Love Is a Four-Legged Word

by Melinda Metz

Genres: Animals; Small Town & Rural; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

In a deliciously warm and fuzzy new romance from Melinda Metz - best known for her signature animals who play Cupid - one scruffy former street dog will show two people in Sedona, AZ just how far kindness and love can go.

GIRL MEETS DOG
Riley Bernard is living her best life. She recently landed a job at a resort in Sedona, Arizona, and her goal of working in all fifty states is well underway. Everything is going according to plan—until she sees a scrappy-looking dog limping along Highway 179. The poor pooch obviously needs help. Unfortunately, adopting a stray is not part of Riley’s plan. She needs a plan B . . .

GIRL HIDES DOG
Determined to find the dog a home, Riley coaxes him into her car and heads to work at the High Sky Resort. She figures she can stash him in one of the empty guest cabins. But when she sneaks the pooch inside, she’s surprised to find it’s occupied—by a very attractive, nearly naked man, Daniel Acker, who is instantly charmed by the scruffy canine. And by Riley, too . . .

GIRL UNLEASHES TROUBLE
With Daniel’s help, Riley tries to find the dog a good home—at the risk of losing her job. Her micro-managing boss has a zero tolerance for trouble. And somehow, Riley seems to attract other animals that need rescuing too, including an injured rabbit. But her biggest problem? The closer she gets to finding that trouble-making dog a home, the more she can’t bear to part with the furry guy. Or a certain human named Daniel. . . .

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 256

Sample

Riley Bernard wished she could take a video of this moment and send it back in time to her nine-year-old self. Here she was, cruising down Highway 179, those gorgeous red rock cliffs rising up to meet the bluest of blue skies. It was like she was living on page seventeen of Beautiful America. Nine-year-old Riley wouldn’t believe it. To that little kid, page seventeen might as well have been Wonderland, not a place anyone could actually visit.

And her sixteen-year-old self? Forget about it. That girl might have had a hard time even believing she was still functioning at thirty-three. According to Chloe Campbell, she of the legendary parties and equally legendary grade point average—who knew everything, or thought she did—twenty-five percent of foster kids don’t graduate from high school. She also had lots of interesting facts about what the rest of Riley’s life would be like: before former foster kids turn twenty-one, ten percent end up dead; fifty percent develop a substance abuse dependence; twenty-five percent become homeless; twenty-five percent are incarcerated; seventy percent of the female ones get pregnant; and less than five percent ever get a college degree.

Maybe Riley should write Chloe a thank-you note. Having those stats shoved in her face had motivated her to come up with The Ultimate Plan, which was to live in every one of the most beautiful places in that book. And here she was. Driving through page seventeen, “Paint It Red” blaring from the topof-the-line stereo, an order of carne asada bacon fries from Señor Tommy’s on the seat next to her. If Riley hadn’t been determined to prove Chloe wrong, who knew where she’d be?

Riley powered the windows down a little farther, even though it had to be a hundred degrees out there. The High Sky van couldn’t smell like all that yummy carne. The resort was strictly vegetarian. If a guest complained to Ms. Aguilar about a meaty odor, Riley would probably, no, definitely, be out on her butt. It’s not like she planned to make a career at the place. In fact, she had a new gig as activities coordinator at the Spruce Summit resort starting in just about a month, next stop in T.U.P. She was handing in her two weeks’ notice in a couple days. But her car had been spewing farts of dark exhaust that smelled like rotten eggs every time she drove and wasn’t going to make it from Arizona to Vermont without a new catalytic converter, which she couldn’t afford at the moment. She almost had enough, but it would take those last couple of High Sky paychecks to get the Kia fixed up and ready to go, which meant she had to keep Ms. Aguilar happy until she had the cash—not exactly easy, since the manager had a long list of zero-tolerance don’ts for employees. That’s why Riley not only had the windows halfway down, she also had two Febreze Linen & Sky car air fresheners in the vents. No way was she messing up T.U.P. She kept her eyes on the prize.

