Busting Loose (9 page)

S
he was going to throw up. She was going to pass out. She was going to . . . grow a pair and stop acting like an idiot.

“Breathe,” she whispered, then opened the door to the city councilmen and women. “Welcome!” Her best public-pleasing smile in place, she ushered them in. “Thank you for coming by early to check up on us and make sure we were okay.”

“Hardly that. We needed to make sure you weren't going to destroy the building with your horde of animals.” Judy Plumber, head councilwoman, sniffed delicately and stepped by her. Bea resisted the urge to trip her, and gave herself points for maturity.

From her quick research into the council—most of which was spent grilling Jo—she knew this woman was a menace to all things good and real in the world. Power tripping was a religion to Mrs. Plumber.

She greeted Bill and Stuart, and the others who comprised the council, all of whom were much warmer in their welcome. And then she stepped back and let them roam. It was eerily quiet, with only their footsteps echoing in the large room. Morgan was back at the clinic with the animals and vet techs, ready to transport when she gave the word.

She had set up rubber mats on the wooden floors so no cages would scratch or dent them. A table was set up for registration and filling out paperwork. And she'd added a list to collect e-mails for those who wanted to be added to the shelter's newsletter. A newsletter they didn't have quite yet, but she would be remedying that. And, of course, also at the table was a hastily put together poster board, science fair–style, displaying the pictures of the box puppies from the night before.

She'd listed their approximate age, that there were four boys and three girls, and a few fun facts she'd mostly made up to be silly and give each pup a personality. Going by what Morgan had said, she also listed the date they would be adoptable, and a quick note to speak to one of the volunteers about signing up to be notified when they were ready to be viewed.

Bill walked in a quick
U
around the small pens that were set up, then turned back. “Are you only bringing the smaller dogs?”

“In here, yes. The bigger dogs will be under the awning outside, where there's more space to walk around with them.” She held her breath as he nodded absently, then wandered over to read her poster about the babies.

Stuart walked around behind her, then came to a halt next to her. “I'm surprised.”

“By what?” She couldn't take her eyes off the wandering councilmen, and their bitchy queen leader.

“You put this together quickly, and efficiently.” Stuart eyed her, but not in a sexual way. “You're not quite what you let people think you are.”

It wasn't a statement, but she felt the need to respond. “I'm exactly what people think I am.”

He raised a brow, but nodded to his fellow members. “No need to stall things. I don't see anything that would cause a problem here. So the hall's yours. We do expect it returned to the original state it was in. No puddles.”

Her lips twitched, but she fought to keep a cool, professional front. “Absolutely. No puddles.”

He patted a hand on her shoulder in a sort of vague fatherly gesture. “Good luck, Ms. Muldoon.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wilde.” She watched as one by one, the council members walked out the door. A few gave her smiles and good luck wishes as well. But Mrs. Stick Up Her Fanny said nothing, not even deigning to glance in her direction.

Bea was pretty sure the adoption fair didn't need the sort of luck she'd wish on them, anyway.

She texted Morgan to let him know the coast was clear, and that he could start driving over the babies. Jaycee would be helping him with a second truck, but they'd need to make two trips. And until then . . .

Bea looked down and nudged her faithful companion's butt with the side of her heel. “Just you and me, Milton.”

“Are we allowed to join the party?”

She gasped and spun. In the doorway stood Jo, Trace, Peyton, and Red.

“Hey.” She held a hand over her racing heart, then cocked her head to the side. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Please. Like we were gonna miss out on seeing this go down.” Peyton snorted, then jolted when Red elbowed her in the ribs. She grumbled and rolled her eyes.

Trace kissed her cheek before bending over to scratch Milton's ears. “We wanted to see if you needed some help. Might get a little crazy in here.”

“I heard something in the feed store yesterday about discounted pet supplies for anyone who adopted an animal today?” Red winked. “Nice work.”

