Not That Kind of Girl (4 page)

The three men sat in silence for a moment. Because it was impossible not to, their gazes wandered out to the stunning view of the early-season vineyards and the scraggly mountain backdrop. Eli realized that Rick’s Sonoma Valley retreat was a refined version of his own Utah paradise, but with a whole lot more luxury and fewer dogs.

A pang of loneliness shot through him. Eli missed his motley bunch. He knew they were in good hands with Sondra—after all, his sister was his first protégée—but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss them like hell. Especially old Gizmo, his huskie-shepherd mix, the four-legged leader of the pack and the dog he’d known the longest. Eli spent every day surrounded by dogs, of course, but they weren’t
his
dogs. There was no replacement for the eight friends who shared his life and, since Tamara had bolted, his bed.

A vision flashed through his brain—Roxanne in that same bed, flushed, breathless, naked, all that gorgeous dark hair thrown across his pillow, reaching for him. Again.

“You do know her story, right?” Teeny asked, his voice more serious.

Eli tore his mind away from the fantasy and looked to Teeny. He shook his head, knowing the reality wouldn’t be nearly as pretty.

“She had a real hard time as a kid,” Rick said. “Her dad was a scum bucket who walked out on her and her mom when she was six. They never saw him again.”

“And when she was older, Roxie started hooking up with a string of bad boys,” Teeny said, shaking his head wistfully. “God knows I have no right to judge that particular weakness, but she’s made some questionable calls in the relationship department.”

“Hmmm,” Eli said, frowning. “So that’s where all the anger comes from—father issues and bad relationships?”

Rick jumped in to answer Eli’s question. “No,” he said. “It was the last one that did her in. Josie tells me that before the last guy, Roxie was pretty much your average woman—a little skeptical but holding out hope. But this last one really fucked with her head.”

“How so?” Eli asked, turning toward Rick in fascination. He couldn’t help but be interested in the how and the why of Roxie Bloom.

“He was an older dude,” Rick said, “a lawyer she met while covering the court system for the
Herald
. She really loved him. She thought for sure they were headed for the altar.”

That surprised Eli—the age difference
and
the fact that Roxie had ever dreamed of being somebody’s bride. “How much older are we talking?” Eli asked.

“Dirty old man territory,” Teeny said, chuckling.

“Josie told me about the night it all went to hell for Roxie,” Rick said.

Eli nodded uncomfortably, aware that learning more about the destabilizing force that was Roxie Bloom sure wouldn’t make it any easier to walk away. “I’m not sure I want to hear this,” he said.

Rick continued anyway. “One night, Josie and Roxanne decided it would be fun to surprise the old guy while he was kickin’ back with his boys at a cigar bar.”

Eli’s eyes got big.

“I know, can you believe it?” Teeny asked, shaking his head at the severity of Roxie’s blunder. “Rule number one: always call ahead.”

“So they caught him with another woman?” Eli asked.

“Another woman would have been a blessing.” Teeny leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “They found him in the middle of a nasty little story.”

Eli groaned. “He was talking about Roxie.”

“Oh, yeah,” Rick said. “Josie told me the guy was bragging to his friends about how he liked his women young and stupid, and that Roxanne would have been the ideal girlfriend if she only knew how to give a blow job.”

Eli was speechless.

“But this is where it gets good,” Teeny said. “Roxanne reaches down and grabs the man’s lit cigar and then grinds it into his hair.”

“No, no, no,” Rick corrected his friend. “The guy’s going bald. She put out the cigar on his bare head, man. Josie said you could smell burning skin and everything.”

Eli got the rocker moving back and forth, stalling for time while he tried to figure out how to respond. One quick glance at Teeny and Rick confirmed that they expected some kind of reaction from him. The truth was, his heart ached for Roxie Bloom. The old dude sounded like a real pig. But to carry around all that hurt and not deal with it, to wrap yourself up in it, define yourself by it—and even rely on it to pay your bills? That was a recipe for disaster. Roxanne needed to make some changes. And soon.

“And now the bald mutha is threatening to sue her for talking about him on her Web site,” Teeny said.

