or so said the tinny voice of his rental car’s GPS. Crossing a highway bridge on foot, or paw for that matter, seemed a dangerous proposition. Besides, it was limping.

But limping or not, it wasn’t his dog. Wasn’t his problem. He was in a suit. In a rental car. On vacation—well, sort of a vacation. A working vacation. So this grimy creature was definitely not his problem.

Surely it knew the way home or would be picked up by someone that actually lived around here. Not that he was exactly sure where here was, GPS or no. He hadn’t passed a single town in over an hour, and the only brief glimpse of humanity had been a roadside stand selling gator jerky and boiled peanuts twenty miles back.

Nic Caruso tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he approached and then passed, telling himself the dog would be fine. But his gaze kept returning to the rearview mirror, where he watched the muddy stray as it slowly hobbled east. Then saw it flinch as a wave of dirty water thrown by a speeding car drenched it yet again.

“Damn it!”

Nic swung the small SUV to the shoulder, slammed to a stop and quickly located the emergency flashers on the unfamiliar dash. It might not be his problem or his responsibility, but he couldn’t bring himself to just leave the dog there. Resigned, he undid his already loosened tie, carefully laying it on the suit jacket occupying the passenger’s seat.

“Here, boy! Come here now.” He used his most authoritative voice, the one that he relied on in boardrooms across the globe.

Nothing.

The darned dog just kept going. So much for doing this the easy way. Nic opened the passenger’s door again and retrieved his tie. A quick slipknot and he had an impromptu leash. Great. Somehow, he didn’t think Hermès would approve.

“Easy, boy. That’s it. Eaaasy…” Nic inched his way across the muddy roadside toward the now cowering dog, careful not to spook him any closer to the highway.

A furry ear cocked in interest. The softer approach seemed to be working.

“Good boy. Come on, that’s a good boy. How about I give you a ride wherever you’re going, okay?”

A small tail wag was quickly followed by a cautious step forward. Hoping to appear less threatening, Nic crouched down, putting himself at eye level with the cautious canine. Brown eyes watched him warily, but the dog did keep moving in the right direction.

Only a foot away, cars sped by, but Nic kept his focus on the muddy beast in front of him, willing him to cooperate. Only a little bit farther and…

“Gotcha!”

Nic slid the improvised leash over the dog and held tight, just in case he bolted, but the bedraggled beast seemed to have lost his earlier apprehension. A happy, wriggling bundle, he licked and yipped in gratitude. The frenetic thank-you dance gave Nic an up-close study of what appeared to be a border collie—admittedly just a best guess with all the grime matting down his fur. He was a good size, maybe fifty pounds, but from the look of the large paws, he wasn’t done growing yet.

“So what do we do now? Any ideas?”

An enthusiastic face-licking was hardly an appropriate answer.

Nic stood and stretched while he thought of what to do. A week in the heart of Orlando on business, nightmare traffic on I-4, miles of desolate highway and now a muddy dog. When exactly had he completely lost control of his life? The only thing he could think to do was to keep heading for the island, and hope there was a shelter or veterinary hospital still open. Resolved, he started walking the dog along the shoulder of the road, only to be stopped by a soft whimper. Crap. Crouching again, he gathered the grubby canine to his chest and lifted him up. Carrying him to the car, Nic tried to ignore the ooze seeping through his shirt.

“Up you go.” Nic held the door open with one hand, and the makeshift leash with the other. No more encouragement was needed; the dog bounded into the rear seat easily. Hopefully, that meant he wasn’t badly injured.

Rounding the car, Nic brushed the worst of the dirt and fur off his clothes before sitting behind the wheel. He checked his mirrors and pulled carefully back onto the highway, then rolled down his windows as soon as he was up to speed, hoping to keep the wet-dog smell from permeating the upholstery. He doubted rental insurance covered that particular contingency.

That was a mistake.

Tempted by the open window, the dog nimbly hopped into the front seat and shoved his muzzle into the rushing air. Nic cast a grin at the happy animal’s expression—then cursed when he saw the now ruined suit jacket under his muddy paws.

Nic mumbled uncharitable remarks about the pup’s parentage until the top of the Paradise Isle Bridge, where he was seduced into silence. From the apex of its span, he could see fishing boats bobbing among the diamond topped crests of the Intracoastal, then the lush green of the island, and beyond that the Atlantic Ocean, where pink-and-purple clouds flamed on the horizon, caught in the last rays of the setting sun. In his rearview mirror the atmospheric show continued, a kaleidoscope of colors, constantly shifting as the orange orb of the sun slipped further toward the horizon. The sight of all that sea and sky managed to melt the last of his workday tension, leaving him feeling, for the first time in a long time, almost free. Or he would be, once he figured out what to do with the dog.

“Yes, Mrs. Ellington, I can see how that would be upsetting.” Veterinary technician Jillian Everett rubbed her temples with one hand while cradling the oversize phone receiver in the other. “But remember, Tinker Bell is only nine weeks old. It’s perfectly normal for her to not be housebroken yet… Oh. Well, no, I’m afraid I don’t know of any products that will get that kind of stain out of a leather handbag.”

A loud snort of laughter betrayed Dr. Cassie Marshall’s presence behind her.

“Yes, I agree, replacing it probably is the best idea. But, I really think you should consider waiting until Tinker Bell is older before carrying her in your purse for so long. When she’s a bit bigger, she’ll be better able to control where she, uh, leaves her presents. In the meantime, just stick to the feeding and training guidelines we sent home and I think she’ll be fine. If you have any other questions, I’m sure Dr. Marshall would be happy to answer them at your appointment next week.” Jillian mouthed a “gotcha” at Cassie, who was holding up her hands in a “not me” gesture.

