SBC Fighter: Tails Of Love Part 19

"Actual y"-he draped her aqua cloth napkin over her lap -"we're the only customers. Nuclear Fusion is closed on Sundays."

Claire's mouth gaped open like a fish in the nearby tank.

A waiter approached with menus, and Adam introduced him as Sergio. Dazed, Claire studied the list of international dishes, listening to their suggestions before choosing a Thai appetizer and a shrimp pasta entree.

Adam ordered a mix of Chinese dim sum and Spanish tapas, a Kobe beef entree, and a bottle of California chardonnay before outlining his idea for a shelter fund- raiser.

Throughout the meal, she tried to pay attention, but everything conspired to make her pulse leap and her body ache. He fil ed the booth, so broad and muscular, practical y cuddling against her. If his arm or knee wasn't grazing hers, he was feeding her a bite of his dinner or skimming a crumb off her lower lip. Each touch ratch eted up the sensual tension until she wanted to pul his mouth to hers and kiss him into tomorrow.

When they'd finished and Sergio had cleared the table, Adam s.h.i.+fted to face her, suddenly serious. "There's something I need to know, and it's not about the fund-raiser, which I'm hosting, no matter what." He took her hand, his palm warm and slightly cal used. "Can you forgive me for what I said after graduation? I was arrogant, stupid, and selfish, a jerk, a fool, an idiot, a real b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He grimaced.

"You can help me out here any time."

Oh, Adam. Her eyes stung, even as she smiled. "I think you're doing just fine by yourself."

He made a noise between a groan and a chuckle. "G.o.d, I've missed you. I want a second chance, Claire. Do you think-"

Yes! The word shouted across her mind, even as she threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed her mouth to his. It was like stirring adrenaline into espresso with a lightning bolt. Claire's lips curved at the thought. No, it was just Adam, the man, heaven help her, she'd never stopped loving.

Every persuasion, every apology flew from Adam's brain.

For several stunned seconds he just experienced the kiss.

Claire's soft, ful lips, her s.e.xy perfume, the stimulating slide of her fingers against his scalp. . . . Then the weeks of pent- up longing punched through his surprise, and he dragged her hard against him. She gasped, and it was al the invitation he needed to plunder her sweet mouth. How had he lived without her? It was like returning to a treasured past and discovering a blindingly bright future.

Just as Adam was figuring out the logistics for making love in this narrow booth-they'd fit together in the Mustang, hadn't they?-and wondering why some part of his brain was insisting it wasn't a good idea, something barked.

Buddy.

Adam broke the kiss in time to see a grinning Sergio and Chien disappear behind the aquarium. The crestie barked again, drawing his eyes to the floor by the end of the booth.

G.o.d, his special gift. He'd almost forgotten.

Claire blinked up at him, her eyes darkly dreamy and her mouth swol en and so d.a.m.ned tempting. "Did I hear a dog?"

Nodding, Adam picked up the crestie, who was wearing a little yel ow vest. Through the leash loop in the back was a rol ed doc.u.ment. It had taken Adam half the day to train the dog to walk around with the doc.u.ment, but apparently the tiny mooch would do just about anything for country pate.

Smiling at the dandied-up crestie, Claire asked, "Is Buddy joining us for dessert?"

"No. He has something to thank you for taking such good care of him." Adam handed the doc.u.ment to her. She unrol ed it, and he watched confusion, then astonishment cross her features.

"You can't, this can't-" she began.

Adam rubbed his thumb over her lips to stop her protest.

"My accountant was thril ed. I need charitable deductions to balance the profits from this place and my other investments."

"It's too much." She shook her head, stunned. "This says you bought the shelter building and donated it to Rescue Me."

"No strings attached," he said. It was important to make that clear. "Besides, you already agreed to a second chance, if I understood that kiss." She blushed and nodded.

"I just found you again, so you can't move the shelter to Maryland. Buddy and I want you near. Being with you these last few weeks has shown me just how empty my life has been."

Claire touched his cheek. "I love you. Even when I should have hated you, I couldn't do it."

