Finding Home (9 page)

v

“I really should call her.”

“No,” Andrea said, her tone Þ rm. “No, you shouldn’t. And stop it. You look like a little old lady. Plus, you’re weirding him out.”

Natalie was nervously pacing the ß oor of her apartment, wringing her hands. Chino was obviously picking up on the tension, because though he was seemingly lounging on the futon with Andrea, his stance was bowstring taut and it was clear that he could spring to his feet in a split second. Natalie went to him, rufß ed his fur, and kissed the top of his head.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m sorry if I’m acting strange.” She

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looked up at Andrea as she continued, “It’s not every day that I steal somebody’s dog.”

“You didn’t
steal
him.” Andrea’s voice was surprisingly gentle, especially given that Natalie was expecting to be scolded.

“He was hurt. He was lost. He was hungry. You took him in, you fed him, you took fantastic care of him, like he was your own, and you loved him. And you know what? After a certain amount of time, that makes him yours.”

“I don’t know, Andrea.” Andrea had always been the stronger one, since as far back as Natalie could remember. Though Natalie would never consider herself a pushover by any means, she was the quieter and more polite one who preferred not to rock the boat.

Andrea was the outspoken one who would never allow herself or her friends to be taken advantage of, no matter what. Most of the time, Natalie wished she had the balls Andrea did, that she wasn’t the kind of person who always thought twice before speaking her mind, especially if the result would be to piss somebody off.

But there were also times that she felt Andrea went too far, spoke too harshly, like today. The look on Sarah Buchanan’s face was a combination of surprise and hurt that Natalie could see clearly even from down the street, and when she thought back on it, her stomach did ß ip-ß ops of nerves and guilt. She shook her head now as she took a seat next to Chino so he was sandwiched between the two women. His body language changed immediately and she could feel him relax. Natalie wished she could do the same thing, but the uncertainty was still coursing rapidly through her veins.

“See?” Andrea gestured to the dog, as if to prove her point.

“Look at how much better he feels with you sitting by him.” On cue, Chino settled his chin on Natalie’s thigh and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, very subtle. She is so coaching you, isn’t she?”

He responded by sighing.

“Nice,” Andrea said with a laugh. “Way to blow me in.”

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They sat in companionable silence for long moments, each lost in her own thoughts. Then Andrea snorted.

“What?” Natalie asked, wanting to be in on the joke.

“I’m still trying to absorb the fact that it was Hot Business Exec.”

“God, I totally forgot, it’s all been so crazy.”

“I mean, what are the odds? Really?”

“Very, very slim.”

“I guess I’ve blown any chance of asking her out, huh?”

“Um, yeah.” Natalie gave her a sly grin. “I’d say that’s a given.”

“It’s really too bad. She looked great in her biking attire.”

It was true. Natalie couldn’t pretend she hadn’t noticed.

Though she was a complete sucker for a woman in a business suit, she had to admit Sarah Buchanan painted a delectable picture in snug shorts and T-shirt. Mentally playing back the sight, Natalie let her eyes roam upward from the white sneakers to the bare legs that were long and sexy, despite needing a little more sun, to the torso that said Sarah kept herself in shape. Her tummy was ß at and her hips pleasantly curved in exactly the right way.

The cotton pulled just enough across her chest to convey that her breasts might be a bit more of a handful than expected—

something that made Natalie bite her lip in anticipation. The pained expression on Sarah’s face, however, stopped the cerebral once-over so quickly, Natalie was surprised she didn’t hear the sound effect of a screeching halt.

As if reading her thoughts, which she did far too often and with way too much accuracy, Andrea squeezed Natalie’s shoulder.

“Stop worrying. It’s all right.”