“Okay, Mrs. Ellington, we’ll see you next week. Have a good night and kiss little Tinker Bell for us. Bye.” Jillian hung up and glared at Cassie. “You set me up! You knew what that call was about, didn’t you? Why is she calling the veterinary hospital for a poopy purse, anyway? Don’t those fancy dog purse things have liners for this sort of situation? Or an emergency number to call?” Shaking her head at the absurdity of the situation, she made a notation in the file and stood to put it in the appropriate place.

“I didn’t set you up…exactly. After all, helping with the call tonight was your idea. But yes, Mollie may have hinted at the situation before she left, and I may have made sure that particular chart ended up with the ones you so generously took off my hands.” She smiled. “Perk of being the boss, sorry.”

Jillian didn’t think Cassie’s wide grin looked the least bit contrite. But she was a great boss, and Jillian had volunteered. Cassie had a young daughter to get home to, so when Jillian saw the big stack of files requiring follow-up phone calls, she had offered to take the majority of them. She planned to give Mollie, the receptionist at Paradise Animal Clinic, a piece of her mind tomorrow for that final absurd call, but really, it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else to be. No one was waiting at home for her tonight. Or any night. Most of the time, the animal clinic was more of a home to her than her tiny apartment was.

She didn’t have any family. Both of her parents had been killed in a car accident, and she’d been too young to really remember them. The last in a long line of her foster families had lived on Paradise Isle, and she had found a sense of belonging here that had kept her on the island long after she’d aged out of the system. She had never been adopted, but the people of Paradise Isle had become a kind of surrogate family. Most of the time, that was enough. But on nights like tonight, when she had nothing better to do than stay late and file charts, she couldn’t help but daydream about someday having a real family to go home to.

“I’ll lock up on my way out. See you in the morning,” Cassie called from halfway out the door, juggling her keys, briefcase and a stack of veterinary trade magazines. She might be leaving the office, but Jillian knew she’d spend a few more hours working after her daughter, Emma, was asleep. Cassie was a single mom, and had taken over the clinic from her father, after he was permanently injured in a car accident a few years ago. Now her parents watched Emma during the day, doting on their only granddaughter, freeing Cassie to focus on the veterinary hospital. It was an arrangement born of necessity, but it worked because of their strong love for each other, something Jillian couldn’t help but envy.

As she filed, the only sounds were the bubbling of the fish tank and the hiss of an overworked air conditioner fighting the Florida heat. A full day of barking dogs, hissing cats and chatty clients had her appreciating the temporary quiet, only for it to be broken minutes later by a banging at the front door. For a second she considered staying out of sight, behind the tall wall of files. People often stopped by after hours to try to pick up last-minute items, and she really didn’t want to deal with that tonight. But, as always, her sense of duty won out.

Pulling her unruly black curls into a mostly serviceable ponytail, she forced a smile on her face, ready to serve whatever tardy client was making such a ruckus. Approaching the heavily tinted glass front door, she could make out, dimly, a very large man holding what appeared to be a squirming dog. Medical instincts kicked in at the sight of the would-be patient, spurring her to run the last few steps to unlock and open the door. Standing behind it was a seemingly solid wall of muscular man. Ignoring him, and her suddenly rapid heartbeat, she focused instead on the very familiar-looking dog.

“Oh, no, is that Murphy? What happened? Is he hurt?” Her voice came out more forcefully than she’d intended, but the shock of seeing her favorite patient being carried in by a stranger had her protective instincts kicking into high gear. She tried to assess the dog, but the man holding him was so tall it was hard to get a good look.

“I have no idea who or what a Murphy is, but I found this mongrel on the side of the highway as I was driving into town.” He shifted the dog, holding him away from what had once been a white dress shirt. “I don’t think he’s hurt too badly, but he definitely needs a bath.”

Jillian relaxed a bit, her mouth twitching up despite her worry. The guy, whoever he was, made quite a picture holding the pathetic dog in his arms. He was tall, over six feet, dark hair and eyes, with broad shoulders that filled out his business clothes well. The bristly stubble starting to show only added to his masculine aura. That he was carrying the nearly fully grown dog without visible signs of strain impressed her. That he had stopped to rescue the dog at all impressed her even more.

“So…are you going to help him?” the man asked, eyebrows raised. He probably wondered why she was just standing there, staring up at him like a fool.

“Oh, um, yes. Let me take a look, see if I need to call the vet back in. Just bring him in here.” Jillian snapped back into work mode, chiding herself for ogling when there was an animal that needed help. Motioning him into an exam room, she told herself she was a professional. And professionals were not supposed to check out the client’s rear end, no matter how nice it was.

Chapter Two

Nic carried the dog into the small, spotlessly clean room, gently lowering him onto the slick exam table. Immediately the troublemaker tried to jump off into Jillian’s arms. “Oh, no you don’t. Stay,” he said, grabbing the squirming dog before he could take flight.

“Good reflexes,” she commented, smiling that pretty smile again.

“Years of wrestling with my younger brother,” he answered. “You said you might need to call the vet. I thought you were the vet.” Confused, he pointedly looked at her scrubs. Scrubs that did nothing to hide her feminine curves.

“Me? No, I’m the veterinary technician, Jillian Everett,” she corrected. “Cassie—I mean, Dr. Marshall—already left. But let me take a look, and then I’ll give her a call if there’s anything wrong.” She opened a drawer below the gleaming examining table and removed a small scanning device. “But first, let’s see who this furry guy is. I’m pretty positive it’s Murphy, Mrs. Rosenberg’s border collie, but a microchip would tell us for sure. Hopefully we’ll luck out, and the scanner will be able to find one.”

Upon hearing his name, the dog whimpered, wriggling in delight.

“I think you just got your answer as to who he is. And speaking of names, I’m Nic.”

“You’re probably right, Nic, but let’s do this by the book, just in case.” She held down a button and ran the scanner up and down the dog’s neck, stroking his black-and-white fur with her other hand. Her affection for the dog was obvious. When the machine beeped, she wrote down a number that had popped up on the screen. “I’ve got Murphy’s chip number recorded in his file. Let me get it and I’ll be right back.”