She’d reworked the itinerary dozens of times, practically wearing the ink off the pages of Beautiful America, until she’d perfected the plan. So what if zigzagging from Arizona to Vermont, and after that, Montana, wasn’t exactly efficient. Riley loved a road trip, and even though she’d come up with the plan seventeen years ago, back when she was only sixteen, it still worked, and she still wanted to make that sixteen-year-old’s dream come true.

It had taken her more than a decade after graduating from high school to get T.U.P. started. Working minimum wage for a bunch of those years had made adding to a travel fund almost impossible. But she’d clawed her way from fast-food fryflinger to activities director at a four-star resort, and now she’d lived in San Francisco, Magnolia Springs—sixteen-year-old Riley had thought living in a place where mail was delivered by boat would be so cool, and that Riley was right—Medora, Ocracoke, and Cape Elizabeth. And how’d she accomplished that? Eyes on the prize, baby.

As she pulled onto Schnebly Hill Road, she reached back into the take-out tray of compostable sugarcane—Sedona being extremely eco-conscious—for a couple more of the loaded fries. They’d be too hard to eat once she hit the unpaved section. She had the bite halfway to her mouth when a flash of movement on the highway grabbed her attention. She slammed so hard on the brakes that the van skidded sideways, dumping her fries on the floor, upside down.

A dog. She’d almost hit a damn dog.

Riley pulled in a sharp breath, heart skittering in her chest, then started back down the highway. She was going to have to do a high-speed hazmat-style cleaning on the van. She had a vortex tour scheduled in less than an hour, and—

Wait. What was a dog doing out here? Had somebody dumped it? There was nothing between here and the summit, where the resort sat overlooking Verde Valley. She stopped and put on emergency flashers, even though there wasn’t another vehicle in sight.

The tour was supposed to start at 3:30. Sharp. Ms. Aguilar had zero tolerance for lateness. And lateness involving guests? Riley didn’t know what was less than zero tolerance, but whatever it was, that’s what her boss would have for making guests wait. But Riley had zero tolerance for letting an abandoned dog die out in the desert.

Riley climbed out of the van headed back along the road. “Doggie, doggie, doggie!” She walked a few more feet. “Come on, doggie!” Doggie didn’t appear. And the clock was ticking. Animal control. That was the solution. She’d tell them where she’d spotted the dog, and they would come out and search, and she could get herself back to High Sky on time. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, but before she could do a search for the number, she heard heart-piercing yelps, unmistakably an animal in pain. She ran toward the sound, stumbling over the rocky ground, rounded a clump of yucca plants, then jerked to a stop as she spotted the little brown-and-white dog. No, not a dog. A puppy. A puppy with at least three cactus quills stuck in his body.

Anger surged through her. There were such things as animal shelters. Dropping off the pup would have taken, what, half an hour? He would probably have gotten adopted in a couple days, maybe a couple hours. Cute little things always went fast.

Eyes on the prize. Thinking about how things should have gone was pointless. What she had to think about now was damage control. What did she need? A way to carry the animal without causing it more pain. “Right back,” she promised the pup, who was still wildly yelping. She raced to the van. She’d been on her way back from Edible Alchemy with every type of small-batch salsa they made for a tasting the next day. She took jars out of the wooden crate, grabbed a piece of bacon from the mess on the floor, and headed back to the pup, moving as fast as she could over the uneven ground. The puppy cowered as she approached, the yelps turning into a pitiful whimpering. Riley slowed down. She had no experience dealing with dogs. But she had lots of experience dealing with people, some of whom acted like they’d been stabbed by a cactus if, say, the pool was not a perfect seventy-eight degrees.

“You’re going to be okay,” she said, making her voice as calm and soothing as she would for an upset guest. “I know you’re not right now, but I promise you, you’re going to be okay.” She inched closer and set down the crate, then held out the bacon as a good-faith offering. Human or dog, bacon made everything better, right? The puppy snatched it away, sharp little teeth grazing her finger. How long had he been out here without food? And what about water? She noticed the puppy was panting, and the tip of his tongue was out. It looked dry, at least drier than she thought it should be.

