An American Werewolf in Hoboken (2 page)

Her friend Viv had taught her everything she needed to know about shelter animals. It probably wasn’t something her downstairs neighbors were going to thank her for, but still workable.

“Okay, so he isn’t eating and he paces. Abuse?” Her stomach knotted tight at the word—knotted so hard she thought she might need to sit down.

Dan scoffed. “I’d like to see the guy who could abuse an animal as big as him without losing a limb. But it wouldn’t surprise me either. Our initial physical showed no signs of dog fighting, no significant scarring, and no microchip. After being out on the streets for who knows how long, he’s not much worse for the wear other than being filthy.”

The dog sent out a low hum from deep within his throat—a hum distinctly full of disapproval.

JC shot him a glance that said, “knock it off.” Though she had to wonder why she even considered it might make an impact on an unruly beast like him. But it did. He settled back with a grunt. Maybe he was just mismanaged? “How old do you think he is?”

The director scrunched up his moon-shaped face. “The vet said maybe five or six, unneutered, by the way. And he weighs in at almost a hundred and thirty-five pounds. Which is part of the reason we can’t seem to classify his breed. We got as far as German shepherd and then we were stumped—because even some of the biggest German shepherds we see aren’t anywhere near a hundred and thirty-five pounds. In all the years I’ve worked with dogs, he’s probably one of the biggest I’ve ever come across. He’s a mix of some kind. We just don’t know what.”

“Wolf, I’m tellin’ you, Dan. He’s a German shepherd, maybe some St. Bernard or malamute, and wolf.” Manny—according to his nametag, one of the volunteers at the shelter—pointed out, giving his broom a push as he shuffled up behind them. “In fact, I’d lay
bets
he’s part wolf. He howls like a wolf.”

JC’s ears pricked, goose bumps running along her arms. “Wolf?”
Whoa, whoa, whoa.

The shelter director winced, shooting Manny a “you’re blowing this” look. “That’s just office gossip—no proof, only speculation.”

Mr. Alleged Mixed-Breed lifted his lip in a snarl when Manny positioned himself against the cage, planting his broom between his legs.

But Manny wasn’t deterred. He kept right on smiling down at Cujo. “He’s just cranky, shoved into a box like some kind of alien dog no one understands.” He leaned down toward the cage, as though he were going to share a secret. “You’re sorta like E.T., huh, old boy? You just want to go home. Manny sees.” He lifted a finger to his bespectacled eye. “I understand.”

The beast appeared to listen to Manny’s words for a brief moment, before he snapped again.

JC took a deep breath, knowing she was going to state the obvious—knowing this was why he’d been separated from the rest of the available dogs. She found she had to force the words out. “So, death row?”

The shelter director’s mouth tightened, his eyes sad, eyes that had likely seen a lifetime’s worth of euthanasia. “Unfortunately, end of business today.”

Her heart cracked a little while she stood in front of the large metal cage, skeptically eyeing the unkempt monster staring directly back at her with defiance—never blinking, not even a twitch. She estimated he must stand at least six foot when he was on his hind legs. And he stunk. Sweet baby J and a Creamsicle, he was putrid.

And if honesty were allowed to play a part in this—ugly. Wow, he was butt-ass ugly.

He was matted from head to toe, his teeth were crooked and partially hanging out the left side of his mouth, and the tip of one ear was ragged and torn, healed over now but still missing its tip. Thin white scars marred his black muzzle, indicating a battle or two.

“So no interest in him at all?”

The director sighed. “Um, no. He’s not exactly the ‘C’mere, snugglebuns, come sit on my lap’ type. And because we pride ourselves on giving you an honest evaluation before adopting out any of our pets, he’s a bad bet all ’round. Under normal circumstances, he’d be what we call rescue-only, because of his issues. We wouldn’t consider making him available to the public, but…”

“But?”

Dan shrugged his wide shoulders, driving his thumbs under his striped suspenders. “Here’s the score on dogs like this. A rescue is really his only answer at this point. But no amount of social networking today with our rescues has stirred even a little interest in him. I guess I just feel all he needs—”

“He needs a nice lady like you to adopt him,” Manny interjected. “Because Manny—”

“Sees, right? You understand.” JC gave him a conspiratorial grin.