Digging her Þ ngers into the thick fur around Chino’s neck, Natalie wanted to ask him, wished he would answer her, tell her what to do.
I don’t know, Chino. Is this right? How can it be? She
doesn’t seem like the kind of person to abuse an animal. Maybe
her story is true. Who am I to decide she’s a liar? What makes
me better than her?
Try as she might to channel her thoughts

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into Chino’s head, to make him understand her, he remained in the same position. His head rested warmly on her thigh and his eyes drifted closed as she massaged him.
Yeah, you’re a big damn
help
, she thought with a sigh.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Sarah was unraveling fast. She could feel it.

Her precarious grip on her control was slipping just as obviously as if she’d been dangling from a cliff face and felt the rock skidding under her Þ ngertips and cutting into her skin. The more determinedly she tried to convince herself she was Þ ne, the louder the voice in her head screamed, “You’re losing your mind!” She felt wobbly and unbalanced, like her solid life had gone from being made of stone to being made of water and, try as she might, she couldn’t keep her Þ ngers pressed tightly enough together to keep it from seeping out of her hands and onto the ß oor with a messy splash.

Things had been going so well. The past few weeks, she’d Þ nally started to feel like herself again, not some shell of the woman she’d been before Karen left. Losing Bentley had been a blow—to her identity as much as anything else—but she had picked herself up and trudged forward, hard as it had been, and for that, she was proud. She’d been learning to relax, to ease up, to take deep breaths every now and then.

But now…

Who does this Natalie Fox think she is? You don’t get to just
take somebody’s dog, for Christ’s sake. That’s called stealing,
plain and simple. And what’s with the damn bodyguard?
She shook her head, disgusted with herself, as she recalled how

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thoroughly the dark-haired woman had held control of things, how small she’d made Sarah feel. Very few people in the world had ever been allowed to do that, and Sarah was embarrassed now that she’d let a total stranger make her feel like crap on the street in the space of a few small seconds.

Proof.

That’s what she needed. She needed the correct papers to prove that Bentley was hers. Scrunching up her face, she tried to remember if Karen had taken that batch of Þ les or if she still had them upstairs in the Þ le drawer. Regardless, she deÞ nitely had receipts from vet bills. Would those work? Maybe. Maybe not.

The receipt of sale from when they’d actually purchased Bentley would be better. Wouldn’t it?
Should have had him microchipped
when I had the chance.
Having to prove that her own dog was, in fact, hers was beginning to grate on her. Rubbing angrily at her forehead, she wondered if she should call a lawyer. Immediately assaulted by visions of her hard-earned money ß ying right out the window in alarmingly large denominations, she thought better of that idea, at least for the time being.

At the liquor cabinet, she pulled out the Bombay and Þ xed herself a ridiculously strong drink, not happy about it but feeling the undeniable need for it in order to calm her nerves as well as the ire that was making her hands shake. As she took the Þ rst sip, she noticed the red light on the phone blinking, an indicator that she had a voicemail message waiting. Hoping maybe to take her mind off things even for a few minutes, she picked up the handset, dialed into her voicemail, and listened.

“Hi, Sarah. It’s, um…it’s Karen. How are you?” There was a pause and Sarah could almost hear the wheels turning as Karen tried to plan out her next words. “Ugh, I really didn’t want to do this on the machine, but…I’m not sure when I’ll get you and I wanted you to hear it from me and not somebody else, one of our friends or something. Plus, it’s been a few months since we last talked, and I’m sure you’re in a better place by now.

Emotionally, I mean. Than you were in February. Right?” She

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cleared her throat. “Wow. I’m rambling. Sorry. Okay. Um…”

She paused and then blurted, “Derek and I are getting married in November.” There was a whoosh as she obviously blew out a relieved breath. “Like I said, I just wanted you to know from me and not from somebody else. I’m sorry to leave it on a message, but I didn’t want to wait.” This time, the sound was an audible swallow. “Okay then. I hope you’re doing well and that you’re okay with this information. Give Bentley a kiss for me. Bye.”

Sarah held the phone to her ear long after the robotic female voice told her that was the last message.

Derek and I are getting married in November.

She felt like an ant, like Derek was a giant and she was a tiny insect and he simply walked along, squashed her under his foot as he did so, and continued on without a care in the world, completely oblivious to how he’d just crushed another living thing.

