Busting Loose (6 page)

“Bea,” Jo warned, but she was already off and hunting her target. Some hunted animals for sport, or for food. Bea hunted opportunities, and men were her desired target. Much easier to read and manipulate.

She drifted easily through the crowd, smiling and waving at a few faces she recognized. And when she brushed the upper part of her arm against Bill Jeffries's arm, she pulled back with a gasp, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I'm so sorry.”

“No problem.” He turned to acknowledge her apology, and Bea watched the flush rise in his cheeks as his seat put his eyes directly in line with her breasts. His gaze quickly jerked up and he stammered, “Ah, uh, yes, no problem.”

“So clumsy of me.” Bea put a hand over her chest and grinned. “You're Bill Jeffries, aren't you?”

“I am.” He held out a hand, all elected-official smooth now. “Beatrice Muldoon, nice to see you once again.”

“Have we met?” Bea took the opportunity to slide into the open seat across from Stuart Wilde.

“Oh, not officially, but my wife watches
The Tantalizing and the Tempting
and was always tickled pink that one of Marshall's own was a star on the show. And I do remember you a little from back in the day. My youngest was between your brother and sister in school.”

“Ah, of course.” She had no clue who his youngest was. She smiled then, across the table at Wilde, as if just realizing Bill wasn't alone. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to crash a meeting.”

“No problem,” Mr. Wilde said, extending a hand easily. “Stuart Wilde. I was friendly with your father. And I'm sorry about your mama, God rest her soul.”

“Yes,” Bea murmured. Soul? What soul? Cynthia was likely down in hell, seducing Satan for better accommodations. “It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry for intruding. I'm sure you men have things to discuss.”

“Oh, just some boring city council chatter.” Bill waved it off, but she could tell he wanted to sound important. So, she'd give him exactly what he wanted.

“Are you two on the city council?” She used her best
I'm so flustered to be in the presence of great men
face. Judging from the flush on their faces, she nailed it. “And to think, I've been meaning to get ahold of someone from the city council, and here you two handsome men are, and I nearly tripped over you! It's like fate.”

They both laughed with pleasure. “What can we do for you, Miss Muldoon?” Bill asked.

“Oh, it's just this silly thing, really. I don't know if you're aware, but I started working at Morgan Browning's vet clinic recently.”

“I'd heard that,” Stuart said.

“And attached to that wonderful clinic is a shelter that Morgan runs all by himself. Did you know that?”

Stuart nodded, as did Bill, who added, “We had to approve the plans for the addition when he built the shelter.”

“I'm so glad you did. It's a wonderful place. That's where I got my sweet Milton.” She dug into her small purse and pulled out her phone. She swiped her thumb over the lock, then showed them the screen saver of Milton's favorite expression . . . bored. “Isn't he a doll?”

“He's a little guy,” Bill said, smiling. Stuart looked unimpressed. He must have no soul.

So she'd now identified the tougher nut to crack.

“As you can imagine, it's just so heartbreaking, seeing those little faces behind the cages day after day. And the shelter, well—” She tisked sadly. “It's on a shoestring budget, of course. We need to get the word out so we can help more animals in need.”

Bill nodded. And while Stuart nodded as well, she could tell she was losing him.

Big-guns time. Which, of course, meant breasts. She leaned in just a little, so the table supported her minimal chest like a shelf.

“I had the most brilliant idea the other day, to hold an adoption fair. Just a few hours long. Get the little darlings all polished up, and have a wonderful time matching them with excited new families. And I was wondering what it would take to have our adoption fair in that nice building where you hold town meetings.”

The men stared at her—drinking in her face and her boobs—with their jaws a little loose.

“It goes without saying we'd be doing all the cleanup and such. It would just be so difficult to have it at the clinic. And the town hall would make it a lot easier to handle that sort of crowd.”
Please, God, let there be a crowd.
“So what do I need to do to make this happen?”

“Well, Ms. Muldoon . . .” Stuart cleared his throat and took a sip of water. Bea used her straw and took a quick sip of her own water, which seemed to only dry the man's throat up once again, as he gulped another time for good measure. “That would require a permit.”

“Oh, a permit.” She put on her
my IQ is only as high as my shoe size
face. “And what do I need to do in order to get one of those things?”

“Apply to the city council, wait for the next meeting, state your reason for wanting the building, and then answer any questions. And then there's the rental fee for the building itself.”

Bea chewed her lip, but this time it wasn't an act. Crap. All that? They didn't have time to jump through hoops. “When's the next meeting?”

