His face inscrutable, Tom watched the other man walk around the corner.Then he looked pointedly down at Brutus.
“Are you going to tie him up outside the church?”
“No way,” said Maddy. “Walter would have wanted him to be here.”
“But would Father Andrew?” asked Tom, glancing to where the priest stood guard at the door.
Father Andrew glared at Brutus and then at her—even though she had offered to pay for the dry cleaning of his cassock.
“I know how much the dog meant to Walter so I’ll let him inside. But keep him under control or he’s out,” warned the priest.
“I will, Father,” she said meekly. “I should have brought a muzzle, I guess.”
“It’s the other end I’m worried about,” said the priest, turning with a flourish of his robes.
Maddy could have kicked Tom for his smothered laugh.
Five
Tom hadn’t been inside a church for some time. The last time he’d been to this particular one had been for his father’s funeral ten years ago.
He looked across the aisle to where his mother knelt serenely in prayer, lit by a shaft of sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows. Was she remembering that long-ago service? His stepmother—if you could call someone barely older than himself a stepmother—hadn’t even bothered to come.
And now here he was sitting beside another young woman whom he suspected of using her looks and youth to bamboozle a fortune out of an older man. He shifted uncomfortably, thinking he should excuse himself and go over to sit with his mother.
But there was Brutus. Subdued now, the dog sat on the pew between Tom and Maddy, and Tom had to admit that the animal was behaving impeccably.
Had Maddy been right that Brutus was in mourning for his master? Did he instinctively know that Walter lay at rest in the imposing casket that sat beneath the altar? Or was this heart-break thing, as Tom suspected, just so much hogwash?
As the priest commenced the service, Brutus maintained a reverential silence except for the odd clinking of his dog tags as he scratched behind his ears. Tom shifted uncomfortably at the thought of fleas.
His father’s funeral service had been unbearably sad. Death had come prematurely from the same high cholesterol that Tom dreaded developing. The messy family situation had cast a pall over the proceedings. Tom had been racked with guilt over the anger he’d felt for his father and the pain at his loss.
Before his dad had discovered the stock market and the prizes his gambling instincts could net him as a trader, the family had lived in Denver, Colorado. Tom’s happiest times had been when his dad took him horseback riding. Tom was a natural and basked in his dad’s approval. All that stopped when they moved to San Francisco.
Tom took a deep breath, unaware that he had done so. Father and son had reached a shaky reconciliation before Raymond died. But that had not made the funeral any easier. His mother had sobbed nonstop through the service. His sister had refused to come, having disowned their father when he’d run off with wife number two.
But today was a very different funeral. Walter Stoddard had lived a long and fulfilled life. The church was packed with his friends and there was even laughter during the eulogy. Though no one seemed to know about the old man’s millionaire status.
But Tom scarcely heard the words of the service. He rose, kneeled, and sang hymns on automatic pilot.
He was way too aware of Maddy, rising, kneeling, and singing hymns beside him. Of the swell of her breasts against her sleek-fitting black jacket. Of the elegant curve of her calves outlined by fine black hose. Of her lavender scent now blended not with chocolate but something else. Strawberries? What had she been cooking? Even if it was onions he was convinced it would smell good on her.
As they sang “The Lord’s My Shepherd” he noticed her beautiful full mouth tremble and tears escape and roll down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped them away with her fingers.
Tears unnerved him. He wanted to do something. Comfort her. But what could he do? He was Walter’s lawyer, and she was shedding tears for a man old enough to be her grandfather. Great-grandfather, for heaven’s sake.
She sat down and, with shaking hands, pulled some crumpled tissues from her purse. Tom sat, too. Brutus laid his head on Tom’s thigh and whimpered deep in his throat. Poor little devil. His over-jutting jaw gave him such a pathetic appearance.
For the first time Tom felt a pang of sympathy for the animal. He went to pet him. Maddy went to pet Brutus at the same time and Tom found his hand on top of hers. He left his hand there, hers warm and smooth beneath his palm. Her fingers curled into Brutus’s fur.