Manny grinned back, winking at the enormous dog. “Yep. Right, pal? You just need some love and a bath—because you smell like a Porta Potty on a hot July day.”

The overgrown, odd-looking beast sent out another low, menacing growl, only this time baring his teeth as if to validate Dan’s original assessment. Or maybe a better word for those things in his mouth was
fangs
, yellow and jagged. They sure got his point across.

“Manny’s an old softie, Miss Jensen. He hates to see any of our—” Dan shook his head full of silver and white hair. “What I’m mean is, to say this dog needs love is an understatement. They all need love. But that’s certainly underestimating the totality of his needs. Sometimes love isn’t enough. I’m not supposed to make him available to the public. He’s rescue-only because he’s a possible danger.”

Manny slapped Dan on the shoulder with an affectionate thump. “But if a nice lady came along and wanted to take him home, and we found a way to fudge some documents about his
alleged
demise, who’s to say the cure isn’t love, old buddy?”

“I could lose my job, Manny,” Dan warned beneath his breath, but his warning was uninspired and weak to JC’s ears.

“Yeah,” Manny poked, his white teeth flashing a mischievous smile. “The job. You mean the one you were just talking about retiring from because you’d seen enough cases just like this one?”

Dan cleared his throat, his cheerfully pudgy face forming a frown. “What if he hurts her or someone else?”

“He won’t hurt me.” JC looked up at the two men when the words flew from her mouth. Somehow, she was sure he wouldn’t.

She couldn’t put her finger on what had made today the day she’d stopped at the shelter. She’d hemmed and hawed over it for several weeks since she’d decided to adopt a pet. But today, something from some unknown place said,
do this
.

She also couldn’t put her finger on what was keeping her glued to his cage. She’d seen the other available dogs on her way in and wanted to take them all home. But this guy? Something about him spoke to her, made her chest tighten until she almost couldn’t breathe from it.

Her original intent was to adopt a cat.

A nice, fuzzy, use-the-litter-box, treat-her-with-haughty-disdain-more-often-than-not cat.

It was the logical choice. Cats took care of themselves. They were aloof enough to only want your attention for as long as they deemed you worthy, and then were off to bigger and better things. They certainly suited her lifestyle better.

But no. She’d homed in on the meanest of the lot in a sea of wiggling, excited balls of fur, all vying for her attention, knowing full well before Dan or Manny had said a word that his chances for adoption were zilch.

At first glance, he was so ferocious looking, she’d almost pressed herself against the cage behind her in fear. He filled up the small space where he was confined, leaving him very little room to stretch out or even turn around, and that alone had shredded her heart.

Space was always at a premium in animal shelters, but he defied your average large-breed dog. In fact, he spit in the face of all large breeds. He needed room to run, or at the very least, someone to take him on long walks.

With caution, she’d let her fingers sneak into the small opening where his snout was pushed against the metal and had been rewarded when he’d sniffed the air with interest. Then he’d come closer, pressing his cold, wet nose against her finger just before Dan had hunted her down.

Oddly, there was no fear. Rather, JC’s heart lurched and a strange sense of tranquility spread over her.

“How’d he end up here at the shelter?” she wondered aloud, running a slow knuckle under the monster’s chin as far as she could reach.

“Animal Control found him, cornered him in an alley and brought him in. I heard that was some fight, trying to get him into the van even after the dart gun. He was darn ornery about it, too.” Dan paused, turning his soft gray gaze to hers. “Listen, if I’m honest, Manny and I are a lot alike. We both love all the animals here, no matter how hopeless they seem at first. I’ve borne witness to more than one miracle since I took this job. I guess I’d like to think with the right home… Well, maybe he can be saved from euthanasia if the right person comes along.”

Today. Right now. That person had to come along
right now
.

JC’s stomach did a nosedive, her heart turning over in her chest. Euthanasia. Lights out.

Damn.

She didn’t need a dog. She worked long hours, making a cat a much better choice. Yet, when she was home, she came home to nothing. It was becoming lonelier as she got older and realized Mr. Right had managed to get himself lost somewhere between her fantasy and reality. She sucked sweaty balls at picking out men—which she hoped meant her luck choosing a pet had to be better.

Companionship was what she’d come here for, and she’d done her research about adopting, and shelters, and pet rescues. None of her research told her to act on impulse and adopt the worst possible match she could find. Viv had told her to think long and hard before choosing in order to break the cycle of unwanted pets.

