Worth Searching For

Book 2: Heart of the South

by Wendy Qualls

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

Most gay men wouldn’t expect to see their dreams come true in a small town in the Deep South. But the road to true love can lead to the unlikeliest places . . . Disowned by his conservative Peruvian parents, Lito Apaza headed for gay-friendly Atlanta. Resilient, charismatic, and successful, he’s built a life on his terms—with a new family of friends and the unconditional love of his dog, Spot. Then his job forces him to relocate to tiny Black Lake, Alabama. Here, being fabulous isn’t exactly the town motto. However, Lito can’t help who he is any more than he can curb his feelings for a certain sexy ex-soldier. A former dog handler in Afghanistan, Dave Schmidt now runs a volunteer K9 search-and-rescue team. Until he met Lito, his nights were free. As their hook-ups grow hotter, Dave and Lito have to admit this could be something nearer to romance. It’s not what Lito expected. And Dave isn’t used to the scrutiny of being visibly gay. Yet everything they’ve been secretly searching for could be right here in Black Lake. If Dave and Lito want a future together, one of them will have to make the first move . . . Praise for Worth Waiting For “Qualls provides a sweet romance with some spice while tackling issues such as coming out as an adult, family relationships, and religious acceptance or denial of LGBTQ lifestyles.” —Library Journal “A sexy new voice, full of promise. These heroes stole my heart!”  --Annabeth Albert “Sexy, fun and well written . . . the perfect book for a cozy night at home reading. I can’t wait to see what Ms. Qualls has in store for us next.  --J.L. Langley, bestselling author of The Tin Star “A charming, sexy, and beautifully crafted tale that tugs at the heartstrings. Can't wait to read more from this talented author!”  —Sara Brookes, award-winning author

Release date: February 27, 2018

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 190

Sample

Chapter 1

The local pet store was painted an eye-searing yellow, the “Pawse Awhile” logo a vivid orange above it. It was tucked away on a side street behind the Publix and completely not what Lito expected, which was why it had taken him forty-five minutes to find. One of the frustrating things about moving to a small town (considered “almost a city” if you asked the other residents, who clearly had never seen a real city to compare it to) was having to find replacements for all the chain stores that seemingly didn’t exist outside Atlanta. PetSmart included. Lito’s old neighborhood had been quirky, more “poor hipster” than urban chic, but he’d relied on corporate mega-marts more than he’d realized.

Case in point: Black Lake had exactly one Starbucks. It also had a farmers’ market, a six-screen movie theater, approximately eight thousand different flavors of Baptist church, and no nightclubs for at least an hour in any direction. Spot had finished the last of her hard-to-find brand of kibble, though, so “Pawse Awhile” it was. Lito clipped her on her leash and headed inside.

The painfully bright color scheme extended to the interior as well. The building was bigger than it looked from the front—not quite on a PetSmart scale, but still promising. It was busy too. A surprising number of people wandered the aisles with various-sized dogs, although nobody looked like they were actually shopping for anything. Spot whined and sniffed the air but stayed at Lito’s side. He gave her a proud scratch behind the ears for being on good behavior.

“Take another minute and then bring them back in,” a perky blonde in a Pawse Awhile polo shirt called out from a little partitioned-off area in the middle of the store. “Remember your ‘heel’ command if your pup starts pulling—they need to know you’re there on the other end of the leash and you’re paying attention. Use your clicker when they look at you.”

Obedience class. That explained how busy the store was. Lito skirted around a woman with two toy poodles and an older man with a wrinkly bulldog puppy and headed for where the dog food section seemed likely to be. Spot kept craning her neck up at him, tail wagging at half-mast, but she trotted alongside like she was trying to show those upstart mutts how it was done. She probably was, honestly—Lito had never done the formal obedience training thing with her, but even when he first took her in, Spot had been determined to prove she was better-behaved than all those other, more boring dogs out there. Maybe he spoiled her a bit, but it was nice to not be making this move to a new place all by himself. Even if the only “person” he knew here outside of work wasn’t actually a person at all.

“Heel! No—heel, Sherman!”

Lito didn’t have any more warning than that before some sort of hound mix was suddenly right behind him, nipping at Spot’s hip. Spot whirled with a growl, warning the dog to back off, but Sherman merely growled back. Within seconds the two dogs were clinched together on their hind legs, mouthing and gnawing and generally making aggressive noises at each other. The hound’s owner, a tiny brunette with giant earrings and way too much makeup, stood frozen in place. Which was completely useless, damn it. She didn’t look like she’d be able to overpower her dog anyway, meaning Lito was going to have to break up the fight. All hundred and thirty pounds of him. Yay. Because wading into a literal dogfight was exactly what he’d wanted to do today.

