Return (Coming Home #1) (15 page)

Elaine
gives me a quick hug and walks into her house, whistling lightly.

Hold on.

Have I just been played?

As Elaine’s front door shuts I stare at the door knocker, banging twice, like a ghost trying to get in.

“Who needs men when God gave us Golden Retriever puppies?” Minnie declares as I sit on the grass outside in the fenced area behind the no-kill shelter. I’m being pelted by eager little blonde puff balls of sweetness.

“
Not me,” I say firmly. “I need Amy. I need pizza and ice cream. I need unlimited viewing of Charlie Hunnam’s ass. And I need doggy love, but I do not need men in
real life.”
 

Minnie gives me a strange look. “I think I learned a little too much about you in that sentence, Carrie.
And I don’t even want to think about Amy staring at Charlie Hunnam’s ass.
”

I laugh through my nose. I have to. My lips are pressed shut because of the puppies licking my face.

“
Speaking of Amy,” Minnie says with a frown, “I haven’t seen her in a day and a half. She’s not answering
my texts. Any idea where she is?”
 

“Huh. A day and a half?” Amy and Minnie are super close. “That’s not like her at all.”

“I know.” Minnie’s eyebrows almost touch. “She does have a big work deadline...” Her voice trails off as she looks at me. It’s like she wants reassurance.

“I’ll text her,” I say, doing it right in front of Minnie. “Have you checked her apartment?”

Now Minnie looks sheepish.
“I don’t want her to accuse me of being a hovermother.”

We laugh, but something in me clenches a little. I would love to have a hovermother. Heck, I would love to have a mother, period.

“I can’t believe,” I say, struggling to talk, “I haven’t been here in three years.”

“We were sorry to see you go,’ Minnie says quietly. She’s a tall, t
h
in woman with ropy muscles and the long face of someone
from the early 1900s. Whenever I see old black and white photos from the turn of the century I think of Minnie.
I
t’s like someone plucked her from the 1910s and put her in the 2010s.

She dresses like a lumberjack, too, which is just weird enough in southern California to make her stand out. The fact that she’s six feet tall doesn’t help her, either.
Amy’s adopted and looks nothing like her mom.
 

“
Well, I’m back,” I say, answering the unasked question in her voice. I’m playing with three little goldens right outside, near the long hallway where the cages for the new dogs are. This is the adoption space, where people first get to touch their possible pets. First, the people look. Then, they tentatively ask if they can see one of the dogs. We take the dogs out and let them play together,
supervised.
 

I’m giving the puppies some attention. According to Minnie, two days ago someone dropped four of them off on the front stoop in a box with a blanket and no note. She found them, the box taped shut, one of the dogs dead. They’re about ten weeks old and I know within the next two days they’ll be scooped up. People love sweet puppies.

My favorite are the old, wi
s
e animals with sadness
in their eyes. They know loss.
T
hey’ve seen grief. Most of them are here because their owners died and the owners’ kids don’t want the dog. The place is full of sweet, loyal animals whose crime was nothing other than being there when their owner passed away. The children of the owners bring them here, offering donations and shaky smiles. They’re almost always women, and generally apologetic.

We try not to judge.

A howl shatters my thoughts and I look up. A second howl splits the air, and then a basset hound joins in. Soon, the entire shelter is doing a good impression of the scene from
the movie
101
Da
l
matians
where the dog network spreads the news
of the kidnapped puppies
.

What news
are these dogs spreading
?

“
Oh, you hush,” Minnie says down the hallway. Her voice is filled with
affection. “It’s just Mark coming.”
 

Mark?

She gives me a warm look. “They love him. He fills his pockets with treats and they can’t stay away.”

Can’t stay away.

Minnie’s eyes are filled with mischief and suddenly it clicks.

“You and Elaine set this up, didn’t you?” I ask. My voice fills with exasperation.

“Who, me?” she asks sweetly, pretending to be innocent. The act doesn’t fool me.