“I’m going to touch you now.” The puppy lowered his head, but kept his dark eyes on her, the whites showing. “Please don’t bite me. Remember I gave you bacon.” She laced her fingers together underneath his belly, feeling the tremors running through his tiny body. She managed to lift him without touching his sides. He didn’t try to get away as she maneuvered him into the crate, probably hurting too much. “You’re okay, you’re really okay,” she repeated over and over as she slowly returned to the van, trying not to jostle the pup. She put the crate on the floor of the passenger seat, grinding the carne fries into the floor mat.

Now what? Would Ms. Aguilar understand that Riley had no choice but to bring the puppy back with her? Big no. Okay, more damage control. From the resort, it took five or six minutes to drive up to Riley’s little cabin in the employee quarters, then she’d have to drive back, so that was a no-go if she was going to meet the tour group on time. She definitely couldn’t take the pup with her on the tour.

Riley took out her phone and pulled up the reservation app. One of the casitas was open. She could stash the puppy there. The van had a first aid kit, and she was pretty sure it had tweezers. She’d get the spines out and leave the puppy in the casita’s bathroom, where it couldn’t hurt anything. It would only be a couple hours until she could retrieve him. Risky, but the best option.

“I really don’t need a casita. If there’s a regular room, I’m up for it.” Daniel Acker tried to look at everything at once, without being obvious about it. The colors made him want to pull out his pencils and do some sketching, something he hadn’t done in, wow, at least a year, maybe two. He couldn’t remember why he’d stopped.

Whoever had designed the place had echoed the landscape, using muted green like the cactuses, blood red like the cliffs. There was even a pop of the brilliant blue of the sky in the stenciling around the rounded arch leading to the dining room. There was a dining room. His apartment at home didn’t even have a dining room. He hadn’t been expecting all this when his parents told him Ben Osborne owned a resort near the rehab and was going to put him up.

“I want you to have it. Even though I haven’t seen your parents much since I moved up here after the divorce, there was a time the four of us—” Ben shrugged. “Long time ago.”

Daniel’s parents had told him Ben moved out of the neighborhood when Daniel was only a couple years old. He had a vague memory of a visit, a dinner out at Original Joe’s, when he was maybe ten. What he remembered most was the chocolate cherry ice cream, him and Sam scraping and scraping away at the little silver bowls so they could get every bit of it, and their mom telling them to knock it off. He thought Ben was about his dad’s age, sixtysomething, but he looked a lot younger, only a smattering of gray hair and some laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. Who knew what Daniel’s dad would look like if he hadn’t had to deal with so much.

“My mother’s probably in the midst of baking you her special zucchini bread.” Her go-to thank-you gift. No one had ever told her it sucked.

“I remember that bread.”

“Diplomatic response.”

Ben laughed. “I know it’s a cliché, but it really is the thought that counts.” He handed Daniel a key card. “If you need anything, call the front. Meals are all part of the resort package, so don’t worry about that. The dining room’s open until nine. I got you set up with a few things in the fridge, too. High Sky is vegetarian, but if you have a meat jones, there are tons of great restaurants in town. You can ask the concierge for suggestions, or any of the staff. They won’t judge if you want a burger or a steak. Wish I could take you out tonight. Definitely, while you’re here though. You think Sam would want a visit?”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.” Actually, Daniel wasn’t sure, but it felt rude to say that. Sam was a people guy, always happiest when he was the center of a group, but a rehab visit from a friend of their parents—that might be the exception. The last time Sam was in rehab, Daniel had been in high school, and he hadn’t gone to see his brother. Sam still threw that in his face sometimes, but their dad hadn’t wanted Daniel to go, hadn’t wanted him to see Sam that way. Not that Daniel hadn’t seen Sam probably looking worse than he had in rehab, though his father hadn’t known that. “He can’t see anybody the first week, though.”