On the bright side, neither Spot nor Sherman looked like they were trying to cause any real damage. Spot was annoyed, definitely, but the growling and batting at each other’s necks didn’t have any malice to it. Lito grumbled right back at them and lunged for Sherman’s trailing leash.

“Hold up,” a male voice interjected. “Lumpy, Woozy, down.” A sturdy shoulder brushed past Lito’s, then Lito found himself at eye level with the man’s collarbone as the guy deftly inserted himself into the fight.

And damn. There were probably better times to notice some seriously impressive biceps, but since the dude was a good head taller than Lito was and the biceps in question were right there for the ogling, Lito couldn’t help but ogle. He smelled nice too, from the quick impression Lito got when his nose was near the guy’s shirt. More importantly, though, the dude seemed to know what he was doing around dogs. His two huge Rottweilers (he named his dogs Lumpy and Woozy? Really?) were now lying across the entrance to the aisle, panting happily. Neither looked like they were planning to move anytime soon.

Lito sidestepped as best he could within the confines of the shelves and tried to find a way to be useful. Seriously Built Dude had Spot’s collar in one hand and the hound’s in the other and was hoisting them both back and up, onto their hind legs. It couldn’t have been easy—Spot was seventy pounds on a good day and the hound was a bit shorter but much fatter. Lito ended up having to twist under the man’s arm to reach Spot and get a hand on her collar. Seriously Built Dude let go and focused on the poorly trained hound, keeping it off balance but without choking it. When he turned the dog so his body was between it and Spot, Lito did the same. Spot settled immediately.

“Easy, Sherman,” the man crooned. “There you go. Down—good boy. You can come get him, ma’am. He knows he wasn’t supposed to do that—see how he won’t make eye contact and keeps looking at your feet? Just be firm with him and keep him at heel while you walk him back to class and he’ll get the idea.” The guy surrendered the dog’s leash to the apologetic woman, then turned his attention to Lito and Spot. “Yours okay?” he asked.

“Fine, I think.” Lito ran a hand over Spot’s shoulder and hip where the other dog had been mouthing her. Her tan fur was dark with dog drool, but she seemed both uninjured and unbothered. Now that the fun had ended, she was much more interested in the new guy’s own dogs, who were still lying flat on the floor like they’d been glued there. Lito cleared his throat. “Yours are really well-trained,” he ventured. “Spot doesn’t usually have an issue with other animals, but that doesn’t mean she’s happy about being jumped from behind.”

The guy laughed. A nice, full laugh, his whole frame relaxed now that the woman had reclaimed her dog and was a safe distance away. “I wouldn’t be too keen on it either,” he said, and extended his hand. “I’m assuming we haven’t met before—I’m Dave Schmidt. You’re welcome to let your pup introduce herself to my two, if you want. They both love attention and they’re not picky about who it’s from.”

Dave didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to go, so he probably wasn’t involved with the puppy class. Scratch that—the two Rottweilers blocking the end of the aisle were still lying quietly on their stomachs, panting happily. No way they needed obedience classes. Lito let Spot have a bit more slack in the leash and took a few steps toward the dogs. Spot looked up hopefully, her brown eyes searching for permission.

“Good girls,” Dave said in a clear command voice. “Up. Go on; greet.”

Both dogs heaved to their feet. Within seconds, they and Spot were circling and sniffing each other in little huffs. The Rottweilers met with Spot’s approval, clearly, because she was back to her normal, friendly self almost immediately. It was a bit awkward to stand there next to a total stranger while their dogs made instant friends, but Dave was watching them with a faint smile on his face that totally had Lito scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot. “How old are they?” he finally asked.

That faint smile turned on him. “Got ‘em as puppies, almost eleven years ago. Time flies. Yours?”

“Around two, as far as I know. Friend of a friend found her last year.”

“Ah.”

Damn it. Really not going so great with the “don’t make yourself sound like an idiot” thing. “It’s a bit of a long story,” Lito explained, “but the short version is that she was wandering around downtown Atlanta by herself. My friend’s ex passed her on his way to work for three days in a row and finally decided screw it, might as well see if she’s friendly. She was, obviously. The vet said she’d be fine once she had her shots and a few good meals. The ex couldn’t keep her, so he asked my friend, who brought her to me.”

“She’s lucky to have landed with you, then,” Dave said. “Were you looking for a dog at the time?”

“Vaguely.” Telling Ian yes had been a totally impulsive thing, but Lito would have been lying if he’d said he hadn’t already been considering getting a pet. Plus Spot had good timing. Lito had earned a promotion—with the accompanying raise—the month before, and as of three days earlier he was suddenly down two apartment-mates. Todd and Trixie had been shit apartment-mates, but without them his crappy little two-bedroom was already feeling empty. “I think it’s more that he knew I couldn’t say no,” Lito added. “She was all ribs and wagging tail back then.”