“Minnie,” I groan as
I stand and walk toward the door to go in.
Mark appears at the
threshold
.
I can see him through the window.
The dogs begin to howl in earnest. The
y
’re whipping themselves into a frenzy. As my eyes take him in, I can’t say I blame them.

He’s out of uniform now, dressed in khaki shorts, tennis shoes, and a raggedy t-shirt made for playing with dogs. There’s a casual looseness
in his legs and arms. His shoulders aren’t tense. He’s smiling and touching the dogs through the cages. Mark leans in and lets a half pit bull, half black lab give him a wet kiss on the mouth.

I can’t be jealous of a dog, can I? Have I sunk so low? So far I’ve watched Mark kiss two
beings
today, and neither of them were me.

Mark slips a half a dog treat out of his pocket and tucks it through
a small hole in the cage.
H
e does this over and over, going down the line until all twelve dogs on one side get their treats. He comes back down the other side of the hallway, gently tossing two treats in with two different dogs who have warnings about biting behavior.

I go back to the grass. Mark
’ll see me in a second. One of the puppies starts shoving its nose in my crotch and I scooch back,
laughing.

Mark turns and sees the puppy, then me.
He walks outside, propping open the door with a wooden wedge.
 

“Lucky dog,” he jokes.

I turn a furious shade of red.

Minnie gives Mark a quick hug and he says, “Any word from Amy? I mentioned her to the chief.”

What I thought was just a little thing now has me worried.

“You did?” Minnie looks relieved. “So I’m not being paranoid?”

Mark’s
eyes flit over to me, then back to Minnie. “No one’s too paranoid right now.” All three of us know he means the abductions. The twentysomething women who are disappearing.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” I say. “I’ll check out her apartment tonight.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mark says in a voice that makes it clear there’s no room to argue.

“
Don’t you have more dogs to kiss?” I reply. “You started with one
at my office.”
 

His face goes blank, and then he turns red.
Mark’s eyebrows shoot up in disbelief, like he can’t believe I just said that.
 

I
can’t believe I did, either. But it’s true.

“That—I—Carrie, let me—”

A big old St. Bernard starts howling like a banshee crawled in his cage and cornered him. He sets off all the other dogs until the sound is so bad you can’t hear anyone speak. Minnie
scoops up the three little golden retriever puppies and puts them in their tiny, shared space.

“You two have some unfinished business to discuss,” she says with a quiet determination. “How about you do it away from the animals? They can sense your tension.
F
rankly, so can I.”

“Really?” I squeak.

Minnie doesn’t answer me. She plucks two leashes off a hook next to the outdoor dog run and puts
the big old St.
B
ernard and a German Shepard on the leads, taking them out for a spirited jolt that turns into a run.

I confront him head on. “What are you doing here?”

Mark pulls out one pocket, brushing off crumbs. “Same thing you’re doing. Volunteering. Like we used to.” His tone is carefully neutral.

“That’s not what I mean!” I hiss. “You’re following me!”

“How can I be following you when
you just moved
back home
this week? I’ve been volunteering here
at the animal shelter
for more than three years.”

“You have?” I am thunderstruck.
When we started volunteering here as a couple, I had to drag him along. He swore he was allergic to cats and hated dogs. All this time I’ve been gone, and it turns out he stayed and helped. I feel kind of stupid now. I don’t know why.
 

“I like the
abandoned dogs. They’re good company. No one likes to be left behind without an explanation. It sucks to be rejected,” he says with a shrug.

Ouch.

I sigh. “You don’t have to use the dogs to get in your little insults with me.”

He just gives me an unreadable look.

“Besides, you’ve clearly recovered,” I say with an arched tone. “If you can hoover on Claudia like that, I don’t think you’re pining
away over being abandoned by anyone.”
Much less me
, I think.
 

I’m letting my anger dictate what I say.
I
f I say how I really feel, I’ll turn into a blubbering mess.

“Hoover?”

I make a sound with my mouth. “
Y
ou know. Suck.”