“We just had one last week, so three weeks from now.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment. “And there's no way of getting around it? I was hoping to have the fair a week from this Saturday. The lull between sports seasons means most families won't be preoccupied with athletics, and—”

“It's just the way things go.” Stuart's brows slashed together. “Fill out the application and wait your turn. That's how we do things here.”

“Of course.” She stood, then sat back down. One more shot, then she'd call it done. “Look, I'll level with you. There's an epidemic right now of strays. They're everywhere, and the shelter can't handle them all. Not by a long shot. Morgan is doing the best he can, but even he isn't Superman. He's got finite resources, both with money and space, and moving a lot of pets to good homes in a single day, while raising awareness of the shelter, would be huge. And from my estimates, a week from Saturday is the perfect day for this fair. Now I'm going to ask again. Is there no other way?”

Stuart looked close to shaking his head, but he caught a sidelong glance from Bill and stalled. Bill settled back a bit and motioned for her to continue.

“Oh. Uh . . .” She searched for a good monologue. One to really bring the audience home. “It would improve community relations, especially when we profusely thank the city council for allowing us to host this wonderful event. And the possibility of getting more spayed or neutered pets out there in the community means we can take in more strays. Fewer strays on the streets improves everyone's quality of living, both human and animal.”

“Good points all around,” Bill murmured, nodding slowly. “How about this? We'll take it to our fellow councilmen and work on getting them to agree. If they agree to the last-minute aspect, the place is yours. With the fee, of course,” he added.

Bea granted them a gracious smile, completely sincere. “That would be wonderful. Thank you, Bill. Stuart, nice to meet you both.” She stood and waved a little, weaving her way through the slightly heavier lunch crowd and back to the bar.

Jo glared at her and set a sack on the bar top. “Do I have to apologize to my customers?”

“Of course not. I was just introducing myself to some important men of the community.” Bea slapped down some money and pushed it at her friend. “Honestly, Jo. Why does everyone just assume I'm up to something?”

“Because you usually are!” Jo called at her as she walked out the door.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, pushing her sunglasses on and walking down the sidewalk toward the clinic. The bag swung easily from her fingertips, and there was a lightness in her step she hadn't felt on the walk to lunch.

And it felt good, knowing she was doing something for the community and not just herself for once. Maybe she should try it more often.

M
organ opened his office and nearly tripped over the boxes piled high in front of his door. What the . . . “Bea?”

“Just a minute!” she called, her lyrical voice echoing in the still-empty clinic. “I've almost got . . . yes!” She let out a cry of triumph so amusing, Morgan's throbbing shin receded in his mind, and he smiled at the sound. “I did it!”

“Did what?” He leaned against the wall outside his office, smiling at the fact they were having a conversation ten feet apart, but couldn't see each other.

“I figured out this stupid appointment program, and got all the month's appointments in there. Did you know Jaycee never even tried to get it to work? That's why it was empty. She just had the physical appointment book.”

“No, I did not. I figured if the schedule worked, then it didn't matter how.” Morgan nudged a box, but it didn't budge. What the hell was in these things?

“It wasn't easy starting from scratch, but I've got it all transferred over. I've even got it set up to send e-mail reminders of appointments to the customers who gave us e-mail addresses. I am woman, hear me roar.”

Impressive. He never could have done it, and clearly Jacyee either hadn't been able to, or hadn't even tried.

He heard the sound of the desk chair wheels slide over the tile, heard Milton's nails click in time with his owner's own heels, then prepped his body for the inevitable.

She rounded the corner, looking sexy as sin, as usual. In a snug red tank and a denim pencil skirt, she was completely appropriate for the casual work environment he strove for.

Which did nothing to cool the lust firing through his system every time he caught sight of her. Even the fact that her pet-slash-chaperone was staring at him with those unnerving bug eyes did nothing to negate the fact that he would rather open his office door, pull her in, lock the dog
out,
and pull up that skirt so—

“Morgan?”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“I said, did you know you were averaging an eleven percent no-call, no-show appointment percentage? That's horrible. Hopefully the e-mail reminders will change that for the better.” She stepped up to him, smoothing a cool hand over his forehead. “You're flushed. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” It came out a little strangled, so he cleared his throat and repeated, “Yeah. Sorry. It's a little hot in the back.”

As was becoming her habit, she reached up for his glasses, then polished them on the corner of her tank. The movement showed off a good hint of skin above the waistband of her skirt, and he swallowed the excess saliva building up.

“So, what's the problem that has you hollering at me?”

He grinned and took his glasses back. “Did you just say ‘hollering'?”

“I did,” she said more primly. “I like to adapt to the local climate whenever possible.”