Tom turned to face her and found her looking mutely up at him, her eyes puffy with tears, her nose red. She seemed fragile and alone. Something seemed to turn deep inside him and he felt overwhelmed by the urge to hug her and comfort her. To stroke her hair and kiss away her tears.
He held her gaze for a moment longer than he knew he should. Then he stopped himself. He must not get involved in any way with this woman, not when he had such grave misgivings about her.
But he couldn’t resist gently squeezing her hand before he took his away. For a moment longer, she left her hand on Brutus’s neck where his head lay on Tom’s leg.
As she caressed the dog, her fingers trailed along Tom’s thigh. Tom felt himself respond—that surprising arousal he’d felt before at her touch. He felt a mixture of relief and disappointment when she took her hand away and folded both hands together on her lap.
He was angry with himself. How could he let himself get sexually aroused at a funeral? It wasn’t right. Awkwardly he propped the hymnbook over his lap to disguise the evidence.
He stared straight ahead at the altar. The service was ending and the pallbearers were lifting the coffin onto their shoulders. Suddenly Brutus was gone, scrambling off Tom’s lap and up the aisle. Maddy started forward but, on impulse, Tom stayed her. He wasn’t sure why.
The little brindle dog trotted purposefully toward the casket and then sat on his hindquarters at its head. Startled, the pallbearers stopped their procession. Brutus began to howl—a long, heartrending howl that made the hairs stand up on the back of Tom’s neck.
Maddy clutched Tom’s arm. There was a stunned silence in the church so that Brutus’s wailing reverberated around the walls. Then he gave a final whimper and was still, laying his head on his front paws. Shocked murmurs rose in a wave around him.
Tom got up and walked up the aisle. “Brutus,” he said in his best alpha-male voice. Brutus looked mournfully up at him. Then he trotted obediently to Tom and rested his head against his leg.
Tom picked the animal up and carried him back to his pew. He left him on his lap, unable to say anything for the emotions that were churning inside him.
Maddy was right. This ugly, greedy creature, which humped inappropriately, peed indiscriminately, and had who knew what other dreadful habits, had suffered a very real loss.
But while Maddy had been empathic enough to sense the innocent animal’s pain, Tom had ridiculed it. Tom, partner-to-be, always prided himself on developing a good understanding with the people he dealt with on a professional basis. So far, he’d bombed out badly with his new canine client.
Sniffing back her tears, Maddy ruffled and caressed the dark fur around Brutus’s neck in silence as the church emptied respectfully around them.
She didn’t speak until everyone else had gone.
“Poor little guy,” she whispered to Brutus, “but it’s all right, you’ve got me now.” She turned to Tom. “Thank heaven you were here,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess.”
Aware of being in church Maddy spoke in a hushed voice. She wouldn’t tease Tom about the leader-of-the-pack thing. They were past that now. She could see the hunky big lawyer was shaken by Brutus’s performance.
“You . . . you were right about the mourning,” he said.
She nodded in agreement. “Incredible wasn’t it? Pure instinct. Cathartic.” Her voice caught.“I . . . I think we all feel like doing that when we lose someone we love. But people are too inhibited to let go.”
Her mother had died when she was sixteen, and Maddy’d never forget how she’d wanted to howl her pain to the heavens. She twisted her amethyst ring around her finger. The ring had been her mother’s and Maddy rarely took it off.
“Do you think he’ll be all right now?”
Tom’s face tightened and she wondered if he had lost someone he loved. He was silent for a moment. Then, with a nod, he indicated Brutus. “Yes,” he said, “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
She sniffed back the last of her tears. “Remember the vet said once he met a new alpha—?”
He cut her off. “I remember.”
She took a deep, steadying breath. “It went well. The funeral service I mean. But don’t you think it’s weird that out of all those people, no one knew Walter was a millionaire?”
Tom nodded. “It’s not uncommon for eccentric people to hide their wealth. But usually they’re more reclusive than Walter appeared to be.Yeah. As his lawyer I shouldn’t really say it, but I think it’s weird.”
“I wonder what they’ll think when they find out.” Surely they would react with the same disbelief she had.
“Well, the will is not public knowledge yet. And it still has to go through probate. Other than you and Father Andrew, no one outside my office knows who Walter’s beneficiaries are.”
