A Love to Call Her Own (16 page)

The sun was up at 6 a.m. but just barely, still sleepy like Lucy, its rays able to penetrate the cloud layer only here or there with shafts of pale golden light. It was pretty, really it was, but she was praying for rain and an extra forty-five minutes in bed.

She didn't get either. Joe let himself into the kitchen as she quickly swallowed the last of her cereal bar, then inhaled the rest of her coffee. He was too damn cheerful, greeting Norton, filling his food and water bowls, giving him the chance to gobble down both while retrieving his leash from a hook near the front door.

“Good morning,” he said at last.

She grunted.

“I thought we'd take Norton with us. He could use some exercise, too.”

“He wouldn't need it if you didn't feed him from your plate all the time.” She pulled her hair into a ponytail, then looked down at herself. Cropped pants and a T-shirt that both fit more snugly than she'd like, moisture-wicking socks, her comfy walking shoes, keys, cell phone, and lip balm in her pockets. “Let the punishment begin.”

Joe frowned at her as he hooked the leash onto Norton's collar, then followed her outside. “Adjust your attitude, or we're gonna have to change your name. You know Luce means light in most languages, don't you?”

“My light only shines at a decent hour.” She picked up one of the bottled waters he'd left on the patio table, then at the corner of the house made a left turn to get to the street. “If the Lord had wanted me up at the break of dawn, He'd have made me a chicken.” Large breasts, large thighs, preferring to hide rather than face her weight problems head-on—oh, wait, maybe He had.

Joe ignored her crabbiness. That was one of the things she loved about him. “This is my favorite time of day. The sunrise is awesome—well, when it's not all clouded over. It's not hot yet, there's not a lot of traffic, not many people. It's a good time to think.”

Another time, she would have given him a verbal poke—
You actually think?
—but she wasn't in the mood today. Joe was a jock, but there was a lot more to him than just sports. He loved his family, his friends, his kids at school. If he ever settled down, he'd make a great, if sometimes immature, husband and a wonderful father.

And what man around wasn't sometimes immature?

Ben,
her crush whispered. She'd seen nothing the least bit immature about him. Gorgeous, sexy, intelligent, caring, even if he did have problems with his mother.

Not that Joe isn't adorably cute,
the friend in her felt obliged to say on his behalf. His workout clothes were disreputable, he owned more OSU baseball caps than he did shirts, and he didn't think twice about dropping a bundle on running shoes every few months. Still, every single woman in town flirted with him. His smile was killer, he really was interested in people, and he was so darn nice that people couldn't help but adore him.

“You're being awful quiet.”

She slanted a gaze at him before turning her attention back to the sidewalk. He'd promised to shorten his stride, and he'd done so, setting a reasonable pace that was no problem for her…yet. “I'm thinking about finding you a girlfriend.”

As soon as she said it, she recognized it for the great idea it was. Wasn't that a fair trade? He would help her lose weight so she could be thin and sexy and pretty, and she would help him find the love of his own life. Then he and Ben would lose the animosity, and the four of them would live happily ever after as best friends.

A scowl knitted his brows beneath the brim of the black-and-orange cap. “I can find my own girlfriends.”

“I know, but you're in between right now, and I know a lot of women. Let's see, there's Fia. She's twenty-three, a personal trainer, your type.”

“What's my type?”

She ticked the list off on her fingers. “Tall, thin, muscles on muscles, athletic, beautiful.”

“You think that's all I'm looking for in a woman?” He sounded injured and managed the expression to go with it, but she knew him. It was all put on.

“I've seen every girl you've gone out with since you moved to Oklahoma. Of course that's all you're looking for. That's all most men are looking for.”

He reined in Norton as a mom with a stroller approached. He and Lucy automatically stepped into the grass on opposite sides, giving Mom the sidewalk. The little girl in the stroller grinned at Norton, then reached both hands to Joe as they passed.

Even toddlers couldn't resist him.