Eli shook his head real slow. No wonder Roxanne exploded into sobs when he’d told her she was safe with him. First her father, then the bad boys, then the father-figure lover who’d led her to believe she’d be getting a proposal, not a knife in the back.

Telling Roxanne Bloom she’d be safe with him probably sounded like something right out of the Rat Bastard Playbook. She had no way of knowing that Eli always meant what he said and said what he meant.

Rick cleared his throat. “So, Eli, we’re basically recommending that if you’re interested in Roxie, you should wear riot gear.”

“Hazmat shit if you got it,” Teeny said.

Eli stopped rocking, and looked to both men, his mind racing with the information he’d just received. He felt a smile spread across his face.

“Contents under pressure,” Eli whispered.

Teeny and Rick cocked their heads in unison, confused.

That was it, Eli knew. Roxanne Bloom had shoved and pushed and crammed the hurt way down inside herself, then secured it with a big old lid of anger. Somehow, Eli had pried open that lid out there at the paddock, and look what happened! Within seconds she was sobbing, kissing him, wiggling up against him like she was trying to get inside his clothes with him. She was a volcano, ready to blow.

“We’re not following you,” Teeny said.

Eli nodded, giving himself a moment to settle. “I was just thinking that Roxanne Bloom should come with a warning label. You know, ‘Contents Under Pressure; Do Not Use Near Heat, Sparks, or Open Flame.’ ”

Even as the three men enjoyed a good belly laugh, Eli realized that there was nothing funny about his observation. He’d just articulated his problem, and his problem was that he was on fire for Roxie Bloom.

And if he didn’t keep his distance, there was sure to be an explosion.

Chapter 3

Pulling into the entrance of the Komfy K-9 Day Spa, Roxanne dreaded what was to come. She’d been through this enough times, at enough establishments, that she had a standard timeline mapped out in her head. Here’s how it usually went: Lilith gets dropped off; Lilith growls and barks at male kennel workers and male dogs; the kennel calls Roxie to complain; Lilith gets so worked up she froths out of the sides of her muzzle; other customers demand to see the dog’s vaccination record on file and threaten to never use the establishment again if
that animal
is there; Roxanne apologizes over the phone; Roxanne arrives to pick up Lilith; Roxanne begs the kennel management to give her another chance; Roxanne has to pay extra.

All this could be avoided, of course, if someone were willing to check on Lilith while Roxanne was out of the house for long periods. Unfortunately, she’d been blacklisted among Bay Area pet sitters. And her neighbors were distinctly uncomfortable around Lilith, even the neighbors with dogs of their own. Of course, Bea was willing and able to look after Lilith, but she was often attending the very events Roxanne had to leave home for in the first place.

Sometimes, Roxanne felt as if she and Lilith were the lepers of the pet world.

She opened the glass door to a cheerfully tinkling bell and the smiling face of a young woman at the reception desk. The smile quickly disappeared. The woman snatched the desk phone.

“She’s here,” she whispered, obviously speaking to one of the kennel workers. “Well, excuse me, but
somebody
has to bring that dog up here!” She slammed down the phone.

Roxanne took a deep breath. She walked to the desk, credit card already in hand, barely able to look the girl in the eye. “How much extra?” She decided to just cut to the chase.

The girl let go with a sarcastic laugh. “Well, our six-to-eight-hour doggie day care package is usually $49.95, but considering the fact that we had to call in extra staff, it’s going to be twice that amount.”

Roxanne’s jaw hung limp. “That’s embezzlement,” she said.

Suddenly, the door to the kennel slammed open, and Lilith came bounding through with the force of a sled dog solely responsible for pulling a three-hundred-pound fur trapper through twenty-five feet of snow. Unfortunately, the employee in question, slipping and sliding on the vinyl flooring, weighed one twenty, tops.

“Ring me up,” Roxanne said, handing over her card.

“You should really try some obedience training,” the counter girl said, swiping the card.

Roxanne rolled her eyes. Because she refused to repeat Lilith’s Litany of Failure (thrown out of three obedience classes and two behaviorally challenged dog programs) she simply signed the receipt and slid it across the reception counter.