Left alone with the dog, Nic found himself hoping the veterinary tech would come back soon. He liked her smile, and the way her dark curls kept falling across her face. Liked the gentle way she stroked the dog without seeming to notice she was doing it. He wondered if those hands felt as soft as they looked. But mostly, he liked that she was focused on the dog, not him. Fawning women had become a huge turnoff.

“It’s definitely Murphy,” she said, striding back into the room. Murphy squirmed in glee, as if happy to be recognized. “All right, boy, I know you’re happy to see me. I’m happy to see you, too. But I’ve got to make sure you’re not hurt, okay, handsome?” She ran her hands along the dog’s back and along his sides, feeling through the thick coat. “Murphy’s a favorite of mine, smarter than most dogs, but as likely to get into trouble as his name implies.”

“His name?” Nic looked down at the dog in his arms, confused.

“Murphy. As in Murphy’s Law?” She picked up the front leg and continued to check him over for any obvious open wounds or signs of pain.

“Ah, I take it this isn’t his first misadventure, then?” Nic could relate to that. He’d had his own stretch of mishaps growing up.

“Oh, no, Murphy makes trouble his hobby. It’s really not his fault—he’s just a smart, active dog without enough to keep him busy. Border collies are herding dogs—they need a job to do, some way to channel their energy. Mrs. Rosenberg is very nice, but she’s in her seventies and just not up to giving him the kind of exercise and training he needs. So our boy here finds his own exercise. He’s broken out of her apartment a few times before, but I’ve never known him to make it all the way over the bridge. That’s quite a hike, even for an athletic dog like Murphy.”

Annoyed by the owner’s lack of forethought, he asked, “If she can’t keep up with him, why did she get him in the first place?” His whole life was nothing but responsibilities; the idea of someone being so irresponsible, even with a pet, rankled him.

“She didn’t, not exactly. Her son, who wouldn’t know a collie from a cockatiel, gave him to her for a present. Said a dog would keep her company. As if she needed company—she’s a member of every committee and social group in town. She tried to talk me into taking him, but my apartment building doesn’t allow dogs.” She paused, bent down to look at something more closely and then frowned. “Nic, can you hold him on his side for me, lying down? I want to get a better look at his paws. I think I know why he was limping.”

Nic complied, concerned that she might have found something serious. Had he missed something? He hadn’t stopped to check the dog over before getting back on the road. His only thought had been to find somewhere that would take the dog off his hands. When he saw the sign for the Paradise Animal Clinic just past the bridge, it had seemed a good bet. Second-guessing his handling of the situation, he gently but firmly turned the dog on his side, careful not to hurt or scare him. Then, while he held the dog in place, Jillian carefully checked each paw.

“See this? His paws are raw. He’s worn the pads right off. The hot, rough asphalt acts like sandpaper on them. Poor thing…that has to really hurt.” Big blue eyes the color of a cloudless sky looked away from the dog and up at him. Eyes filled with sympathy and determination. “I’m going to call Dr. Marshall. Murphy will need some pain medication, and maybe some antibiotics.” She picked up a phone hung on the back wall of the small room and placed the call. “Hi, Cassie…yes, I’m still here. We’ve got a little problem. Murphy Rosenberg is here. Someone found him on the side of the road again. He seems to be in good shape for the most part, but he’s really done a number on his paws this time. I think you’d better come take a look.”

As he listened to her make arrangements, he let himself look his fill. The concern on her face did nothing to detract from her beauty. Pale blue eyes were a stark contrast to the mass of ebony curls attempting to escape the clip she’d secured it with. Her skin was fair, her cheekbones prominent, and then there was that mouth, those perfectly pink lips that she pursed when she was concentrating. A man would have to be blind not to want to kiss those lips.

That doctor had better show up soon; if he was alone with the sexy vet tech much longer, he might end up panting as badly as the dog in front of him.

Jillian hung up the phone, relieved that help was on the way. And not just for Murphy’s sake. Being alone with his rescuer was making her a bit nervous. Not that she was afraid of him; she couldn’t be afraid of someone willing to stop and help an injured animal the way he had. He just made her…uneasy. Especially when he looked at her with those intense brown eyes, as if he were examining her, looking inside her. Raising her chin, hoping she projected more confidence than she felt, she asked, “Can you carry him into the treatment room for me? We can clean him up a bit while we’re waiting.”

He easily lifted the dog, once again making the movement look effortless. “Just show me where.”

Jillian held the rear exam room door open, allowing him to pass through into the heart of the veterinary hospital. She wondered how it appeared to him. To her the stretches of gleaming chrome and spotless countertops, the bank of cages filling the back wall, the tangy scent of disinfectant were all more familiar than her own apartment. However, she knew the microscopes, centrifuges and bright lights could be intimidating to the uninitiated. Some people actually got a bit queasy. But Nic, who was waiting patiently for her to indicate where to place the dog, seemed unaffected by the medical surroundings.

Pleased by his composure, she pointed to the long, shallow treatment basin covered by a steel grate. The six-foot-long sink was table height, and would allow her to bathe the dog carefully while checking for any other wounds she might have missed. He placed the dog on the grating, and Murphy, no stranger to a bath, behaved himself as she uncurled the spray handle from the end of the table, then rinsed and lathered.

Nic made an excellent assistant; he had rolled up his sleeves, exposing tanned, well-defined forearms that easily maneuvered the soapy canine according to her direction. Thankfully, she could lather and rinse the pleasant-smelling suds on autopilot, because those muscled arms were proving quite the distraction. Worried he might have noticed her staring, she bent down to retrieve a clean towel from the stacks kept below the sink. She tried to focus on toweling the dog off, rather than on the larger-than-life man across the table. But he wasn’t making it easy.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Nic said, unbuttoning his shirt. “This thing smells like, well, wet dog.” He shrugged out of the wet, muddy fabric with a grimace, leaving him standing in an almost as damp, but considerably cleaner, sleeveless undershirt and dress slacks.

