The Puppy Proposal

“I hope you don’t mind,” Nic said, unbuttoning his shirt. “This thing smells like, well, wet dog.” He shrugged out of the wet, muddy fabric with a grimace, leaving him standing in an almost as damp, but considerably cleaner, sleeveless undershirt and dress slacks.

Jillian nodded, eyes drawn to his broad, bare shoulders, then down to the impressive biceps that had restrained Murphy so easily. The revealed bronze skin spoke more of Mediterranean ancestry than hours in the sun. The tight undershirt did little to hide the chiseled chest underneath or the flat abdominals below. She might have continued to stare, basking in all that male beauty, if the sound of the front door hadn’t snapped her back to reality.

“Jillian! Jillian! Where’s the doggy? Is he hurt? Can I kiss his boo-boo? Who’s that?” Emma Marshall, four years old and the spitting image of her mother, barreled into the room. Her strawberry-blond ponytail swished as she looked from Emma to Nic, blue eyes blinking rapidly.

“Emma, I told you that someone found a doggy and brought him here so I could help him.” Cassie appeared in the doorway behind her rambunctious tyke. “Hi, I’m Dr. Marshall. Thank you for helping our Murphy here. I’m afraid he’s a repeat offender, but we all love him, anyway.”

“I’m Nic.” Brushing away the compliment, he offered a tired smile and said, “He seems like a nice dog, now that he’s cleaned up.”

“Murphy was a mess when Nic brought him in, covered in mud and God knows what else. He helped me bathe him, but his shirt was a casualty,” Jillian explained.

“My shirt, my tie and my suit jacket. But, hey, who’s counting?” Nic shrugged his shoulders, and then returned his attention to the women in the room. “Can you do something for his paws? They look pretty awful.”

Cassie moved to the table and gently examined each of the dog’s feet. “They do look pretty bad, but they’ll heal quickly. I’ll give him an antibiotic injection to prevent infection, and he can have some anti-inflammatories to help with the pain. Beef-flavored tablets, he’ll love them.” Cassie drew up a syringe of milky-looking fluid. “You aren’t squeamish around needles, are you?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Not at all.” Nic eyed the syringe. “But shouldn’t you be calling his owner? She’s got to be missing him by now, right?” Nic looked first at Cassie, then at Jillian. “Shouldn’t she have to approve treatment or something?”

“Normally, yes,” Jillian answered. “But we have a standing permission for treatment in Murphy’s chart. Remember, this isn’t his first time getting away. Besides, Mrs. Rosenberg won’t be home tonight. She’s over near Orlando on an overnight trip with her seniors group. She mentioned it to me when she stopped in to buy dog food yesterday. Murphy will have to stay here tonight, I guess.” She grimaced. “I hate leaving him. If he scratches at the cage door, he’s going to make his paws worse, and after his big outing, I’d rather he have someone keeping an eye on him. But my apartment manager won’t allow me to take him home, and Cassie—I mean, Dr. Marshall—is currently fostering a dog at her house that doesn’t get along with others. He’d beat poor Murphy up. So he’ll have to stay here until Mrs. Rosenberg gets home.”

Nic’s eyebrows narrowed. “You’re going to just put him in a cage?”

Cassie responded matter-of-factly, “It’s not ideal, but he’ll be safe—a lot safer than he was a few hours ago, thanks to you. There really isn’t any other option.”

“Yes, there is.” Nic was firm, arms crossed. “He can stay with me. The Sandpiper Inn is pet-friendly, and I can bring him back here in the morning or to wherever you say to take him. I’ll keep an eye on him, give him his medication and make sure he’s okay overnight.” His eyes dared anyone to disagree. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of rescuing him to abandon him in the end.”

“I don’t think that will work...we don’t even know you. Mrs. Rosenberg doesn’t know you...” Jillian floundered. In her wildest dreams, she would never have expected this man to offer to play nursemaid to a gimpy dog. Knights in shining armor might be the norm in storybooks, but that kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Saviors, she knew from personal experience, were few and far between.

Cassie stepped in. “Why don’t I call Mrs. Rosenberg and see what she has to say? We’ll let her decide.” Turning to Nic, she continued, “I’ll need your contact information, and you’ll have to fill out some paperwork, if she agrees. Does that sound all right?”