When they were side by side again, Joe gave a mournful shake of his head. “If that's all the men you know are looking for, Luce, then you know the wrong men.”

Wrong. She didn't really know
any
men who weren't already off the market. Just Joe and Ben, who probably liked tall and thin, too. She couldn't do anything about her height, but she would work hard on the other.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life,
and not as a fat chick.

Today, even though her breath was getting a little tougher to come by. Even though her legs were starting to tire and she was pretty sure her moisture-wicking socks were rubbing blisters on her little toes. Even though she couldn't help but notice, mouth watering, how close they were to Serena's—
breakfast, yumm
—when Joe took a turn in the opposite direction.

Today, just like the first day of every other diet she'd started, she was hopeful and determined. Unlike every other diet she'd failed, she was going to claw her way to pre-widowhood weight on that hope and determination.

Joe was going to help her, and along the way, she was going to find him the perfect girl.

Every time her cell phone rang, Jessy checked the screen, even though the only guarantee that she would answer was if it was one of the margarita girls. She had lied to, withheld things from, and misled them, but other than that, she'd never disappointed them. There wasn't anyone else in her life she could say that about, not even herself.

The call coming through Friday morning showed the animal shelter on the screen. A welcome-to-the-poop-crew call? Or sorry-we-can't-trust-you-with-our-animals?

With a deep breath—as if something really serious and life-changing was about to happen—she answered with her phony, fooled-everyone cheery voice.

“Hi, Jessy, this is Angela. You have a pair of work boots or old sneakers?”

She swallowed back her snort. Seriously? The closest she'd come to work boots was sharing her closet with Aaron's combat boots. And old sneakers? She didn't even like brand-new ones.

“I have some that can get old real fast,” she replied. Did this mean she got the job? Suddenly her heart was pounding double its normal rate. A job would make a difference. She'd convinced herself of that last night in the few minutes she hadn't been thinking about Dalton or a drink. It would give her a place to go, people to see, a chance to do good.

It would give her purpose, and she'd been missing that, damn, for a long time.

“Good,” Angela said. “If you can come after lunch, I'll show you around, we'll figure out your schedule, and get you started. Does that work for you?”

Her heart slammed on the brakes, returning to its normal rate so quickly that she sank into the nearest chair. “Yeah. Sure. No problem,” she said breezily while her brain was chanting,
I got the job. I'm good enough to pull ticks off abandoned dogs and walk them and clean up after them. I may not be fit to work at the damned bank, but dogs and ticks and fleas are so much better anyway.

“Be prepared to get dirty, okay?” Angela advised.

“I can do dirty.” She
hadn't
in years, but she
could
. There was no shame in getting dirty on the job. Aaron had done it; Dalton did it every day.

“Then I'll see you about twelve thirty?”

“Sounds good. Great. Thanks, Angela.” Jessy hung up, then went to the bedroom closet. She was surprised by the need to tell someone, and naturally the girls came to mind first. But telling them would necessitate admitting that she'd left the bank—been
fired
from the bank—over a month ago, and that was best done in person. To say nothing of the fact that in person would save her five repetitions.

Kneeling, she dragged the running shoes from the back corner where she'd thrown them yesterday. She hated those shoes. They deserved to get filthy. Then she sat back on her heels, gazing at the long row of skimpy, sexy dresses hanging above her and thinking that the person she wanted most to tell was Dalton. He would
get it
. He wouldn't be surprised, like the girls, or think she was crazy or finally where she belonged, like everyone else.

Of course, there was the small problem that she didn't have his phone number.

But she knew her way to his house.

Pushing herself off the floor as she shoved the idea aside for this evening, when she could actually do it—or not—she dressed in cropped pants, a T-shirt, cute socks, and the awful shoes again. She rummaged through the kitchen, throwing together a sandwich of chicken from last night's takeout with lettuce, tomato, and onion bought for the salads she hadn't made after the first time.