“Yeah. Been there. Literally. That’s why I thought of the place when your dad told me what was going on with Sam. I did a stretch at Ironwood. The beginning of turning myself around and ultimately buying this place. Sam’s going to be okay.” He clapped Daniel on the shoulder.

“I’m sure you’re right.” The words sounded hollow, but what else was he supposed to say? Anyway, it was good practice for when he called his parents. Mom, Dad, I’m sure Sam’s going to be okay, he’d tell them, trying for Ben’s tone and inflection. He’d throw in what Ben had just said about himself. That should make them feel a little better.

“You have my number. Use it whenever. I have another place near Phoenix, and I go back and forth. I’m heading there tonight, but I’ll be back in a week or so, and we’ll get that dinner set up.”

“Thanks again.”

“I hope that second thanks doesn’t mean I get a double batch of the zucchini bread,” Ben answered, then headed out the sliding glass door that led to the patio.

Daniel set down his bright purple bag, a promo from when he’d joined—briefly—a gym. It looked like a Milk Dud in a box of Godiva chocolates. Which is kind of how Daniel felt. He was more of a Days Inn kind of guy, which was fine by him. Even if he made a ton more money than he did doing bookkeeping for Data Speedway, he’d probably never have stayed at a place like High Sky. The level of luxury made him itchy.

Or maybe the itchiness came from the reason he was here. But at least he’d been able to do this. He’d gotten Sam to rehab. No, that was giving himself too much credit. To Sam, Daniel would always be Little Brother, even though Little Brother was now thirty-one years old, and Little Brother didn’t have much influence over Big Brother. A court order had gotten Sam to rehab. What Daniel had done was drive him there. And now he’d be living in this uncomfortably posh place for the next month, seeing Sam as often as the rules allowed, showing up for family group therapy. He wasn’t even going to think about what that would be like. His parents had asked him to stay close, and here he was. That was pretty much the best he could do. Sometimes his best sucked.

Daniel sat down on the couch. The upholstery was thick and nubby, almost like a rug—was it a rug?—with a geometric print. It was comfortable, but that itchy feeling made it hard to sit still. He stood, paced. A weathered—artfully weathered—desk stained a cactus green stood along one wall. He didn’t bother with a desk at home, just used the kitchen table. He grabbed his computer bag and set up a workstation, which took about five minutes.

It was hours until dinnertime, not that he was hungry. He and Sam had stopped at a 7-Eleven first thing and loaded up on junk food. They’d been eating M&M’s, Red Hots, Pringles, and Slim Jims the whole way from Fort Garland, washing them down with mega Cokes, pretending they were just on a regular bro road trip, not mentioning their destination. Not mentioning stuff was their family go-to.

He rubbed his hands together, feeling restless. The snackage meant that in addition to the itchy, Daniel was wired, semi-nauseous, and riding a sugar high. Maybe he should stretch his legs, take a look around, but he felt a little grubby to be seen by the spa-goers. He’d grab a shower first.

Daniel felt his eyes widen as he stepped into the bathroom. The shower was insane. It had to be twenty square feet, with what looked like hand-painted Mexican tiles. He pulled off his clothes, got in, and started experimenting with the control panel. It had a control panel. After a couple tries, he got a warm waterfall pouring down on him. He added some massage jets and laughed when he realized the shower came with mood lighting—music, too. He stumbled on “Stacy’s Mom,” which he’d listened to about a million times when he was in—what, fifth grade? Sixth grade?—and cranked it up. Listening to it always upped his mood, at least a little, and he could use that.

When his fingers and toes started to prune, he turned off the numerous knobs and buttons controlling the whole shower experience, then grabbed a towel, the softest, fluffiest towel he’d ever touched. It shouldn’t even be called a towel. That’s how far it was from the ones he had at home. After he dried off, he wrapped another of the towels around his waist. He’d forgotten to bring fresh clothes into the bathroom.

He reached for the door handle, but before he could touch it, the door swung open, putting him almost nose-to-nose with a tall, rangy, blue-eyed woman cradling a crate in her arms, a first aid kit in one hand. “What are you doing in here?” she demanded, backing away fast, until she hit the edge of the bed.