Jillian nodded, eyes drawn to his broad, bare shoulders, then down to the impressive biceps that had restrained Murphy so easily. The revealed bronze skin spoke more of Mediterranean ancestry than hours in the sun. The tight undershirt did little to hide the chiseled chest underneath or the flat abdominals below. She might have continued to stare, basking in all that male beauty, if the sound of the front door hadn’t snapped her back to reality.

“Jillian! Jillian! Where’s the doggy? Is he hurt? Can I kiss his boo-boo? Who’s that?” Emma Marshall, four years old and the spitting image of her mother, barreled into the room. Her strawberry-blond ponytail swished as she looked from Emma to Nic, blue eyes blinking rapidly.

“Emma, I told you that someone found a doggy and brought him here so I could help him.” Cassie appeared in the doorway behind her rambunctious tyke. “Hi, I’m Dr. Marshall. Thank you for helping our Murphy here. I’m afraid he’s a repeat offender, but we all love him, anyway.”

“I’m Nic.” Brushing away the compliment, he offered a tired smile and said, “He seems like a nice dog, now that he’s cleaned up.”

“Murphy was a mess when Nic brought him in, covered in mud and God knows what else. He helped me bathe him, but his shirt was a casualty,” Jillian explained.

“My shirt, my tie and my suit jacket. But, hey, who’s counting?” Nic shrugged his shoulders, and then returned his attention to the women in the room. “Can you do something for his paws? They look pretty awful.”

Cassie moved to the table and gently examined each of the dog’s feet. “They do look pretty bad, but they’ll heal quickly. I’ll give him an antibiotic injection to prevent infection, and he can have some anti-inflammatories to help with the pain. Beef-flavored tablets, he’ll love them.” Cassie drew up a syringe of milky-looking fluid. “You aren’t squeamish around needles, are you?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Not at all.” Nic eyed the syringe. “But shouldn’t you be calling his owner? She’s got to be missing him by now, right?” Nic looked first at Cassie, then at Jillian. “Shouldn’t she have to approve treatment or something?”

“Normally, yes,” Jillian answered. “But we have a standing permission for treatment in Murphy’s chart. Remember, this isn’t his first time getting away. Besides, Mrs. Rosenberg won’t be home tonight. She’s over near Orlando on an overnight trip with her seniors group. She mentioned it to me when she stopped in to buy dog food yesterday. Murphy will have to stay here tonight, I guess.” She grimaced. “I hate leaving him. If he scratches at the cage door, he’s going to make his paws worse, and after his big outing, I’d rather he have someone keeping an eye on him. But my apartment manager won’t allow me to take him home, and Cassie—I mean, Dr. Marshall—is currently fostering a dog at her house that doesn’t get along with others. He’d beat poor Murphy up. So he’ll have to stay here until Mrs. Rosenberg gets home.”

Nic’s eyebrows narrowed. “You’re going to just put him in a cage?”

Cassie responded matter-of-factly, “It’s not ideal, but he’ll be safe—a lot safer than he was a few hours ago, thanks to you. There really isn’t any other option.”

“Yes, there is.” Nic was firm, arms crossed. “He can stay with me. The Sandpiper Inn is pet-friendly, and I can bring him back here in the morning or to wherever you say to take him. I’ll keep an eye on him, give him his medication and make sure he’s okay overnight.” His eyes dared anyone to disagree. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of rescuing him to abandon him in the end.”

“I don’t think that will work…we don’t even know you. Mrs. Rosenberg doesn’t know you…” Jillian floundered. In her wildest dreams, she would never have expected this man to offer to play nursemaid to a gimpy dog. Knights in shining armor might be the norm in storybooks, but that kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Saviors, she knew from personal experience, were few and far between.

Cassie stepped in. “Why don’t I call Mrs. Rosenberg and see what she has to say? We’ll let her decide.” Turning to Nic, she continued, “I’ll need your contact information, and you’ll have to fill out some paperwork, if she agrees. Does that sound all right?”

Nic nodded in agreement, still standing stiffly, as if ready to defend his newly found canine friend physically, if need be.

While he and Cassie worked out the arrangements, Jillian clung to the soft dog. She had lost control of this situation somehow, not something she generally let happen. Watching the gorgeous man in front her, she wondered what kind of man did this, dropped everything and did whatever it took to save the day. As if sensing her bewilderment, Murphy squirmed in her arms.

Comforting herself as much as the dog, she buried her face in his fur. The dog turned his head, straining to keep Nic in view, something he had done since the minute they’d arrived. “I know how you feel,” she whispered in the smitten animal’s ear. “I know how you feel.”

Nic pulled into the parking lot of the Sandpiper Inn and turned the key, content to sit for a few minutes before he had to wrangle the dog and luggage. He still couldn’t quite believe he had acquired a pet, yet another responsibility, even if it was just for the night. But he couldn’t have left him in a cage, scared and hurt, any more than he could have left him on the side of the road.

At some point, taking on responsibility, taking care of others, had become second nature. He had always been the one to get his kid brother out of trouble, even when it meant getting into trouble himself. Later, he had tutored his sister, taking it upon himself to make sure she passed the dreaded algebra class. Then, after graduation, it had been impossible to say no to a job working for his father, eventually ending up where he was now, Nic Caruso, Vice President of Property Acquisitions at Caruso Hotels. The internationally known chain had been his father’s dream, not his, and he found no joy in traveling from city to city, scouting out properties and securing new locations for the ever-growing company. He often wondered what it would be like to settle down in one place, to meet someone that appreciated him for who he was, rather than what he could provide.