Nic nodded in agreement, still standing stiffly, as if ready to defend his newly found canine friend physically, if need be.

While he and Cassie worked out the arrangements, Jillian clung to the soft dog. She had lost control of this situation somehow, not something she generally let happen. Watching the gorgeous man in front her, she wondered what kind of man did this, dropped everything and did whatever it took to save the day. As if sensing her bewilderment, Murphy squirmed in her arms.

Comforting herself as much as the dog, she buried her face in his fur. The dog turned his head, straining to keep Nic in view, something he had done since the minute they’d arrived. “I know how you feel,” she whispered in the smitten animal’s ear. “I know how you feel.”

* * *

Nic pulled into the parking lot of the Sandpiper Inn and turned the key, content to sit for a few minutes before he had to wrangle the dog and luggage. He still couldn’t quite believe he had acquired a pet, yet another responsibility, even if it was just for the night. But he couldn’t have left him in a cage, scared and hurt, any more than he could have left him on the side of the road.

At some point, taking on responsibility, taking care of others, had become second nature. He had always been the one to get his kid brother out of trouble, even when it meant getting into trouble himself. Later, he had tutored his sister, taking it upon himself to make sure she passed the dreaded algebra class. Then, after graduation, it had been impossible to say no to a job working for his father, eventually ending up where he was now, Nic Caruso, Vice President of Property Acquisitions at Caruso Hotels. The internationally known chain had been his father’s dream, not his, and he found no joy in traveling from city to city, scouting out properties and securing new locations for the ever-growing company. He often wondered what it would be like to settle down in one place, to meet someone that appreciated him for who he was, rather than what he could provide.

A soft woof from the passenger’s seat brought him out of his daydreams and into the present. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. I didn’t forget about you.” Grabbing his overnight bag, Nic set out with Murphy across the covered breezeway connecting the parking area to the main house. In front of him the inn rose out of the darkness, spotlighted by the moon against the dunes behind it. It was hard to see details this late, but he knew from his research that it was two stories, built in the Florida Vernacular style. The buff-colored wooden siding would blend with the dunes in the daylight, and there were covered, whitewashed porches on every level, designed to offer a cool spot to enjoy the ocean view. Right now, though, all he could make out were the wide front steps and a welcoming glow from several of the shutter-framed windows.

Before continuing toward the inn, he took the sandy path that ran parallel to the dunes. Whether the inn was pet-friendly or not, he’d better give Murphy a chance to relieve himself before going in and getting settled. As they walked, Nic was impressed by the sheer size of the grounds, which were crisscrossed by walking paths and planted with a variety of tropical and coastal scrub plants. He stopped to lean against one of the many smooth-trunked palms, breathing in the humid air, richly scented by the jasmine that grew heavy around him. The scent reminded him of the vet tech he’d just met, Jillian. Even over the disinfectant and wet-dog smells, he had picked up on her flowery sweetness, some perfume or shampoo or something.

Straightening, he tugged on the leash and walked back to the hotel entrance. He wasn’t here to daydream about pretty brunettes or to soak up the night air. He had a location to scout. Caruso Hotels was very interested in this bit of land, and he was tasked with determining if they should make an offer to the current owners.

There was plenty of room here for a modern beachfront resort once the original inn was torn down. Most of the property was underutilized, a diamond in the rough. A high-rise hotel could change the entire community—bring in tourist dollars, chain retailers and more. A Caruso Hotel would move the town into the modern age, make it a hot spot on the Florida coast.

At the top of the stairs, the large carved door of the Sandpiper Inn opened smoothly, bringing him into the lobby, an eclectically decorated but surprisingly elegant room. Native pine floors gleamed in the light of an old-fashioned chandelier. An antique table to his right served as the check-in desk, and across the room overstuffed furniture offered a cozy place to read or chat. Bay windows with a view of the night sea were directly opposite him; a native coquina fireplace accented the wall to the left.

Bookcases held everything from leather-bound tomes to contemporary bestsellers, with conch shells and chunks of coral for bookends. The antique and modern mix was nothing like the seamless, well-planned lobby of a Caruso Hotel, but welcoming in a way no modern resort could match. For once, he felt like he was stepping into something real, a true home away from home, instead of yet another commercial space.