But there was no time to think long and hard. He was going to die.

Die.

Dogs were a lot of work. What if she couldn’t get home in time to walk him? Maybe she could pay Jonah, the kid from the apartment below hers, to walk him?

After Jonah’s mother did a full-on exorcism, of course. Because if Patricia got one look at this creature, she’d break out the rosary before she’d let Jonah anywhere near him.

Walk away now, JC. Find a nice kitten.
They were a whole lot less in the way of maintenance. They amused themselves. An even bigger plus, they
cleaned
themselves. Sometimes they even sat in your lap and snuggled with you.

Dan was right. Cujo definitely wasn’t cut out for lap sitting.

Still, something about this mutt’s eyes, dark and earnest, screamed more laid behind his disdain for the world at large. As though understanding her uncertainty, he nudged her hand lightly as if to tell her to hurry her indecision along.

She cupped his chin through the cage, scratching the underside of his matted jaw. “You’re an ungodly mess, you know. If we do this, not a peep about bath time. Not one. Got that?” JC cocked her head at the piercing gaze he pinned her with. Her heart twisted when he nuzzled her hand again, shifting his stance to press closer to the chain-link cage.

He’d take up more space than she probably had in any one room in her apartment. Not to mention a fortune would be spent on feeding and veterinary care.

He’s also destined to die, JC.

She examined him one last time, wrinkling her nose at his stench. He continued to follow her gaze, stoic, unflinching.

“I know this is going to sound like a line, but I haven’t seen him act like this,” Dan said, cutting into her thoughts. “He’s been snarling and growling at anything that moves since the drugs wore off. No one could even get near enough to feed him properly. As I said earlier, we literally threw the food over to him.”

As if on cue, when Dan moved closer to the cage, she felt the low vibration of Tough Guy’s growl beneath her fingertips.

JC tapped his nose with the tip of her finger. “Stop that right now. If you want a home, you’re going to have to roll light and easy, buddy. Quit with the junkyard dog act and behave.”

Instantly, he backed off, standing down, his eyes still searching hers.

It was that look, the brief glimpse of compliance that cinched the deal. She sighed with resignation. Yep. Her mind was made up.

“So, riddle me this, Smells Like Unwiped Butt—am I looking for a miracle, or are you housetrained?”

Manny slapped Dan on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Winner, winner chicken dinner!”

* * *

Looking down at her new fur-buddy, JC winced. He proved even bigger out of the confines of the small space at the shelter. When Dan had opened his cage, Cujo had literally spilled out as though he’d been freshly tumble-dried.

His hair was more deeply matted than she’d originally thought, and his breath smelled like a Jersey dump.

Manny and Dan had managed to arrange Cujo’s escape with the other volunteers, and she’d offered a hefty donation to the shelter in gratitude. They’d prepared a festive “Happy Adoption Day” mint-green gift bag for Cujo’s departure, full of all sorts of pamphlets and a six-month supply of heartworm medication.

Grabbing her purse and the leash from the gift bag, JC hooked it to the collar the shelter provided and gave it a tug. To which he responded by planting his overgrown ass firmly on the floor and refusing to budge, his wide paws pressing against the slippery tile.

Manny clucked his tongue, folding his arms over his chest. “You want help?”

JC gripped the leash in her hands and shook her head, standing her ground. “Nope. He has to learn who’s boss.” That would be
her
.

But Cujo begged to differ. If one could dig deeper into a tiled floor, Cujo did. So well, in fact, he was like trying to move concrete.

She tapped him on the head and gave him a pleading look, and from all the literature she’d read, thoroughly destroyed establishing herself as an alpha pack leader. “Aw c’mon, you brute, I’m going take you home and feed you. I’m saving your life, pal. You’re not going to look this gift horse in the mouth, are you?”

Solemn brown eyes gazed back at her, unblinking.

JC knelt beside him, stroking smelly tufts of fur along his back. “Look, mister, this is freedom. You’re on death row. Need I say more? That means a forever pass over the Rainbow Bridge. So, you have two choices. Move it, or lethal injection. Now don’t make an ass out of me. Let’s get the hell out of here.” She rose and tugged on the leash again, this time with a bit more force.