A soft woof from the passenger’s seat brought him out of his daydreams and into the present. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. I didn’t forget about you.” Grabbing his overnight bag, Nic set out with Murphy across the covered breezeway connecting the parking area to the main house. In front of him the inn rose out of the darkness, spotlighted by the moon against the dunes behind it. It was hard to see details this late, but he knew from his research that it was two stories, built in the Florida Vernacular style. The buff-colored wooden siding would blend with the dunes in the daylight, and there were covered, whitewashed porches on every level, designed to offer a cool spot to enjoy the ocean view. Right now, though, all he could make out were the wide front steps and a welcoming glow from several of the shutter-framed windows.

Before continuing toward the inn, he took the sandy path that ran parallel to the dunes. Whether the inn was pet-friendly or not, he’d better give Murphy a chance to relieve himself before going in and getting settled. As they walked, Nic was impressed by the sheer size of the grounds, which were crisscrossed by walking paths and planted with a variety of tropical and coastal scrub plants. He stopped to lean against one of the many smooth-trunked palms, breathing in the humid air, richly scented by the jasmine that grew heavy around him. The scent reminded him of the vet tech he’d just met, Jillian. Even over the disinfectant and wet-dog smells, he had picked up on her flowery sweetness, some perfume or shampoo or something.

Straightening, he tugged on the leash and walked back to the hotel entrance. He wasn’t here to daydream about pretty brunettes or to soak up the night air. He had a location to scout. Caruso Hotels was very interested in this bit of land, and he was tasked with determining if they should make an offer to the current owners.

There was plenty of room here for a modern beachfront resort once the original inn was torn down. Most of the property was underutilized, a diamond in the rough. A high-rise hotel could change the entire community—bring in tourist dollars, chain retailers and more. A Caruso Hotel would move the town into the modern age, make it a hot spot on the Florida coast.

At the top of the stairs, the large carved door of the Sandpiper Inn opened smoothly, bringing him into the lobby, an eclectically decorated but surprisingly elegant room. Native pine floors gleamed in the light of an old-fashioned chandelier. An antique table to his right served as the check-in desk, and across the room overstuffed furniture offered a cozy place to read or chat. Bay windows with a view of the night sea were directly opposite him; a native coquina fireplace accented the wall to the left.

Bookcases held everything from leather-bound tomes to contemporary bestsellers, with conch shells and chunks of coral for bookends. The antique and modern mix was nothing like the seamless, well-planned lobby of a Caruso Hotel, but welcoming in a way no modern resort could match. For once, he felt like he was stepping into something real, a true home away from home, instead of yet another commercial space.

“Are you checking in?” The question startled him for a moment, returning him to the present business. A young girl—she couldn’t be more than eighteen—had come in from a doorway behind the check-in desk.

“Yes, Dominic Caruso. I have a reservation.”

She tapped keys on a slim laptop computer, concentrating on the screen in front of her. “I don’t see mention of a pet in the reservation notes. Will the dog be staying with you?”

“Yes, but only for one night. Is that a problem? Your website did say you were pet-friendly.”

“Oh, no problem. I’ll just send up a dog bed and some bowls for him. We have a small selection of pet food, as well, if you’d like.” She smiled at Murphy, ignoring Nic in favor of his canine companion, and was rewarded by a mannerly wag of the tail.

“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Jillian had fed Murphy some kibble before they left the clinic, and had packed him some more for the morning.

“Okay, sign here, then. You’re in room 206, just up the stairs and to the left. Breakfast is served on the patio from seven to nine, and coffee and tea are always available in the sitting room. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you very much. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He pocketed the key, a real key, not a plastic key card, and headed up the staircase he had passed when he came in. The finely carved banister was smooth beneath his hand, worn to a soft glow by generations of guests and hours of polishing. Upstairs, the hall was quiet and softly lit; most of the other guests were probably sleeping, or perhaps out for a late stroll on the beach.

Grateful for the quiet, he let himself into the compact but tasteful room she had assigned him. Too tired to note much of his surroundings, he stripped off his filthy clothes on the way to the shower, where he stood under the hot, stinging spray to rinse off the mud, sweat and stress of the day. Resting his head on the cool tile, he let the water massage his back and tried to think of nothing, to just be. Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to Jillian, to her pale blue eyes, dark ringlets and those perfect, kissable lips. In a different place, a different time, he would love to explore those lips, and maybe more. But no, he had to work. Hell, he always had to work. At least he was good at his job. Dating, on the other hand, was a series of disasters. It seemed he had a target on his back visible to every gold digger for a hundred miles. His brother adored the attention the family name brought, but as far as Nic was concerned, being single was better than being used.

Annoyed, he turned the faucet to cold, hoping to clear his head. When even that didn’t work, he toweled off, then collapsed on the big antique bed. Maybe it was the soft snores of the dog at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the lull of the waves outside his window. Or maybe he was just that tired. Whatever the reason, for once he didn’t have to fight his usual travel-induced insomnia. Tonight, sleep came quickly, the kind of dreamless deep sleep that only came to him when he was home.

Chapter Three

Jillian’s morning was a blur of fur and files. There had been countless puppy kisses, but she had also been bitten, scratched and peed on. And that was only the first appointment—new puppy exams for a pair of Labradoodles. Since then, she had struggled to balance her time between assisting in the exam rooms, completing vital laboratory work and counseling owners on proper pet care. Officially, the clinic closed at noon on Saturdays, but it was already almost one, and she still had charts to write up before she left.

Grabbing a diet soda from the break room, she sat at the back desk, away from the barking and hissing, with her stack of charts. But no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her mind kept returning to Murphy and, if she was honest, to the man who had found him. Lots of men came through the clinic, but not many looked like some kind of Roman god.