“Are you checking in?” The question startled him for a moment, returning him to the present business. A young girl—she couldn’t be more than eighteen—had come in from a doorway behind the check-in desk.

“Yes, Dominic Caruso. I have a reservation.”

She tapped keys on a slim laptop computer, concentrating on the screen in front of her. “I don’t see mention of a pet in the reservation notes. Will the dog be staying with you?”

“Yes, but only for one night. Is that a problem? Your website did say you were pet-friendly.”

“Oh, no problem. I’ll just send up a dog bed and some bowls for him. We have a small selection of pet food, as well, if you’d like.” She smiled at Murphy, ignoring Nic in favor of his canine companion, and was rewarded by a mannerly wag of the tail.

“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Jillian had fed Murphy some kibble before they left the clinic, and had packed him some more for the morning.

“Okay, sign here, then. You’re in room 206, just up the stairs and to the left. Breakfast is served on the patio from seven to nine, and coffee and tea are always available in the sitting room. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you very much. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He pocketed the key, a real key, not a plastic key card, and headed up the staircase he had passed when he came in. The finely carved banister was smooth beneath his hand, worn to a soft glow by generations of guests and hours of polishing. Upstairs, the hall was quiet and softly lit; most of the other guests were probably sleeping, or perhaps out for a late stroll on the beach.

Grateful for the quiet, he let himself into the compact but tasteful room she had assigned him. Too tired to note much of his surroundings, he stripped off his filthy clothes on the way to the shower, where he stood under the hot, stinging spray to rinse off the mud, sweat and stress of the day. Resting his head on the cool tile, he let the water massage his back and tried to think of nothing, to just be. Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to Jillian, to her pale blue eyes, dark ringlets and those perfect, kissable lips. In a different place, a different time, he would love to explore those lips, and maybe more. But no, he had to work. Hell, he always had to work. At least he was good at his job. Dating, on the other hand, was a series of disasters. It seemed he had a target on his back visible to every gold digger for a hundred miles. His brother adored the attention the family name brought, but as far as Nic was concerned, being single was better than being used.

Annoyed, he turned the faucet to cold, hoping to clear his head. When even that didn’t work, he toweled off, then collapsed on the big antique bed. Maybe it was the soft snores of the dog at the foot of the bed. Maybe it was the lull of the waves outside his window. Or maybe he was just that tired. Whatever the reason, for once he didn’t have to fight his usual travel-induced insomnia. Tonight, sleep came quickly, the kind of dreamless deep sleep that only came to him when he was home.

Chapter Three

Jillian’s morning was a blur of fur and files. There had been countless puppy kisses, but she had also been bitten, scratched and peed on. And that was only the first appointment—new puppy exams for a pair of Labradoodles. Since then, she had struggled to balance her time between assisting in the exam rooms, completing vital laboratory work and counseling owners on proper pet care. Officially, the clinic closed at noon on Saturdays, but it was already almost one, and she still had charts to write up before she left.

Grabbing a diet soda from the break room, she sat at the back desk, away from the barking and hissing, with her stack of charts. But no matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her mind kept returning to Murphy and, if she was honest, to the man who had found him. Lots of men came through the clinic, but not many looked like some kind of Roman god.

And as if being gorgeous wasn’t enough, his compassion toward Murphy had bumped him up even higher on the sexy stranger scale of attraction. She had forgotten to ask him what had brought him to town. She knew he wasn’t a regular; Paradise was so small, she’d have heard about him if he had been here long. No, more than likely he was one of the few vacationers that occasionally found their way to Paradise.

The island definitely didn’t qualify as a tourist mecca; there were no giant, high-end resorts, nightclubs or theme parks to draw people in. But the beaches were pristine, and half the island was a dedicated wildlife refuge, so they did get the occasional nature lover. Somehow, though, Jillian couldn’t quite picture the well-dressed man she’d met last night as a bird-watcher.

She sighed. Not thinking about him wasn’t working; maybe she should be proactive instead. Mrs. Rosenberg should be home by now. If she was fast, she could pick Murphy up at the inn, get him back to his owner and still have time to grab a quick bite before the meeting of the Island Preservation Society this afternoon. Once the Murphy situation was handled, she could move on and stop thinking about the mysterious Nic.