Uh. And Jerome. He was Walter’s family. She’d answered his questions about the inheritance quite happily.
“It was a good send-off. For Walter.” She looked around the now-empty church and focused on a stained-glass image of a dove of peace in the large window above the altar. She found it comforting. “Eighty-two was a good age.”
“It was.”
She patted Brutus again and stood up. It was time to be joining the cortege to the cemetery. Tom stood up, too, holding Brutus in his arms. He seemed a bit stunned by what had happened.
“Well,” she said slowly, “Walter’s gone, but we’re still here and I’ve got Brutus. I guess . . . I guess it’s all part of the great circle of life.”
“As Mufasa said to Simba.”
Shocked, Maddy looked up at Tom. “Like . . .like in
The Lion King
, you mean?”
He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as if regretting what he’d said. “Yeah.”
She looked at him, frowning. “You like animated movies?”
He shrugged. Brutus licked his chin.Tom wiped it on his suit collar. “I . . . uh . . . watch them with my young nieces sometimes.”
“Really?” Maddy said, unable to mask her surprise.
“
The Lion King
is one of their favorites.”
“Mine, too,” she said. “
Shrek
?”
He shrugged again. “The kids like him.”
“What about
Aladdin
? I love
Aladdin
.”
“Only the ones when Robin Williams voices the genie.” He paused. “I, uh, mean the kids prefer those.”
“Me, too.”
She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation. Not with stuffy Tom O’Brien. She found herself unable to resist teasing him.
“What about
The Little Mermaid
?”
His laugh echoed around the empty church. “That’s pushing it. Even for the fondest of uncles.”
Maddy couldn’t help smiling a secret smile. So. She’d suspected there was a sense of humor lurking somewhere under all that stuffiness. But she couldn’t believe Tom O’Brien admitted he watched animated movies. Even if it was just to keep his nieces company. Her passion for the genre certainly wasn’t something she as a twenty-six-year-old admitted to everyone.
She found herself looking at him with new eyes. She noticed his silk tie. Like the first time she’d seen him, it was impeccably tied, though it was now sprinkled with dark hairs from Brutus’s shedding winter coat.
She wondered if Tom ironed his underpants.
The final straw with her former fiancé, Russell, had been when he’d demanded she iron his boxers. With a crease down the center just so. She had decided then and there that she hadn’t been put in this world to iron a man’s underpants.
But Maddy didn’t want to think about Tom O’Brien’s underpants. Because that might lead her to thinking about what might be inside his underpants. And how she . . .
She didn’t want to go there. Really she didn’t.
She looked away, terrified he might somehow be able to read what was going on in her mind. “C’mon,” she said. “I’m not sure how to get to the cemetery and I’ll need to follow the cortege.”
She was so anxious to get away from her wayward thoughts about Tom’s underpants that she pushed past him and Brutus in the pew to get out. Her breasts skimmed his arm and she felt her nipples harden in response.
What the heck was going on here? Just because he said he liked
Shrek
didn’t give her body permission to get turned on by Walter’s lawyer. She rushed ahead of him and outside the church.
She blinked in the sunlight. There seemed to be a lot more people in the churchyard. A gathering of men and women at the gates. Had they mistaken the time of the service? Jerome seemed to be talking to them, explaining their error, she supposed.
She sensed Tom come out of the church behind her. He stopped beside her and put Brutus down on the step. “Give me his leash,” he said, “and I’ll—”
He followed her gaze. “Who the heck are they—?” he started to ask. Then he groaned as the group of people rushed toward them. Maddy blinked against a sudden flash.
“There it is,” a woman shouted, “it’s the millionaire dog.”
“And his mistress,” a man sneered.
Mistress? Whose mistress? Brutus’s?
Beside her Tom groaned again. He swore. “Hell, it’s the press,” he said.
Six
The reporters surged toward Maddy where she stood with Tom on the church steps. There were only about six or seven of them but it seemed like a mob as they simultaneously hurled questions at her. And though they were asking about the millionaire dog, they seemed more interested in her than in Brutus.