And as if being gorgeous wasn’t enough, his compassion toward Murphy had bumped him up even higher on the sexy stranger scale of attraction. She had forgotten to ask him what had brought him to town. She knew he wasn’t a regular; Paradise was so small, she’d have heard about him if he had been here long. No, more than likely he was one of the few vacationers that occasionally found their way to Paradise.

The island definitely didn’t qualify as a tourist mecca; there were no giant, high-end resorts, nightclubs or theme parks to draw people in. But the beaches were pristine, and half the island was a dedicated wildlife refuge, so they did get the occasional nature lover. Somehow, though, Jillian couldn’t quite picture the well-dressed man she’d met last night as a bird-watcher.

She sighed. Not thinking about him wasn’t working; maybe she should be proactive instead. Mrs. Rosenberg should be home by now. If she was fast, she could pick Murphy up at the inn, get him back to his owner and still have time to grab a quick bite before the meeting of the Island Preservation Society this afternoon. Once the Murphy situation was handled, she could move on and stop thinking about the mysterious Nic.

Decided, she grabbed the phone and dialed Mrs. Rosenberg’s cell phone number. “Hi, Mrs. Rosenberg. It’s Jillian. I’m just finishing up here at work, and wanted to let you know I’ll be by with Murphy shortly.”

“Oh, dear, I was just about to call you. There’s been a slight change in plans. We girls decided to stop over at the outlet malls on the way back, and then, before we knew it, we were at that all-you-can-eat steakhouse. We’ve given our credit cards a workout, I’m afraid. But as soon as we finish lunch we’ll be on our way. I should be in town before three, and you and Murphy and I can have a nice visit then. I’ll make us some sangria with a wonderful red I picked up on the winery tour.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check on that sangria, Mrs. Rosenberg. The Island Preservation Society meeting is this afternoon. I need to head there right after work.” Jillian twisted the phone cord, thrown off by the change of plans. “I can bring Murphy by after the meeting, as long as that isn’t too late for you. I think we should wrap up by dinnertime.”

“That’s fine, dear. I can’t wait to see my naughty boy. I’m so glad he’s okay. I do hate how he keeps getting into scrapes. Won’t you reconsider keeping him? I’d feel so much better if he was with someone young and energetic like you.”

The elderly woman’s request tugged at Jillian’s heartstrings. She loved that dog, but there was no way she could keep him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rosenberg, you know I’d love to, but my landlord won’t allow it. Maybe when my lease is up…” But that was just wishful thinking. Paradise Isle didn’t have many apartment buildings, and none allowed dogs Murphy’s size. Renting or buying a house was out of the question on her current salary.

Somehow, she, the girl who had grown up wanting nothing more than a houseful of kids and pets, had ended up alone in a small apartment, without so much as a goldfish. That was why she had joined the Island Preservation Society. If she couldn’t have the Norman Rockwell life she’d always wanted, she’d have to settle for protecting her picture-perfect community instead. Paradise Isle was her home, and people like Mrs. Rosenberg were her family. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Have a safe drive back.”

“I’ll try, but Avril Clookie is driving this time, and you know what a flighty young thing she is.”

Mrs. Clookie was at least sixty years old, and about as flighty as a St. Bernard, but Jillian let it go. After saying her goodbyes, she found the consent form Nic had signed last night. His full name was Dominic Caruso, which sounded familiar somehow, and he’d left both his room number at the inn and his cell phone number in the contact section. When he didn’t answer at the room number, she dialed the cell.

“Hello?” He sounded out of breath, and she could hear wind blowing in the background.

“Hi, Nic, it’s Jillian.”

“Ready to pick up your patient?”

“Actually, there’s been a change in plans. It seems Mrs. Rosenberg won’t be back for a few more hours. I have a meeting after work, so it would probably be best if you brought him to the clinic. I can leave him here while I’m at the meeting, then take him home after that. I’m sorry to change things up on you.” She hoped he wasn’t too annoyed by the change of plans; his corporate look had screamed “type-A personality” last night.

“No problem. I just finished a run on the beach, figured I’d get some exercise while I was waiting to hear from you. If you want, I can—”

“Wait, you took Murphy running on the beach? His paws haven’t healed! He shouldn’t—”

“Whoa, slow down! Murphy’s upstairs sleeping, more than likely in my bed. I’ve only taken him out long enough to do his business, and I even rinsed his paws off afterward.” Nic’s voice was harsh, and Jillian felt herself flush. She shouldn’t have assumed. “I’m not an idiot—I do know how to take care of a dog.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m just annoyed that I couldn’t take care of Murphy myself. I’m grateful you offered to take him in—really, I am. I’m afraid I let myself get flustered by the whole switch in plans. I hope all this hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.”

“It’s fine. But listen, I still don’t like leaving him in a cage. Why don’t you just give me his owner’s address, and I’ll take him there myself? That way she gets her dog back and you can go to your…what was it?”

“A meeting over at the library. But really, I could figure something out. You’ve done more than enough already.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. I’d like to see him safely home, if that’s okay. We’ve bonded.”

“Bonded, huh?” She felt herself smiling; he seemed to have that effect on her.

“Sleeping together does that,” Nic deadpanned. “He’s a cover hog—don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

The image of Nic in bed, dog or no dog, was one Jillian did not need in her head. “Fine, I’ll give Mrs. Rosenberg your number. If it’s okay with her, she’ll call you and give you her address, arrange a time.” Jillian paused, “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for Murphy.”

“Well, if that’s the case, there is a way you could pay me back.”

“How?” Maybe he wasn’t so altruistic, after all. If he was looking for a reward, he was out of luck; neither she nor Mrs. Rosenberg had the extra cash.

“Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” Her jaw dropped.

“Yeah, you know, the meal after lunch? I’m assuming your meeting will be over by then. I thought you could take me somewhere interesting, somewhere the locals go.”