“I heard you managed to get flyers into every kid's book bag in the elementary school.” Trace grinned. “Every kid I've seen the last few days has been begging for a puppy.”

Jo raised her hand. “I've put the word out that anyone who adopts today gets a free drink and appetizer on the house.”

Bea bit her lip, willing the tears back. “You guys . . .”

Jo bumped her hip against Bea's. “Just doing our job. That's what friends are for.”

“And family,” Trace added.

Peyton stayed back, more distant than the rest. With her arms crossed, she walked around the room, surveying the setup much as the committee had not ten minutes earlier. She stopped by the puppy poster and read a little. “Trace mentioned these guys showed up last night.”

“Someone just dumped them outside. If I hadn't heard the knock . . .” Bea clenched her fists to gain control of her anger. “But I did, and they're healthy, as far as Morgan can tell.”

Peyton picked up a clipboard. “The shelter has a newsletter?”

“It will soon.” Bea snatched the clipboard back and set it down, nudging it with one index finger to line it up perfectly with the table's edge. “I'm creating it on Monday. Just another way to show off the rotating crowd. Not to mention hint at supplies we're always needing.”

“Hmm.”

And that, apparently, was as good as she was going to get from her sister. Morgan pulled up, his truck visible through the large windows on the side of the building. “Time to get the fur babies in here. We've got less than an hour before we're officially open for business. Can you help?”

All but Jo—who wasn't overly keen on animals and labeled herself supervisor—helped unload the cages and set the animals up in their predetermined spots.

While Morgan waited for Jaycee's truck, he headed over to Bea and ran a hand down her back. Bea wasn't sure how to handle the PDA. Okay, yes, they'd slept together. But nobody else knew that. And it almost seemed like he was watching to see if she'd accept the touch, or step away and keep it platonic in front of others.

Before she even made up her own mind, she leaned into his side. His arm wrapped around her and pulled her in tight. She caught Trace's side glance from his location across the room, but ignored it.

“You've done great,” Morgan said quietly by her ear.

“It's not over. Don't hand out the awards just yet.”

“It's just beginning,” he acknowledged, and she wasn't sure if she should be pleased by the warmth there, or concerned by any possible double entendres.

Now she did pull back, just a little, and pushed at his chest. “Go get the second round. We can't still be setting up when people start arriving. It would look unprofessional.”

“Yes, ma'am.” He hovered a moment over her, and she thought he would kiss her. But he just smiled and headed back to his truck.

That was going to take some considering. How far did she want to take it with the handsome vet—who just happened to be her temporary boss? She wasn't here for the long haul, and he was a married-with-two-point-five-kids kind of guy. He'd see a future for them, one that was completely fabricated. Not fair to let it continue if he couldn't separate sex from commitment in his mind.

So they'd chat. She could do that. She was a mature woman. If being in LA hadn't taught her how to handle an on-set romance properly, then she'd learned nothing.

 

Morgan scooped the fuzzy terrier from his cage and held him up at eye level for the child. “This is Benji.”

“Benji,” the boy repeated.

“Original,” his father said wryly.

“Well, hey.” Morgan ruffled the dog's ears. “You start running out of ideas after a while.”

“I bet.” The man held out a hand and Morgan relinquished the dog easily. The boy's wide eyes were a sure sign he was willing to promise the world in exchange for taking home that dog.

“What is he?” the father asked.

“Mine,” his son replied instantly, then grinned sheepishly as both his father and Morgan laughed.

“He's a mutt, like a lot of our guys. But he's definitely got a lot of terrier in him. Terriers require a great deal of exercise to keep them busy. They can get into mischief otherwise,” Morgan warned. “He needs an active little boy to play with in the yard and chase balls and sticks with and go for walks. Someone who can crash with him at the end of the day in front of a good movie and pass out because you've run each other ragged.”

“I can do that. I can do all that!” The young child bounced in his sneakers.