Okay, it was a ridiculous analogy and Sarah knew it, but she couldn’t swallow down the pain and nausea that bubbled up as she listened to Karen’s voice. She’d sounded nervous, absolutely.

But she’d also sounded happy. Underneath the jitters and the worry over telling Sarah, she was a typical, giddy bride-to-be, and that made Sarah glad for her and miserable for herself, both at the same time.

Like a Þ ve-year-old, she slid down the wall until her butt landed on the kitchen ß oor, the phone still in one hand, her drink in the other. The progress she’d made over the last month had seemingly evaporated over the past few hours, and she suddenly felt like Karen had left her only yesterday…except this time, there wasn’t even any Bentley to give her comfort as the tears rolled down her face.

v

Natalie was restless. It wasn’t late—barely nine thirty—

but she could no longer readjust her sleeping schedule from

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workweek to weekends. She had to be awake and downstairs in the coffee shop ready to work by Þ ve thirty during the week, so she usually hit the hay by nine thirty or ten at the latest on weeknights. The weekends used to be different. She used to stay up until after midnight, just enjoying her time, going out with friends or channel surÞ ng on the tube. Apparently, those days had gone away with her twenties.

Tonight, however, her brain would not shut off. She wanted to sleep, but her body told her that wouldn’t be happening. She couldn’t get the confrontation with Hot Business Exec out of her head. Mentally chuckling without humor, she told herself she shouldn’t refer to her as such any longer. She was a real person and had a name. Sarah Buchanan. She frowned as she glanced toward the foot of the bed where Chino lay chewing on a Nylabone.
And apparently, this is Sarah Buchanan’s dog.

Despite the fact that Natalie thought Andrea had been a little harsh with the woman, she also thought Andrea was right. There was no way to be sure that Chino belonged to Sarah. Was there?

He had been a wreck when Natalie found him and now she loved him more than she thought possible, and there was no way she was going to send him back to a living situation that might land him in the same circumstances. No way. She cared about him too much. Rufß ing his furry butt, she thought Sarah Buchanan would just have to Þ ght her.

And what if she did?

Sarah looked like the kind of woman who had money and resources…or at least powerful friends. Natalie had a little over four grand in her savings account, and all her friends were teachers.

How would she possibly be able to stand up to somebody with so much more?

The thoughts swirled around and around in her head until she felt like screaming. Concentrating on a book didn’t even seem to be an option, and after she read the same paragraph of the latest Lisa Gardner novel three times without absorbing a word of it, she slammed it facedown on the small nightstand next to

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her bed. With an irritated sigh, she picked up the remote to the little television that sat on her dresser and clicked it on, ß icking through the limited channels until she found a
Law & Order
rerun. She was all prepared to swoon over Angie Harmon when her phone rang, startling her.

Assuming it was Andrea, as it usually was if the phone rang after nine p.m., she grabbed the handset from off the nightstand and said in a low, sexy voice, “Miss me that much?”

A beat of silence followed, then an uncertain female voice said, “Um…Ms. Fox?”

Natalie sat up in bed and frowned. “Yes. Who’s this?”

A throat cleared and Natalie swore she could almost hear the woman thinking. “This is Sarah Buchanan.”

Closing her eyes in dread, Natalie swallowed, waiting for the barrage of curse words and shouting, but it never came. Instead, there was a silence that wasn’t really silent. Natalie strained to hear, but was fairly certain she detected a soft snifß e. “Ms.

Buchanan?” she ventured. “Are you okay?”

The snort that came next was laced with sarcasm. “No. No, I don’t think I am.”

“I’m sorry.” It sounded so lame, but it was all Natalie could think of to say.

“I believe you.” The words were just slightly run together, and Natalie found herself wondering if Sarah Buchanan had been drinking. “My ex is getting married.”

Eyebrows raised, Natalie wondered at the statement and the way it was just blurted out to her, essentially a total stranger.

“Oh.”