“Well…the locals mainly eat at Pete’s. It’s not fancy, but they have great burgers, and the seafood is fresh.” Jillian tried to picture Nic in his business suit in the more-than-rustic atmosphere of Pete’s. “Or we could go to the mainland. There are plenty of restaurants over there, nicer places—”

“Pete’s sounds great, exactly what I’m in the mood for. Where can I pick you up?”

“I’ll pick you up, at the Sandpiper,” she countered. Even small-town girls knew not to get in a stranger’s car. “Is six thirty okay? The deck fills up fast on a Saturday night.”

“Perfect, it’s a date. I’ll see you then.” A telltale click signaled the end of the call.

She hung up the phone slowly. A date? Since when did she go on dates with random strangers, no matter how sexy they were?

At three o’clock that afternoon, Nic was parked outside a small pink stucco house with a very eager border collie. Murphy strained at the leash on the way up the front walk, apparently as eager to go home as he had been to escape. Nic rang the bell and tried to quiet the dog. Almost immediately, the door was opened by a diminutive woman in a teal tracksuit and rhinestone glasses. Her close-cropped hair was a shade of red that was not, and never had been, anyone’s natural color. Nearly blinded by the combination, he was caught off guard when she dove in for a hug, her short stature leaving her head resting just above his navel.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Each thank-you was punctuated by a surprisingly strong squeeze. “You saved my precious baby. My sweet boy. Such a sweet, naughty, naughty boy!” With that, she crouched down to hug the canine in question. Murphy, for his part, took the praise as no more than his due.

Finished with her exuberant greeting, she straightened to her full height, which he guessed to be no more than four and a half feet, and tugged on his hand. “Come in, come in. I’m about to open some fabulous wine that I found on my trip. You must have a glass and tell me everything that happened.”

Nic followed, intrigued by the tiny dynamo. He knew Florida was known for its active senior lifestyle, but he had a feeling Mrs. Rosenberg surpassed even that stereotype. Besides, he wanted to find out how Murphy was pulling his little escape act.

The house was immaculate, and filled with overstuffed furniture in shades of mauve and teal. Paintings of tropical flowers were on the walls, and a large brass manatee served as a centerpiece atop the glass coffee table. Through the doorway to the right he could see a small galley kitchen; shopping bags currently covered every inch of counter space.

His hostess dug through the bags, removing multiple bottles of wine before finding what she was looking for. Her wrinkled but capable hands deftly wielded the corkscrew, then poured them each a generous portion. He accepted the proffered glass and took a seat on the overlarge love seat, sinking into the soft surface. His hostess’s much smaller body perched on the chair across from him as she raised her glass to toast. “To Murphy!”

“To Murphy.” He sipped cautiously. It was surprisingly sweet, but certainly drinkable.

“Good, isn’t it? Grown right here in Florida. It’s made with native grapes. Lots of antioxidants.” She winked, then drank.

He nodded, not sure what to say to the winking, booze-pushing senior in front of him.

“So you found my boy. Jillian says he was all the way across the bridge this time! I am in your debt, son—if you hadn’t stopped, there’s no telling what could have happened to him. A car could have gotten him, or an alligator! We have those here, you know.”

Nic did know, but hadn’t thought about it at the time. Which was probably a good thing. Changing the subject, he asked, “Mrs. Rosenberg, do you know how Murphy escaped? Jillian said this wasn’t his first attempt. I’d hate to see him get out again.”

She shook her head, neon hair flying wildly. “It’s a mystery to me. I left him locked in the house, with his food and water. The neighbor was going to let him out for me at bedtime, but she says he was already gone. If he’d been outside, I might think he dug out, since he’s done that before, but from inside the house? That doesn’t seem likely.” She frowned in thought, her bedazzled spectacles sliding down her nose.

“Do you mind if I look around, see if I can find his escape route?”

“Look wherever you like, son. I’ll just sit here and finish my wine.” She took another healthy swig. “You let me know if you find anything.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Nic decided to start at the front of the house. Murphy, who’d been lying happily at his feet, jumped up, eager to follow wherever he led. The front door offered no clues, and the windows appeared secure. No loose locks or broken panes. The bedroom windows were the same. Murphy, thinking there was some game afoot, pranced and barked as he searched.

When they got to the kitchen, the dog ran ahead and jumped up onto the kitchen door. Wondering, Nic stopped, and watched. Sure enough, Murphy jumped again, this time his paws hitting the lever door handle. If the dead bolt hadn’t been in place, the door would have popped right open. “Mrs. Rosenberg, was the kitchen door dead bolted when you were away?”

“The kitchen door? No, the key for that lock got lost a long time ago. But I did push the button in, on the doorknob. That locks it from the inside, and it opens with the same key as the front door.” She paused, eyes wide, “You don’t think someone broke in, do you?”

“No, not a break-in,” he assured her. “Just a break-out. See these scratches on the door? I think Murphy was jumping at the door to follow you, and his paws landed on the handle. That lock opens automatically from the inside as soon as you turn the handle. He just let himself right out. Then I imagine the storm blew it shut again. If you’re going to keep him in, you’re going have replace that lever-style handle with a good old-fashioned doorknob.”

“Oh, my goodness. What a smart boy! Opening doors!” Mrs. Rosenberg beamed at her black-and-white escape artist. “But I see what you mean. We can’t have him gallivanting around town. I’ll have to ask around about a handyman—I’m afraid tools and such just aren’t my area of expertise.”

“I could do it,” Nic said before he could stop himself.

“Would you? Oh, that would be such a load off my mind. I worry so about poor Murphy. I know this isn’t the best home for him, but I’d be sick if anything happened to him.” Before Nic could think of a way to extricate himself, she pressed a wad of cash into his hands. “Palm Hardware is just around the corner. You must have passed it on the way here. Just pick out whatever you think is best.”