“Or you're just showing your roots.” He tugged on a lock of bright blond hair, which was held back today with a simple headband. He'd noticed when she came in to work, it seemed to be more back than forward. No more sexy sweeping bangs for work time. The gesture, whether it was intentional or not, pleased him.

“My roots are in LA,” she said testily, slapping at his hand. “Now what's wrong?”

He opened the door to his office halfway, which was all he could do before it hit something and stuck. “This would be the problem.”

“Oh!” Her face lit up, and he swore the hallway brightened with the force of her smile. “I totally forgot. The flyers came yesterday after you left for that emergency call. I didn't want to take up an exam room, so I just stuck them back in your office.”

“Flyers?” He nudged the door a little harder with his shoulder, pushing at the box he'd hit with his shin earlier. “Flyers for what?”

“The adoption fair we're having.” Bea's tone said he was an idiot if he hadn't put those two together. Like a student in the back of the classroom still asking how to do long division in the tenth grade.

“Oh, for the . . . the what?” He paused and looked at her. “Did you say ‘adoption fair'?”

She smiled, a slow, sly smile that did interesting things to his libido again. Which was crazy, given it was likely a smile that indicated she was up to no good. He should be running like hell, and instead his dick was ready to offer him up as a sacrifice. “You did say I should take out advertising for the shelter and run with it. Were those not your words?”

They were, but it seemed foolish to admit to anything just yet. “You might have wanted to clear it with me first. I could have appointments that day.”

“You don't.”

He thought fast. “We don't have enough time to set up.”

“We do.”

“There might be permits and—”

“Taken care of.” She grinned, as if realizing she had him completely trapped in a corner. “I spoke with the town council, and they agreed to waive the normal fee and application this time, since it's our first trial run. But in the future, we'll need to be more prepared.”

Town council. He mentally flipped through his calendar. “There hasn't been a council meeting since we talked last. The next one isn't for almost three weeks. How did you manage that?”

Bea grinned, then tried to look serious. “I just located all of them individually and fixed it right up.” She batted her lashes. “They just couldn't say no, after I explained how sad all the sweet puppies and kitties were in their cages, all alone.”

Uh-huh. He'd just bet that was what they were thinking when they agreed. Bea could wield those baby blues with more accuracy than a Marine Corps sniper. With resignation, he asked, “So when is our adoption fair anyway?”

“Next Saturday.” She clapped her hands once, then picked up Milton and held him to her shoulder. “Milton and I are going to be making the rounds later on, telling everyone about it. He's so charming and handsome, I'm sure he'll just inspire everyone to get a dog of their very own.”

The charming, handsome dog looked at Morgan for a moment, then farted audibly.

Morgan waved his hand and pushed farther into the office with all his might. Talk about motivation. “Just . . . just figure out where these can go in the meantime, because I need my office.”

With her blue eyes watering from the smell, Bea nodded and coughed delicately. Then she put Milton down and blinked rapidly. “Will do,” she squeaked, then hustled around the corner. The stink bomb on four legs followed her.

Morgan took five healthy steps away and breathed in deep. Jesus, were his glasses fogging again or was some paint peeling from the ceiling? That black-and-white, bootie-and-bow-tie-wearing thing was a menace.

But when the smell cleared, and he heard her answer the phone in her chipper voice, he couldn't help but smile a little. Yup, giving her that project had been the best idea he'd come up with to date.

And soon enough, he'd take the next step and make a move. A romantic move, that was. One she couldn't mistake. As soon as he could find the right opening.

 

Benji—poor dog of the unoriginal name—yapped excitedly as Bea entered the shelter early Thursday morning. Most of the dogs, after a week or so in the shelter, calmed down and didn't get excited when people came in. But yapper Benji, he was another story.

She smiled and waited for Milton to make the rounds examining the inmates, as she'd come to think of the poor sweeties. She'd already released Mara, the overnight tech, for the day so she could head home and get some rest. Well, after Mara had checked on the one patient staying overnight from the vet clinic, that was. Bea could feed and water, walk and watch, coo and clean. But there was no way she was changing a bandage. No. Way.

Bea walked over to Benji's cage and gave him a quick scratch through the gate. “You really need a better name, bud. We're working on it. I bet some third grader is just going to fall in love with you and snatch you right up. Here's hoping you get a better moniker. Killer?”

Benji's tongue lolled out and he smiled.

“Or not. Maybe Brutus.” She gave him another look. “Too small. Well, as long as it's not Fido, you're golden. Anything's an improvement.”