Decided, she grabbed the phone and dialed Mrs. Rosenberg’s cell phone number. “Hi, Mrs. Rosenberg. It’s Jillian. I’m just finishing up here at work, and wanted to let you know I’ll be by with Murphy shortly.”

“Oh, dear, I was just about to call you. There’s been a slight change in plans. We girls decided to stop over at the outlet malls on the way back, and then, before we knew it, we were at that all-you-can-eat steakhouse. We’ve given our credit cards a workout, I’m afraid. But as soon as we finish lunch we’ll be on our way. I should be in town before three, and you and Murphy and I can have a nice visit then. I’ll make us some sangria with a wonderful red I picked up on the winery tour.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check on that sangria, Mrs. Rosenberg. The Island Preservation Society meeting is this afternoon. I need to head there right after work.” Jillian twisted the phone cord, thrown off by the change of plans. “I can bring Murphy by after the meeting, as long as that isn’t too late for you. I think we should wrap up by dinnertime.”

“That’s fine, dear. I can’t wait to see my naughty boy. I’m so glad he’s okay. I do hate how he keeps getting into scrapes. Won’t you reconsider keeping him? I’d feel so much better if he was with someone young and energetic like you.”

The elderly woman’s request tugged at Jillian’s heartstrings. She loved that dog, but there was no way she could keep him. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Rosenberg, you know I’d love to, but my landlord won’t allow it. Maybe when my lease is up...” But that was just wishful thinking. Paradise Isle didn’t have many apartment buildings, and none allowed dogs Murphy’s size. Renting or buying a house was out of the question on her current salary.

Somehow, she, the girl who had grown up wanting nothing more than a houseful of kids and pets, had ended up alone in a small apartment, without so much as a goldfish. That was why she had joined the Island Preservation Society. If she couldn’t have the Norman Rockwell life she’d always wanted, she’d have to settle for protecting her picture-perfect community instead. Paradise Isle was her home, and people like Mrs. Rosenberg were her family. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way. Have a safe drive back.”

“I’ll try, but Avril Clookie is driving this time, and you know what a flighty young thing she is.”

Mrs. Clookie was at least sixty years old, and about as flighty as a St. Bernard, but Jillian let it go. After saying her goodbyes, she found the consent form Nic had signed last night. His full name was Dominic Caruso, which sounded familiar somehow, and he’d left both his room number at the inn and his cell phone number in the contact section. When he didn’t answer at the room number, she dialed the cell.

“Hello?” He sounded out of breath, and she could hear wind blowing in the background.

“Hi, Nic, it’s Jillian.”

“Ready to pick up your patient?”

“Actually, there’s been a change in plans. It seems Mrs. Rosenberg won’t be back for a few more hours. I have a meeting after work, so it would probably be best if you brought him to the clinic. I can leave him here while I’m at the meeting, then take him home after that. I’m sorry to change things up on you.” She hoped he wasn’t too annoyed by the change of plans; his corporate look had screamed “type-A personality” last night.

“No problem. I just finished a run on the beach, figured I’d get some exercise while I was waiting to hear from you. If you want, I can—”

“Wait, you took Murphy running on the beach? His paws haven’t healed! He shouldn’t—”

“Whoa, slow down! Murphy’s upstairs sleeping, more than likely in my bed. I’ve only taken him out long enough to do his business, and I even rinsed his paws off afterward.” Nic’s voice was harsh, and Jillian felt herself flush. She shouldn’t have assumed. “I’m not an idiot—I do know how to take care of a dog.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’m just annoyed that I couldn’t take care of Murphy myself. I’m grateful you offered to take him in—really, I am. I’m afraid I let myself get flustered by the whole switch in plans. I hope all this hasn’t been too much of an inconvenience.”

“It’s fine. But listen, I still don’t like leaving him in a cage. Why don’t you just give me his owner’s address, and I’ll take him there myself? That way she gets her dog back and you can go to your...what was it?”

“A meeting over at the library. But really, I could figure something out. You’ve done more than enough already.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. I’d like to see him safely home, if that’s okay. We’ve bonded.”