A chest-tightening, throat-swel ing happiness struck him dumb, so he pul ed her close and pressed kisses to her temple. The crestie wriggled between them. "I love you, Claire. There's never been anyone else in my heart."

Buddy yipped, making them chuckle. Adam leaned back to give the dog breathing room. "I have to admit, though, this mutt's growing on me. If it weren't for him, I might never have seen you again." He brushed a tear from Claire's face just as Buddy licked the salty moisture from her chin. "That day I brought him to the shelter, you rescued both of us."

Her smile trembled, then firmed. "It was my pleasure."

Adam kissed her again and proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the feeling was mutual.

LORD HAIRY.

Donna MacMeans Yorks.h.i.+re, 1878 "d.i.c.ken saw him on the road last night, blacker than night and bigger than a smal man standing," the scul ery maid reported, her eyes wide in her pale face.

"The hel hound?" The Waverly's cook sucked in her breath. "Were his eyes gleaming red? Did the dog look straight away at him? It's death certain, if he did."

"Aye. d.i.c.ken didn't say, but it's an evil portent just the same."

Hannah Waverly tried to swal ow her smile. Though the mouth-watering scent of Patsy's cooking had drawn her to the kitchen, the gossip of the kitchen staff had kept her enthral ed. She sampled one of Patsy's dormer pies, tiny sc.r.a.ps of cold meat remnants wrapped in bits of dough, then fried into delicious bundles no bigger than her thumb.

She enjoyed them even without the thick gravy Patsy would serve to complete the dish. As it was, she had difficulty restricting herself to just one.

"Mr. d.i.c.ken is so old," she said, debating if another dormer would affect her ability to wear her new blue gown to the dance tomorrow night. "He can barely see when the sun is high, much less in the thick of night. One of Mr.

Sumner's black sheep must have slipped through the gate again."

Patsy shuddered. "Don't tempt the devil by cal ing his hound a lamb, young miss. He'l set the black dog on you."

Hannah shrugged and decided that as the dormers were so smal , one more surely couldn't hurt. Her fingers reached for another tasty treat.

"And best not tempt your mother by eating those dormers. You know what she'l say."

"Stepmother," Hannah quickly interjected. Surely, her real mother would never be so free with her disapproval.

"They're so tiny. I just thought to try another."

"Stepmother," Patsy amended. "I understand miss, but you know she'l disapprove."

Before Hannah could reply the very woman rounded the corner and scowled.

"Hannah, put that down. Didn't they teach you at that Pettibone School a proper lady does not continual y eat?"

Hannah did as she was told, bracing herself for the diatribe that was bound to fol ow.

Her stepmother curled her lip. "No man wants to marry a woman who eats him out of house and home. What would Lord Ashton say if he saw you right now?"

Hannah thought he might ask for a bite of dormer pie himself, but as she had never met the reclusive viscount, she had no idea of his personal tastes. She wisely kept her counsel while her stepmother continued to lecture.

"You should strive to be more like that f.a.n.n.y Barnesworth if you want to catch Lord Ashton's favor at the dance tomorrow night. He's the one truly worthy catch in al the district and you shal lose the opportunity to Miss Barnesworth."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied, trying to keep a frown from her face at the mention of f.a.n.n.y. What man in his right mind would want to harness himself to that wicked piece of muslin? Hannah sniffed, her pride sul ied by her stepmother's comparisons. She might be a little plump, but at least she had strength of character. Mrs. Brimley, now the very proper Lady Nicholas Chambers, had told her so.

"Now don't pout, Hannah, it's not endearing," her stepmother chided. She pa.s.sed Hannah as she crossed the room toward a col ection of baskets used for garden produce. She selected one, paused, then turned with a calculating gleam in her eyes and a sly smile on her lips.

"Do you recal Father Medlock's sermon last Sunday on the necessity for charity?" She reached for the bowl of fried dough and dumped the contents into the basket. "I've decided we shal make a charitable gift of these dormers to the poor Mul ins family."

Patsy appeared shocked. Hannah's stepmother's uncharacteristic charitable act had just negated her entire morning efforts.

"In fact, I'd like you, Hannah, to take this basket to the Mul ins house, but don't go inside. One never knows what sorts of vermin inhabit those hovels. Don't muss your skirts.