She greeted all the dogs individually, bracing herself for the larger ones that liked to jump up and startle her back a step. Milton was really much more her size preference when it came to canines. Maybe it didn't make sense that she disliked seventy-pound dogs, but she loved her twelve-hundred-pound gelding. But horses were just . . . different. For one thing, none of them ever tried to jump on her and hump her leg. She glared at Rover—yes, Rover, for the love of God—in cage three. He drooped his head a tad in shame from yesterday's hump-a-thon.

She managed to keep her gasps and startled shrieks to a minimum. She released the smaller dogs into the grassy pen beyond the shelter first, letting them interact and romp around and do their biz before herding them back into their individual cages. No easy feat, since they all tended to want to herd directly into one cage and huddle together. The squirmy, wriggly bodies were a pain in the ass to separate into their individual kennels.

The larger dogs, while a little intimidating and more leg-humpy, were easier to corral since they liked their space and headed to their separate pens without fuss.

She wiped her hands off and was going to the supply closet for the food scoop when she heard Morgan calling her name from the front.

“In the shelter!” she replied, scooping a few more dishes of food before he appeared. And she would have sworn he audibly gulped.

Just for fun, she wiggled her upturned butt a little before straightening, innocent look in place. “Something wrong?”

“Nope,” he answered, much too fast. “Nothing. Ah, where's Mara?”

“I let her go when I got here.” Something she'd been doing for nearly a week now, but normally she was done and already at her desk when he arrived.

“Oh.” He glanced around. “You've handled the dogs already? Or did Mara do that before she left?”

“She took care of Apollo and changed his bandage. I was just up early. Mara said to tell you the leg is healing and looks good, which she also wrote on his chart.” She pointed. “These guys have been fed and watered, these guys are still waiting. I'm gonna go take care of the cats, if you wouldn't mind finishing up in here.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks.” He brushed past her, his arm grazing her breast in what she was sure was a complete accident. But it didn't stop her nipple from tightening in anticipation anyway.

“Stop that,” she hissed at her chest while heading back to the feline area.

“Say what?”

“Nothing!” she chirped. “Dammit,” she added, low enough that only the cats now facing her and batting through the cage doors could hear. She opened the first cage and made cooing noises over the first sweet darling, pulling the gray-blue kitten to her chest for a quick cuddle. “You're just so precious, yes, you are. You'll make some sweet, shy girl a wonderful friend, won't you?”

As she placed the kitten in the spare cage they kept for emergencies, she looked down at her shirt and grimaced. “Hopefully your new friend won't mind carrying a lint roller twenty-four-seven.”

The cats, unlike their canine counterparts, didn't have temporary names. Since cats weren't known to give a rat's ass about their names, it seemed like a waste of time to bother. Bea shuddered to consider what generic names these cats would have to look forward to. Felix? Garfield?

She cleaned out the litter box and changed bedding and toys to be washed, humming a little as she went. Replacing the blue-gray kitten, she repeated the process with the other cats, doing a quick check herself to make sure they were all happy and friendly. She wasn't a vet tech by any means, but she could tell when something was wrong or a cat wasn't behaving like its usual self.

When their newest addition, a two- or three-year-old tabby, growled low in his throat at the sight of Milton lying patiently by the door, she took a second to evaluate. As she turned more fully to face Milton, the cat let loose another growl—louder this time, and a warning hiss.

“So, not a fan of the canine species, huh?” She settled him in the cage and made sure Milton wasn't making any moves to come investigate, before taking a pen and writing “No dogs?” on his card with the rest of his information and shot record. She'd remember to ask Morgan later about that one. Wouldn't do to place the cat in a home with dogs if they knew from the start it'd be a disaster.

As she cleaned cages one by one, she watched Morgan from the corner of her eye. It was Thursday, field day, and he'd dressed accordingly. Most days he wore nice slacks and a button-down shirt with a tie, which somehow always was gone by the end of the day. But today he was in old jeans, a chambray shirt, and what Peyton would dub “shitkickers.”

With every bend, his jeans pulled tight over his butt, accentuating the worn back pocket where his wallet resided. The denim was old enough the outline of the wallet had rubbed a white square into the denim. And every time he straightened, he had to push his glasses back up his nose. The gesture was so automatic, it was as if he didn't even have to think to do it anymore. The entire package was just so damn sexy and adorable all at the same time.

Glasses, sexy. She smiled a little and traded cats and cages to clean the last one. A year ago she would have thought they were nothing more than an interesting prop. Now she couldn't stop smiling when she thought of Morgan's foggy lenses, and his sweet brown eyes behind them watching her.