He bursts out laughing, then immediately turns serious. “It’s not what you think.
Claudia and I—
”

I snort. “‘
It’s not what you think.’
Is that some line they teach guys
somewhere? Because it’s
always
what we think. You’re wa
s
ting your breath trying to tell me otherwise.”

His eyes narrow. They’re so
amber
and so intense. I feel like I’m pinned in place. It’s like he’s staked me into the ground. I can’t move.

“I don’t care about wasting my breath. Or my time. I’ll decide what’s worth saying and doing,” he declares.

Oh, my.

Mark takes a step toward me. I can’t
stop looking at him. The hallway is well lit. The sound of dogs barking and howling surrounds us. The comforting scent of puppies and dogs and dander and fur fills my senses. I love the heat of an animal snuggled up against me.

I love the heat of Mark snuggled up against me even more.

He’s suddenly primal. Almost feral. Mark’s the most dangerous animal in this room.

And I can’t stop staring
at him.

My chest fills with a warm kind of pressure, like my heart is trying to climb out and touch his. I want to feel all the good feelings I used to have for him. More than that, I want to feel hope. We used to have so much of it. Mark and I had our whole lives ahead of us. Whether we’d actually have worked out
a
s a couple would never be answered.

Life intervened.

Dean Landau ruined all
that hope.

“You’re the decider?” I say, my own voice so foreign. I sound so nasty.
O
ne of the dogs stops howling and begins to growl. I glance down and see its fangs.

“I’m not letting you stop me from explaining,” Mark
insists.
 

Minnie’s voice cuts through the tension. “Hey!” she hisses at us. Her eyes are filled with confusion and irritation. “Whatever’s going on between the two of you,
move
even further away
.” She jerks her thumb toward the back door. “You’re upsetting the dogs.”
She storms back to the building and I swear I hear her mutter, “And me,” under her breath.
 

I
hold my hands up in mock surrender at Mark. “By all means! Explain away. I’m sure you have some
perfect
explanation for why your tongue was so far down Claudia Landau’s throat you could read Braille on her toenails.”

His
topaz
eyes widen but he says nothing. He looks about as angry as I feel.
His eyes are normally round and alert. Smart and deep. Right now they’re narrowed and calculating as he tries to figure out how to get me to do whatever he wants me to do.
 

I’m so sick of this.

I’m so sick of being told what to feel. Of being lied to. Of being at the mercy of little wenches like Claudia, who think they
deserve to get whatever they want. All I came home to do was to clear my father’s name. Getting my degree is an afterthought.

I never came home to fight with Mark.

“I was kissing her because of
you
,” Mark finally says.

I swallow funny at the shock of his words and start choking. “What?” I gasp, coughing furiously.

A group of middle school kids appears, flooding the back area. Sometimes the
shelter invites youth groups to come in and donate, then walk around and touch the puppies. Mark grabs my arm and pulls me toward one of the side doors, opens it, and gently nudges me in.

We’re down the hall from the waiting area where a television blasts the nightly news.

“You were kissing Claudia because of
me
?” I say when my voice finally clears. I want to kick him in the shins. If Amy were
here, she’d do it. “Me? That’s a new low, Mark. C’mon. Blaming me for your tonsil hockey?”

He looks up at the ceiling, runs a hand through his sandy hair, then towers over me, bent like we’re conspirators. “I’m not dating her. We were kissing because she grabbed me.”

“Did she force your hand on her ass, too? Make you groan like that when you—”

His mouth is on mine, shutting me up. I struggle
against him, not wanting to be so easy. Not wanting to give in so easily. I melt into him, though. My body knows what it wants even as I pull away and take two reluctant steps backward.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Our eyes meet. A lightning bolt of pure lust flows between us. I swear I can see it, as if my brain conjures it.

“No, you shouldn’t,” I say, wiping my mouth
even as I need more of him. The craving to taste him again is so strong. I’m wet and wanting now, my body pulsing for him. He’s breathing hard and giving me a look that I can’t resist for much longer. If he keeps looking at me like that I’m going to—