I understand Lord Ashton has returned from his London trip and is currently in residence. Should he come to cal you'l need to be prepared to look your best."

"Yes, ma'am," Hannah repeated. Why Lord Ashton should suddenly cal now when he hadn't in the previous five months since he purchased the Beale property was beyond her, but arguing with her stepmother was futile. She imagined Lord Ashton to be as old as d.i.c.ken and as demanding as her stepmother. What young woman would wish for that future-even if he was the most eligible bachelor in Yorks.h.i.+re?

Stil , he was to host a dance tomorrow night and many of her friends from the Pettibone School for Young Ladies should be there. She refused to let the thought of her stepmother's ridiculous expectations sul y her antic.i.p.ation of a reunion with her school chums.

She slipped the handle of the offered basket over her arm and retrieved her straw summer hat with two ostrich plumes from the hook by the door. She had paused to tie the ribbons when her stepmother offered her last piece of advice.

"Be mindful of strangers. Gypsies have been spotted in town. Don't dal y and don't eat the dormers." This last was said with such an emphasis as to suggest the tidbits had been individual y tal ied and would be accounted for upon delivery.

As Hannah stepped into the midday sun, she heard her stepmother inquire if Patsy knew how to make pheasant gitana as this was rumored to be Lord Ashton's favorite dish.

"Lord Ashton this, Lord Ashton that," Hannah muttered beneath her breath. If ever she were to meet the mythical Lord Ashton, she was afraid she'd be inclined to tap his leg with a crochet mal et for al the grief his residency had caused. Granted the secluded Beale property had been a grand estate in earlier days. Years of neglect had made it less so. Why would a viscount be interested in property so far removed from fas.h.i.+on?

The trip to the Mul ins house would not take overly long.

Especial y, as she knew a less-traveled path through the woods that wound around a smal pond to rejoin the main road before the vil age church. She remembered walking the path with her mother in happier times. Even though ten years had pa.s.sed since her mother's untimely death, she stil missed her deeply. The path and al the ensuing memories gave her a comfort she could never find at home.

The heavily laden trees shaded the path making the hot summer day more pleasant. She had been fairly wel lost in her day-dreams when she heard a suspicious rustle behind her. She turned, but saw leaves stirring with the breeze, nothing more.

Her thoughts turned to her stepmother's comments about the Gypsies. They were known to camp in the woods on the Beale property, now Lord Ashton's domain. Of course her stepmother didn't mention that as Lord Ashton was apparently incapable of anything less than perfection. There was no rustling now. It must have been her imagination.

Lord Ashton, Lord Ashton. Hannah smiled to herself.

She'd have to remember not to repeat his name in a high, singsong mimic of her stepmother's voice when she was introduced to him tomorrow.

She hadn't traveled far when she heard the rustling again. Closer this time. Even her active imagination could not produce actual sounds. Suddenly, a cras.h.i.+ng through the brush sent a surge of panic and alarm through her.

Gypsies! She lifted her skirts so as not to hinder her feet and ran from the threat, the basket swinging from her arm.

How foolish to travel the hidden path alone! The sentimentality of a walk once shared with her mother could wel cost her life. She glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone fol owed-anyone of the Gypsy persuasion-and thus failed to see the root that caught her foot and hurled her sprawling onto the path beyond. Her basket freed itself from her arm and took flight, emptying itself of cargo by spewing succulent dormer pies in every direction. The fal to the ground jolted her hat from her head and sent it skittering down the path, ostrich plumes waving farewel .

Lord, she couldn't breathe! The fal had stolen her breath and she couldn't replace it fast enough. Her attacker would be upon her in a second. She gasped for breath, generating a sound not unlike that of a landing goose. If the vil ain had previously failed to detect her position, he'd have no difficulty now. Footfal s burst through the low-lying shrubs, racing in her direction.

She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the worst to come.

But nothing happened. No one pinned her to the ground.

No evil vil ain pounded the earth in her direction.

Confused, she turned her head toward a gnas.h.i.+ng of teeth somewhere on her right.