After scarfing down the food and a bottle of water, she grabbed her purse, paused to stuff a small camera inside, then headed to her car. Though the temperature had passed warm fifteen degrees ago, she rolled the windows down for the drive, letting the breeze chase out the heat and the cobwebs that had taken hold after her month of aimlessness.

The same dog was standing in the same place when she got out of her car at the shelter. Her entire face scrunched into a frown. “Oh, man, I promised I'd bring treats next time. I was just so”—dare she say it?—“excited that I forgot. But I promise on my margarita girls, next time.”

She would have sworn the dog gave her a you've-gotta-prove-yourself sort of look.

Purse bumping her hip, she went inside the shelter. Except for the bell over the door, it was quieter than she'd expected, given that there were twenty-two dogs and sixteen cats on the premises.

“I'll be right out,” a woman called from somewhere in back.

“No hurry,” Jessy replied as she wandered around the room. The ceiling was high, two fans slowly stirring the air. The furniture—desk and chair, two wooden chairs, a couple sofas—was hand-me-down, and the floor was concrete, painted at one time and worn bare in the heavy travel areas. Tattered magazines sat on a dented end table, and three cats stretched out on the west-facing windowsills. Only one deigned to acknowledge Jessy's presence.

The no-kill shelter was Angela's baby, along with her partner. They got some money from the city, more from animal aid groups, and relied on a couple of fund-raisers a year, plus small salaries and few benefits—
beyond the satisfaction in our souls
—to keep the place running. Salary was always nice, but Jessy had some money to fall back on; she had great medical benefits, courtesy of the Army; and she really needed some satisfaction in her soul.

Footsteps slapped in the hall, then a woman came into the room. “Can I help—are you Jessy?” She walked right up to her, hand extended, a ready smile. “Angela said you'd be in today. Welcome to the Tallgrass Animal Shelter. I'm Meredith.”

Like Angela, Meredith was blond, tanned, and tall enough to make Jessy aware of the height she lacked. Though she didn't like words like short or petite, she didn't mind being the least tall person in a room. There was something about a short woman that appealed to an awful lot of men, and a woman could never have too many beaus.

Though she could damn well have too many men.

“I'm glad to meet you.”

They shook hands, then Meredith went to the desk, searching through piles of papers until she found her objective. “We just need you to sign some forms to make it official. Bureaucracy, you know.”

Jessy signed the
X
-ed places, then Meredith stuck the forms in a desk drawer. Pocketing the key to the drawer, she gestured toward the hall. “Want to see what you've gotten yourself into?”

In the next five hours, Jessy saw everything and met every animal, including the handsome guy out in the yard, a mix named Oliver. His protective cone was to keep him from licking the healing wounds where some bastard had shot him with a BB gun. His standoffishness wasn't directed to her personally, Meredith had explained. He didn't care for any of the humans he'd met yet.

She'd taken four dogs for walks, played with others for a while—they called it socializing—and yeah, she'd done some shoveling. Her shoes were officially relegated to the bottom of the stairs or the trunk of her car from now on.

It was the best day's work she'd ever done.

By the time she got home at six, she couldn't wait to take a shower, put on clean clothes, and jump right back in the car. She picked up barbecue from her favorite rib joint, then headed north out of town.

As town gave way to country, she wondered about her decision. What if Dalton was busy? If he'd seen enough of her for one week? If he wanted a quiet evening at home, just him and Oz and the animals?

She was a big girl. She'd been raised on rejection. It would roll off her shoulders like rain off the outer coat of his Oreo cows. She wouldn't even be disappointed. Hell, warmed-up barbecue was just as good as fresh out of the pit. And she had pictures to organize, taken during her afternoon break outside with the dogs. That could keep her busy for a few hours.

She'd talked herself halfway out of her anticipation by the time she turned off the paved road. It was a good thing, too, she saw a few minutes later. Dalton's pickup was parked near the house, and behind it were two more, a shiny black one and a rusty, dusty silver one.

He had company. Not a good time for her to drop in, even if she was bearing food.