“Bonded, huh?” She felt herself smiling; he seemed to have that effect on her.

“Sleeping together does that,” Nic deadpanned. “He’s a cover hog—don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

The image of Nic in bed, dog or no dog, was one Jillian did not need in her head. “Fine, I’ll give Mrs. Rosenberg your number. If it’s okay with her, she’ll call you and give you her address, arrange a time.” Jillian paused, “I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for Murphy.”

“Well, if that’s the case, there is a way you could pay me back.”

“How?” Maybe he wasn’t so altruistic, after all. If he was looking for a reward, he was out of luck; neither she nor Mrs. Rosenberg had the extra cash.

“Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?” Her jaw dropped.

“Yeah, you know, the meal after lunch? I’m assuming your meeting will be over by then. I thought you could take me somewhere interesting, somewhere the locals go.”

“Well...the locals mainly eat at Pete’s. It’s not fancy, but they have great burgers, and the seafood is fresh.” Jillian tried to picture Nic in his business suit in the more-than-rustic atmosphere of Pete’s. “Or we could go to the mainland. There are plenty of restaurants over there, nicer places—”

“Pete’s sounds great, exactly what I’m in the mood for. Where can I pick you up?”

“I’ll pick you up, at the Sandpiper,” she countered. Even small-town girls knew not to get in a stranger’s car. “Is six thirty okay? The deck fills up fast on a Saturday night.”

“Perfect, it’s a date. I’ll see you then.” A telltale click signaled the end of the call.

She hung up the phone slowly. A date? Since when did she go on dates with random strangers, no matter how sexy they were?

* * *

At three o’clock that afternoon, Nic was parked outside a small pink stucco house with a very eager border collie. Murphy strained at the leash on the way up the front walk, apparently as eager to go home as he had been to escape. Nic rang the bell and tried to quiet the dog. Almost immediately, the door was opened by a diminutive woman in a teal tracksuit and rhinestone glasses. Her close-cropped hair was a shade of red that was not, and never had been, anyone’s natural color. Nearly blinded by the combination, he was caught off guard when she dove in for a hug, her short stature leaving her head resting just above his navel.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Each thank-you was punctuated by a surprisingly strong squeeze. “You saved my precious baby. My sweet boy. Such a sweet, naughty, naughty boy!” With that, she crouched down to hug the canine in question. Murphy, for his part, took the praise as no more than his due.

Finished with her exuberant greeting, she straightened to her full height, which he guessed to be no more than four and a half feet, and tugged on his hand. “Come in, come in. I’m about to open some fabulous wine that I found on my trip. You must have a glass and tell me everything that happened.”

Nic followed, intrigued by the tiny dynamo. He knew Florida was known for its active senior lifestyle, but he had a feeling Mrs. Rosenberg surpassed even that stereotype. Besides, he wanted to find out how Murphy was pulling his little escape act.

The house was immaculate, and filled with overstuffed furniture in shades of mauve and teal. Paintings of tropical flowers were on the walls, and a large brass manatee served as a centerpiece atop the glass coffee table. Through the doorway to the right he could see a small galley kitchen; shopping bags currently covered every inch of counter space.

His hostess dug through the bags, removing multiple bottles of wine before finding what she was looking for. Her wrinkled but capable hands deftly wielded the corkscrew, then poured them each a generous portion. He accepted the proffered glass and took a seat on the overlarge love seat, sinking into the soft surface. His hostess’s much smaller body perched on the chair across from him as she raised her glass to toast. “To Murphy!”

“To Murphy.” He sipped cautiously. It was surprisingly sweet, but certainly drinkable.

“Good, isn’t it? Grown right here in Florida. It’s made with native grapes. Lots of antioxidants.” She winked, then drank.

He nodded, not sure what to say to the winking, booze-pushing senior in front of him.

“So you found my boy. Jillian says he was all the way across the bridge this time! I am in your debt, son—if you hadn’t stopped, there’s no telling what could have happened to him. A car could have gotten him, or an alligator! We have those here, you know.”

Nic did know, but hadn’t thought about it at the time. Which was probably a good thing. Changing the subject, he asked, “Mrs. Rosenberg, do you know how Murphy escaped? Jillian said this wasn’t his first attempt. I’d hate to see him get out again.”