A huge dog with matted black fur gazed back at her before returning to placidly eating the spil ed dormers.

Patsy's description of the hel hound sprung into memory.

This was certainly no sheep. She wasn't even sure it was a dog. From her current low vantage point, the beast appeared enormous, much larger than any common dog she had ever seen.

"Stop that!" she yel ed, thinking at first to save any edible treats. She pushed on her hands and rol ed to her side. The black beast paused, then looked in her direction with large baleful brown eyes. A thin strand of white spittle hung from his mouth. He glanced at the doughy treats, then back at her with a sad pleading quality that speared her heart. His long black tail hung low and stil . A huge pink tongue slid around the black muzzle, but other than his energetic pant, he didn't stir.

"You're the hel hound, aren't you?" she said, pus.h.i.+ng herself to a sitting position.

It's not that she expected the dog to answer. She braced herself in case its response was a menacing growl. Indeed, that would be an evil portent as she was truly defenseless against such a beast, and a.s.sistance was unlikely on the secluded path. However, the dog's tail began to slowly sway. The beast continued to pant and again glanced at the food with a clear longing. His black muzzle lifted in the direction of the nearest dormer as if the mere scent was fortifying. If he was the devil's servant, then the help was kept severely undernourished.

"You poor dear, you're hungry." She waved him on. "Go ahead. You might as wel finish them. I can't take them to the Mul ins al covered in dirt and leaves, can I?"

Immediately, the dog's nose thrust toward the ground and the closest fried tidbit disappeared. His tail waved once back and forth before he advanced on the next morsel and the next, grabbing each off the ground with his ma.s.sive mouth, and snapping his jowls together repeatedly until al had disappeared.

Hannah watched in amazement. This, no doubt, was d.i.c.ken's harbinger of evil: the black dog that stood as tal as a man with fur as black as night. From where had he come? Perhaps the Gypsy camp? She glanced about in sudden alarm, but no man appeared. The black dog, having consumed al the treats bound for the Mul ins, wagged his tail with a force that slashed the foliage from the brush. His mouth hung open in a s...o...b..ry mess and he advanced on her as if she were to be his next meal.

Momentarily panicked, Hannah tried to pul her feet beneath her, but her ankle protested. The dog was upon her before she could rise. His ma.s.sive head pushed at her arm, forcing her hand to rest on his head.

"Look at you. You're nothing but a big baby"-her hand slid down his matted fur-"a big hungry baby."

The dog leaned closer, pressing his body next to hers.

She patted his head, then scratched between his ears. His eyes closed as if in enjoyment.

"You like that, don't you?" Hannah said, accepting the dog's reaction as an invitation for more affection. She stroked his long matted fur. "I wonder what your name is."

The dog looked at her with soulful eyes, pul ing her smile in response.

"I suppose it would be difficult to tel me, wouldn't it? Yet I shal have to cal you something." She pul ed back to look at the ful of him, but the dog crushed close as if afraid she would leave. He fairly knocked her over. "You're as black as soot and covered with"-she brushed her hand across his fur, dislodging a fine dust that floated on air-"ash."

A memory of her stepmother chiding her earlier in the day struck her. "Ash . . . I shal cal you Ashton. Lord Hairy Ashton, to distinguish you from the disagreeable viscount at Beale. Do you like that, Lord Hairy?"

The dog responded with a lick on the side of her face.

"Where did you come from, Ashton?"

Lord Hairy responded with a wag of his tail, which of course did not answer her question.

"I can't take you to the Gypsy camp if that's where you're from. I haven't heard of a family in the area having a big, black dog." Given the uproar over the sighting of this hel hound, she was fairly certain that the dog did not belong to anyone local. Whoever had brought him this far had apparently not brought sufficient quant.i.ties of food to keep the giant dog fed.

"I can't very wel leave you out here to starve, or to scare the vil agers." She struggled to her feet, using the dog's back as a crutch to get her from her knees to her feet. Her ankle protested with a jolt of pain that made her grit her teeth, but the pain subsided. She glanced at the dog. "No, Lord Ashton, I wil not dance with you no matter how much you beg. It's my ankle, you see."