That faint smile morphed into a grin. “I’ve been there a few times. Obviously you’re taking good care of her.” Dave folded his arms and shifted his weight to his rear foot, all but leaning back against the shelf. He looked totally up for a nice long chat with a complete stranger in the middle of a pet store.

Lito didn’t mind the chat either, truth be told. Two weeks in Alabama and this was the first semi-decent conversation he’d had with anyone outside work. If the guy was packing some serious eye candy under that t-shirt, all the better. His posture and the tone of his voice suggested he might have been flirting a bit, even. Maybe. It was hard to tell whether that was observation or wishful thinking. Dave didn’t sound gay, at least not the way guys back home tended to talk when they were plugged into the whole Big Gay Scene thing, but there was a reason Atlanta barely counted as “the South.” That smile, though, and the approving eye-check when he looked Lito up and down right before they shook hands…

“You said Atlanta.” Dave was nominally watching the dogs, now snuffling at each other and waggling their entire butts with excitement, but his body stayed angled toward Lito. “Are you in Black Lake for a visit, or . . .”

“Been in town a few weeks,” Lito admitted. “The company owners wanted me on a project here instead of back in Atlanta and the chance was too good to refuse. It’s been an adjustment.” Bit of an understatement. “I assumed you could tell I was new because I was the one person in town you didn’t already recognize—isn’t that how it’s supposed to work in places like this?” He realized how much the question made him sound like an asshole a moment too late, but it really had been bouncing around in his head for the past two weeks. Backpedaling would have made it even worse, though. Christ, everyone in earshot was going to think he was some douchebag city boy.

“Black Lake isn’t that small,” Dave said. He snorted. “I’m sure there’s five or six people I haven’t met yet, at least. Maybe even as many as a dozen.” His eyes sparkled and he shot Lito another tiny smile. “I’m pretty sure I know all the dogs, though. The big ones, anyway. I tend to keep an eye out.”

“Oh?”

“You ever heard of K-9 search and rescue?”

“Like the guys who go through the wreckage after a hurricane and try to find survivors? I’ve seen it on the news, I guess.”

“Not as much for hurricanes around here, this far from the coast. We mostly get lost hikers and kids who wander away from home.” Dave jerked his thumb toward his dogs. “These two have been doing it with me since they were pups. My buddy Rick and I started a team—hell, guess it’s been ten years ago now. North Alabama Search and Rescue, or NALSAR for short. We respond to call-outs all over Alabama, plus a few up in eastern Tennessee and some parts of north Georgia.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Don’t suppose Spot likes running around outdoors and getting lots of exercise, does she? Two’s a good age to start, and she’s the right size for it.”

The question felt a bit out of the blue, but it was nice to finally get a social invitation after being cooped up in the new rental house for so long. Well, a semi-social invitation. And from someone who hadn’t side-eyed Lito’s hot pink shirt or his earring like he was going to spread gay cooties. “She never got to run as much as she wanted to in Atlanta,” Lito answered, “but I can’t imagine she’d object. She usually gets along well with new people and with other dogs. Has so far, at least.”

“How about you?”

“Get along with other dogs?”

Dave huffed. “You know what I meant.” He fished in his jeans pocket and procured a slightly worn business card. “If you’re new in town, it might be fun to come out to a practice or two and see how you like it. The team are all friendly and it’s good exercise. Plus, you know—it’s great volunteer work. Make a difference and all that. Anyway, Spot seems to have made new best friends with Lumpy and Woozy, which is a good sign. We’re always on the lookout for new recruits.”

“Which of us is the recruit?”

Dave grinned. “The pair of you, if I have anything to say about it. There’s no pressure if you try a few times and don’t like it, obviously, but I promise it really is fun. For you and your dog both. We practice twice a week up on the mountain at the state park, weather permitting. The website with directions and all the details is on the card.” He pressed it into Lito’s hand. “I’d love to see you there on Tuesday, if you can make it.”

“I…yeah, I think I’d like to.” Lito’s palm tingled where Dave’s fingertips had brushed against it. “I’ve never been an outdoorsy type, but it sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is.” Dave snapped his fingers twice, and both his dogs jumped to attention. “I’ve got to get going, but when you come on Tuesday you can tell me all about why you named a solid-yellow dog ‘Spot.’”

“It’s not nearly as interesting a story as you’re probably imagining.”

“I look forward to hearing it anyway.” Dave patted his thigh, which brought his dogs over to sit on either side of his legs with an almost military precision. He didn’t even need to bend down to pick up their leashes—they each leaned in so he could dispense a good ear-scratch before tracing the leash back from where it clipped onto their collars. Spot whined and looked up at Lito’s face, clearly disappointed that playtime was done, but she let her new friends go without any further protest.