He took a few steps forward, planning to help steady the crate she held, but then decided a half-naked man advancing on a strange woman wasn’t a good idea. “Ben Osborne—he’s the owner, but he’s only around part-time, I guess—anyway, he’s letting me use the room, I mean casita, obviously more than a room.” He was using way too many words. He tried to get a grip. “But I can move to a smaller one. I definitely don’t need all this.” He threw out one hand to indicate the bigger-thanking-size bed—he knew there was a name for that, but couldn’t remember it—with the dozen-plus embroidered throw pillows. The motion made his loosely knotted towel slip a little. “Uh, right back.”

Daniel retreated, shutting the bathroom door. There were two thick bathrobes hanging, conveniently, just outside the shower. Hadn’t noticed those before. After putting one on and making sure the belt was tightly tied, he returned to the bedroom. The woman was exactly where he’d left her. Now that he had the chance to really look at her, he could see the tension in her body, shoulders high, hands gripping the crate so tightly her fingertips were white. “Are you—” Before he could finish asking if she was okay, she interrupted.

“I need to apologize. I thought this room was empty, and you surprised me.” She spoke quickly, her eyes locked on his. Those eyes made him want to get his pencils again. He’d use blue slate, layer in cloud blue, and for that thin, thin ring around her iris, indanthrone blue. Daniel realized that one, he was staring, and two, he’d zoned out for a second and hadn’t been paying attention to her words.

She was still apologizing. “… acted like you were the one in the wrong. I’ll let you get back to enjoying your stay.” She started to turn away, and a yelp came from the crate.

“What you got in there?”

“A puppy. Someone abandoned him in the desert.”

“Is he hurt?” Good. He was managing to restrict himself to essential words.

“A couple cactus spines, but he’s okay.”

“You want a hand with them?”

“Oh, no thanks. I got it.”

Obviously, she was one of those people who didn’t ask for help, but he was pretty sure getting the spines out would be a two-person job. He stepped up to her and plucked the first aid kit out of her fingers. Not the right move. Surprise flashed in her eyes, then her mouth tightened. He could see her work to get hold of herself, and almost immediately, she’d tamped the annoyance down far enough that it wasn’t visible on her face. “If you’re up for it.” Her voice was calm and even.

“How can I not be up for helping a wounded puppy? I’m not a monster.” He gave the word monster a mad-scientist spin. Didn’t get a smile, but she lowered the crate to the floor.

Daniel crouched down and looked inside. A brown-and-white puppy cowered in the corner, three cactus spines jabbing into his body. “That’s gotta hurt,” he said to the little animal, trying to make his voice soothing. “But no worries. We’re going to fix you up.”

The woman sat down on the other side of the crate and took out her phone. A few seconds later, she pulled up a YouTube vid on how to remove the spines, and tilted the phone toward him so they could both watch.

Was it wrong that he noticed the way she smelled? Not that he wasn’t paying attention to the rundown of different kinds of spines. He didn’t know what to call the scent. It smelled green. That’s the only way he could describe it. Not flowery, just green, sort of like if you rubbed new leaves between your fingers.

“He got lucky,” she said. “Those aren’t cholla spines. The grounds keeper showed me those my first day. Those spines come off really easy, so that’s what people usually get stuck with. They’re barbed, so they’re tricky to remove. It looks like these are saguaro, so they should pull straight out.”

Daniel opened the first aid kit. “Do you want to hold him?” He found a packet of alcohol wipes and used one to disinfect the tweezers.

“You hold. I’ll pull.” She took the tweezers out of his hand.

Daniel gently stroked the puppy’s chest to get the animal used to his touch, then cradled the pup’s head with one hand, and positioned two fingers on either side of one of the spines with the other. The little animal quivered, and began letting out soft, high whimpers, but didn’t try to pull away. With one quick, sure motion, the woman pulled the first spine free. The puppy gave another yelp. “Yo. . .