“In your case, you might want to go right to one of those dog whisperers. I hear they’re supposed to be, you know, the last-chance Texaco for psycho dogs like yours.” The girl looked askance at the now foaming Lilith. “One of our regulars told me about some guy who’s temporarily in the area. Very exclusive. Jennifer Aniston was his client a while back. Supposed to be fabulous. He works out of Celestial Pet. Wait—I think I entered his name in our database.”

Roxanne grabbed Lilith’s leash and stroked her dog’s short, smooth fur in an attempt to calm her down. She nuzzled her nose into Lilith’s neck and whispered softly to her, all while backing up toward the exit. Her plan was to be out in the parking lot by the time the girl found what she was looking for.

“Hey, wait! I got it! Oh! And our customer said this dude is smokin’ hot, which is always a nice bonus. Hey, maybe I should call him myself!” She giggled.

Roxanne was at the door.

“The guy’s name is Eli Gallagher. Don’t you want his number?”

“I already have his number,” Roxie said, escaping into the parking lot.

She cried during the entire twenty-minute drive between the kennel and her house, hating that she’d fallen into one of her black holes of self-pity but knowing there was nothing she could do about it now. It always took several hours to dig herself out of one of her emotional recessions.

As if on cue, the pity-party remix began spinning in her head, DJ Miz Fortune at the mike.

It all started when Millie died.
My collie had been with me since middle school. She was my best friend, my one constant.

Then, Raymond showed his true colors.
I loved him and he lied to me, played me, and never respected me.

The next two weeks were pure hell.
I find out I’m pregnant. Before I can even catch my breath, I wake up in the middle of the night with cramps, blood dripping down my legs, and the baby is gone.

Enter Lilith.
I adopt a behaviorally challenged dog no one likes.

Hello, joblessness!
The paper cans me because I won’t shut down the Web site, which is just an excuse. Firing me means one less reporter who’d need a severance package when the place goes under, which it soon does.

Then Eli Gallagher shoots me down.
The only man since Raymond to catch my eye turns me down for lunch, among the least threatening of date options.

Happiness finds Josie, Ginger, and Bea.
But skips me entirely.

And Raymond comes back in my life.
But only to threaten me with a lawsuit and a promise to shut down my Web site.

And so, here I am.

Lilith snuggled her head into Roxanne’s lap, occasionally looking up at her owner with the biggest, most beautiful brown puppy eyes that ever were. Roxie stroked her petal-soft ear. Despite everything, Roxie never regretted adopting Lilith. Not for a second.

No one seemed to consider her a particularly attractive dog, with her muddy brown mix-up of boxer, pit bull, and some kind of hound, possibly beagle. But what did they know? Lilith was a survivor, beautiful and brave, Roxanne’s Warrior Priestess sidekick.

According to the dog rescue people, she’d had a hard and lonely life before Roxanne saved her, spending most of her days tied to a clothesline on a nasty old man’s back stoop, left without proper food, water, or attention. A neighbor had reported suspected physical abuse of the dog and the SPCA swooped in, taking her to a shelter. Because of her poor health and exotic looks, she’d been on the fast track to euthanasia when the rescue group found her.

Roxanne would never forget the day she arrived for her first interview with the Best Friends Canine Rescue Agency of Northern California. Lilith had only been in a foster home for a week. Her fur was falling out in patches. She had a festering cut across the top of her head. Roxanne could see every rib in her body and every vertebra in her spine. The dog’s eyes were hollow.

“I’ll take her,” Roxanne had said. The three-person approval committee laughed at her enthusiasm.

“It takes a special person to accept this type of responsibility,” one of the committee members had said in a kind voice. “This is a dog that needs to start from square one. She needs lots of time and lots of patience. And there’s something else you should know.” The woman glanced nervously at her fellow female committee members. “It seems she doesn’t like men very much.”

“I’m your girl!” Roxanne assured them, knowing a sign from heaven when it fell on her.

Of course, Lilith didn’t come home with her that day. It took four additional weeks, two more interviews, four personal references, a written application process, a criminal background check, and a home inspection before Roxanne was approved to be Lilith’s new owner.

As Bea had said, “You can squirt out eight artificially inseminated babies in this state without so much as a howdy-do, but you can’t adopt a beat-up mutt without getting Top Secret security clearance?
What the fuck?
”