Lito got in one last gawk as the man walked away. He looked just as good from the back as he did from the front.

Damn.

Chapter 2

Dave got to the parking lot his usual half hour or so before everyone else. The team had a standing agreement with the state park system to use this little corner of the hiking trails for their twice-weekly practices, but arriving early meant he could make a point of being obvious about it. Two excited ninety-pound dogs off-leash and the giant “NORTH ALABAMA K-9 SEARCH AND RESCUE UNIT” sign on Dave’s Grand Cherokee tended to make other dog-walkers think twice before wandering through the middle of the search exercises. No hikers were around today, though, despite the comfortable September temperatures. Lumpy and Woozy got in a good long lope through the tall grass before the rest of the team arrived. Neither of them was as fast as they used to be—Lumpy was developing cataracts and Woozy’s arthritis slowed her down more often than not—but they knew the field well. It meant Dave was able to sit on the lone picnic table and enjoy the quiet without having to worry about either of them disappearing past the treeline. Eventually Lumpy brought him a stick and they spent a while playing fetch while Woozy chased butterflies.

Dave knew that the chances of the cute guy from the pet store showing up were slim to none, but that didn’t stop him from hoping. The team could sure use him. Even though their core members had remained relatively stable over the years, fresh blood was always welcome. Especially fresh blood with a well-behaved dog. Spot—Dave had stopped being surprised years ago at how well he remembered dog names and how terrible he was with their human counterparts—had tolerated the hound mix pouncing on her fairly well, which was a promising sign. Her owner hadn’t freaked either. Dave took the stick from Lumpy and threw it again, causing the two dogs to bump hip-to-hip as they raced each other to retrieve it. The crunch of tires on gravel behind him heralded Rick and Sharon’s massive van.

“Gorgeous weather tonight, isn’t it?” Sharon called out. “Heya, Dave.” She hopped out of the passenger seat and went to get Rick’s wheelchair from the trunk. Dave followed and helped reassemble the parts without even having to think about it anymore. “Looks like your two got started on the frolicking early,” she added.

Dave turned around to see Lumpy rolling on her back in the grass, making totally undignified snuffling noises and ignoring him entirely. Woozy was flopped on her stomach, back legs out to the side, panting and grinning at the van. She had the stick trapped under her front paw like she expected it to get away. Playing before practice always made them act a decade younger…and then sleep for fourteen hours afterward. Dave shrugged. “I think they miss their pack when they’re home by themselves.”

“Don’t really blame ’em,” Rick said from his post in the driver’s seat. “I miss us too.”

“You’ve got your own pack,” Sharon countered. “Human and canine both.” Rick and Sharon’s boarding kennel wasn’t huge, but it was usually more than half full. Many of the dogs were regulars. No way in hell Dave would be able to deal with the constant noise, but Sharon always insisted it was the best burglar alarm ever. Running the kennel also let both of them be around animals—theirs and other people’s—for as much of their day as they could stand. The two of them were a damn good match for each other.

Sharon and Dave helped Rick transfer down to the chair, then Dave let their dogs out from the back seat while Rick got himself settled. Scratch, the terrier, and Sniff, the bloodhound, both bounded from the van and immediately started mock-fighting with Lumpy and Woozy. It really was a beautiful evening to be outside—the day’s heat was slowly dissipating but it still smelled like summer. Dave retrieved the binder of NALSAR paperwork from his Jeep and went to join Rick and Sharon at the picnic table. Sharon chatted happily about her nephew’s soccer team while Rick and Dave half-listened and scratched out a bare-bones meeting agenda. Nothing like waiting until the last minute.

Speaking of which… “I invited a new guy this weekend, by the way,” Dave interjected. The total non sequitur was enough to surprise Sharon into silence. Which was just as well, since the rest of the team would probably get there before Sharon finished her story otherwise. “No idea if he’s going to come,” he added, “but his dog was really sweet.”

Rick raised one eyebrow. “Let me guess—the two of you chatted for a few minutes, mostly about dogs, then you pounced on him and invited him to practice without actually learning his name yet.”

That was…embarrassingly accurate. Crap. “Well, his dog’s name is Spot…”

“You,” Rick said, wagging a finger in Dave’s direction, “are wonderfully predictable. And always an optimist. Let’s hold off on mentioning this mystery man to everyone else until we see if he actually shows up though, okay? It’d be nice to have someone new now that you’re not running Lumpy and Woozy anymore, but there’s a long road between you extending the invitation and him actually getting his dog certified.”

He had a point, much as Dave hated to admit it. Most new recruits didn’t stick around for more than a month or two, but that did. . .