Yup. Puppy love. Morgan grinned at the dad. “We've got an area outside that's blocked off if you want to let them run around together and see how they work as a pair.”

“Sounds good. Anthony, let's give Benji a trial, how's that sound?”

His son nodded like a dashboard bobblehead, following him out the side door to the grassy area they'd blocked off for the smaller dogs.

Bea skipped in on her typical high heels, clutching an adoption form to her chest and beaming. “We've got a taker for Rambo out there.” Rambo, a forlorn Doberman mix, who gave Dobermans a wussy name. “A family from—can you believe it—Sierra Hills heard about the fair and drove in to just look. Score!”

He grinned at that. Not just the adoption—which was, as she said, a score—but the infectious excitement in her eyes as she bounced around from family to family, giving advice and tidbits on this animal or that. The excitement she showed when someone signed the final adoption paperwork, making that family feel like they'd solved world hunger by taking in a lovable stray. She took pictures with the new adoptees, informed them they would be featured on the shelter's blog—blog? They had a blog now?—and made each family feel like they'd saved a life. Which, of course, they had.

He resisted the urge to kiss her breathless as she danced up and handed him the paperwork. “Someone's taking Rambo, huh?”

“Yup. And while we're on the subject . . .” She jabbed his shoulder with a finger. “We really need to discuss your terrible taste in animal names.”

“What's wrong with ‘Rambo'?” The Doberman mix had seemed like a tough guy. Of course, after a few days, he realized he'd given a tough-guy name to a marshmallow.

“It's so stereotypical.” She rolled her eyes. “You need to do better. Be more original.”

“Tell you what.” He dared a quick caress of her hair, running his fingertips lightly over the shell of her ear before pulling back. Her eyes closed briefly. The woman was hedonistic about having her hair and scalp touched. “You can name all the shelter animals from now on.”

“Deal,” she agreed quickly, then smiled before batting his hand away. The hand that had unconsciously reached in for another quick touch. “Stop that. We're in public.”

“I'm not exactly pulling your top up for a quick peek,” he murmured, and her eyes glazed over just a little. As if, with only the slightest encouragement, he could convince her to slip into a storage room and—

“Morgan!”

He winced. Nothing broke up a good lusty thought like your mother's voice calling your name. He glanced over Bea's shoulder and found Cynthia plowing through the crowd, waving a hand frantically in the air.

As if he wouldn't notice her, with the big shopping bags and small entourage of his sister, niece, and nephew.

Bea turned to follow his gaze, then her eyes widened. “Your mother, right?”

Christ. “Yes.”

Bea's eyes darted around, looking for an opening to escape, he could only assume. But he grabbed her elbow before she could make a quick exit. “Mom, hey.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss over her cheek. Meg flashed him a smile, while Andrea and Brent watched the goings-on of the adoption fair with wide-eyed excitement. Kids on Christmas morning, both of them. The adoption fair was where kids went to dream, and parents went to dread.

“What are you guys up to?”

“Just happened to be in the neighborhood,” his mother said breezily. Meg, on the other hand, was mouthing the word “run” and rolling her eyes behind Cynthia's back. “I see that, Margaret.”

Meg rolled her eyes once more for good measure, then bent to examine the nearest pen's occupant. A sassy Chihuahua that might have some poodle in him.

“In the neighborhood, huh?” He felt a slight, nearly imperceptible tug on his hand, and he stroked his thumb over the soft inside skin of Bea's elbow. Her struggling stopped. “What's in the bags?”

“We happened to run down to the feed store to pick up a few things. You know, just in case a fuzzy somebody struck a certain somebody's fancy.” Her head tilted toward the kids, who were excitedly moving from pen to pen. “Meg decided to let them pick out a pet. Finally,” she finished, whispering the last word. “But she wanted to see what the cost of one of these buggers would be before taking the final leap. Then we just got carried away with all the cute toys and collars and . . . oh, it was impossible to resist. We can return it all if they don't find someone today.”