Thirty minutes later, Nic was tightening the last screw with, of all things, a pink screwdriver. Murphy had been banished to the bedroom after getting in the way a few too many times, and Mrs. Rosenberg was thrilled. Straightening, he couldn’t help but grin as he packed up the pastel tool kit. Project Dog-Proof was a success, and despite his initial reluctance to get involved, it felt good to know he’d been able to help. Getting his own hands dirty was a lot more satisfying than just signing a work order.

“I have to say, I’m so glad Jillian had that meeting today, and you came instead. Not that I don’t love Jillian,” she clarified hastily. “Murphy adores her and I do, too. But I wouldn’t have felt right asking her to change a doorknob. I’m a bit too old-fashioned for that.”

He grinned. Of all the ways he might describe Mrs. Rosenberg, “old-fashioned” wasn’t one of them. “What sort of meeting she was going to?” He told himself he was only interested as part of his research on the island. He certainly wasn’t prying into the pretty vet tech’s life. Not very much, anyway.

“The Island Preservation Society. Jillian is one of the founding members,” Mrs. Rosenberg said proudly. “I don’t attend the meetings—meetings give me heartburn—but I donate when they have their annual rummage sale, and attend the dinner dance they do in the spring.”

His shoulders tensed. “What exactly does this society do?”

“They mostly work to preserve the historic buildings, protect the coastal habitat, anything that has to do with maintaining the way of life Paradise is known for.” Her eyes shined with pride. “Our little town isn’t as fancy or popular as Daytona or Miami or those other beach places, and that’s just fine with us. We like things the way they are, if you know what I mean.”

Nic was afraid he did know. From what she was saying, he was going to have a fight on his hands, and Jillian was playing for the other side.

Jillian walked quickly across the hot asphalt parking lot, sticky with sweat and humidity. Ahead, the air-conditioned coolness of the Palmetto County Library beckoned like a mirage, a refuge from the last gasp of summer. Stepping inside, she took a deep breath, embracing the smell of old books that permeated the air. Fortified, she climbed the single staircase to the crowded conference room where Cassie and Mollie were waiting for her.

“We saved you a seat.” Mollie waved, her pixie-like face lighting up at the sight of her friend. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show, and you know I only come to these things because of you.” Formal meetings of any sort were definitely not Mollie’s thing. Grateful, Jillian hugged the petite woman in appreciation.

“I appreciate you making the sacrifice. These meetings really are important, especially now. Rumor is that the Sandpiper’s new owner wants to sell.”

“Sell the Sandpiper Inn? That place is an institution! I can remember Dad taking me there as a kid for the annual fish fry and the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. And just a few years ago, he and mom had their twenty-fifth anniversary party there.” Cassie’s eyebrows furrowed. “It’s bad enough that they don’t do the community events anymore, but sell it? To who?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “They haven’t even officially put it on the market yet. I think that happens Monday. I only know about it because another one of the Island Preservation Society members, Edward Post, told me about it when I saw him at the grocery store yesterday. He was always close with the Landry family, and had hoped when their daughter inherited the Sandpiper she would bring it back to its glory days. But she’s got her own retail shop over in Orlando, and isn’t interested in being an innkeeper. He thinks she’ll take the first good offer she gets.”

Jillian’s heart hurt just thinking of the stately inn being taken over by outsiders, or worse, torn down. A beacon on the Paradise Isle shoreline, the Sandpiper had stood for more than a century. Its spacious grounds had always served as an unofficial community center, the gregarious owners often hosting holiday events, weddings, even a prom or two. She’d fallen in love with the grand building the first time she saw it and had always imagined she’d bring her own family to events there, one day. Now it might be destroyed before she ever had that chance. It just didn’t seem fair, or right, to let it slip away without a fight.

As the meeting got under way, she found it hard to concentrate on the details of the historic post office renovation, or a proposal for a bike lane on Island Avenue. Normally she was the first volunteer for a Society project, but right now she was too on edge about the fate of the Sandpiper Inn.

And if she was honest with herself, the issue with the Sandpiper wasn’t the only thing making her palms sweat. A good number of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach were about her upcoming date. It wasn’t as if she’d never been on a date before; at twenty-seven, she’d had her share of relationships. But always with local, familiar, safe men. Nothing serious. After a few dates, they’d ended up just friends, leaving her wondering if she was even capable of more intense feelings.

But Nic, with his towering good looks and confident manner, was another kind of man altogether. One that had her squirming in her seat, unsure if she was eager for the meeting to be over or afraid of what came after it.

Finally, the last item on the agenda was addressed. Edward Post stood at the front of the room, faced the folding chairs and cleared his throat. “I know that a few of you have heard rumors about the Sandpiper Inn. I’m afraid those rumors have been confirmed. Ms. Roberta Landry, the current owner, has decided to sell the inn and return to her job in Orlando.” Shifting his weight nervously, he continued, “The board of the Island Preservation Society has spoken with Ms. Landry, and she has agreed to at least entertain the idea of the city purchasing the inn for community use.”

“Can the city afford to buy it?” someone from the crowd asked.

Edward pushed his glasses up his nose, to see who had spoken. “No, not without help. We’re preparing an application to the State Register of Historic Places. If we can get the Sandpiper listed, we may be able to get a grant toward its preservation, which would help offset the purchase price. Our chances are good, but the process can take several months. If there is another offer before that happens, Ms. Landry is within her rights to sell without waiting for the outcome of our application.”

At that point the meeting broke down, voices rising as friends and families discussed the odds of success. Everyone already knew, without being told, that with land prices finally going up, a new owner was likely to raze the inn and parcel the land up.

Heartsick, Jillian avoided the speculating citizens and quietly made her goodbyes. Descending the stairs, she vowed to contact Edward and volunteer to write the grant application herself. Tonight she’d start researching the process, figure out their best way forward. She was going to do whatever she could to increase their chances of getting that grant. This was her home, and she wasn’t giving up without a fight.

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