LITMIR.BIZ

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fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for the woman who had rented him the cabin. “Mrs. Maxwell, do you own a dog?”

      Angela Maxwell, an older woman with gray hair and a friendly smile, and most of all, a tendency not to ask any questions once she had a valid credit-card number in hand, laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, dear, I don’t. But there are lots of stray dogs around the cabins. Sometimes they get separated from their owners who are on vacation. And we don’t have much of a leash law ’round here. People kind of just let their dogs go, it being a small town and all. Most everybody knows most everybody else’s dogs.”

      “Do you know this one? It’s brown and white. Short. Stubborn.” Kane glared at the dog. It swished its tail and, he swore, grinned at him.

      “Well, no, can’t say that I do, but I know who would know. You take that pooch on down to The Sudsy Dog. The owner there, she runs a sort of pet rescue thing. She’ll help you out.”

      “The Sudsy Dog?”

      “It’s a hot dog wash.” Mrs. Maxwell laughed at the pun. “Just off of Main Street. You can’t miss it. On the sign you’ll see—”

      “Let me guess. A hot dog in a tub?”

      “You got it. Except, he’s really a dachshund. It’s the cutest dang sign ever. My Orin painted it himself.” Then she hung up.

      Kane groaned. He looked down at the dog, who looked back up at him, still wagging. “Looks like we’re going for a ride.”

      That got the dog off his feet. He popped to all fours, tail beating a drum of anticipation against Kane’s leg. Kane headed out to his rental car, trying not to cringe at the thought of dog hair all over the leather interior, then opened the door. Before he could say “Lay down on the floor,” the dog was sitting right beside the driver’s seat.

      Looked like he was going to have a new best friend for the next few minutes.

      Whether he liked it or not.

      Susannah latched the wire crate holding Mrs. Prudhomme’s standard poodle, then took off her apron and brushed the bangs off her forehead. “You’re looking gorgeous after your beauty treatment, Fancy Pants. Which is more than I can say for me.”

      The white dog let out a woof, then settled down in the cage to wait for her owner to pick her up. Fancy Pants was in here once every two weeks, and though she barely tolerated the manicures, she enjoyed the grooming process.

      Susannah glanced at theArc de Triomphe poster on her wall. Nine hundred dogs. Three hundred cats. And now she was there—she finally had enough money saved to take that trip. To finally experience a life outside this little town. To put all those years of French classes into practice. To dust off her never-used passport. And see the world.

      She traced her finger down the two-dimensional image of the intricate carving of the Departure of Volunteers on the Arc, imagining herself in a world so much more glamorous than this one. Heck, working almost anywhere would be more glamorous than doing what she did for a living.

      The bell over the door jingled and Susannah let out a sigh. Back to work. And back to reality.

      “Take this…this thing off my hands. Please.”

      Susannah turned around and found first, an adorable brown-and-white dog at her feet. Then, a fuming best man behind him. The same man from the morning, only this time he was wearing shoes—and a frown. “You again.”

      “I could say the same thing. You work here?”

      She nodded, not bothering to correct him and tell him she owned the business. Susannah bent down to scratch the dog behind the ears. He let out a happy groan and pressed himself against her legs, his tail wagging. “Is this your dog?”

      “God, no. He’s some stray who can’t seem to get the hint.”

      She arched a brow. “Seems to be a lot of those in town lately.”

      Kane leaned an elbow on the cabinet and gave her a smirk. When he did, the facial gestured transformed him, taking Kane from ordinary to…

      Well, extraordinarily handsome, almost playboy handsome, like something out of a magazine. A quiver ran through Susannah’s gut, but she ignored it.

      “You aren’t talking about me, are you?” he said.

      “Not at all.” Susannah’s voice raised into high and innocent ranges. She straightened, the dog remaining by her side. “So whose dog is this? He looks like a Brittany spaniel, or a Brit mix.”

      “You tell me. He just showed up at my cabin.” Kane thumbed toward the door, in an easterly direction. “I’m staying in one of the Lake Everett cabins.”

      He was renting one of the rustic cabins? Sure, he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but the shirt was as clean as one straight out of the package. And his shoes—

      Now that he was wearing them, she noticed he had on expensive dress shoes. Not the kind anyone would wear in the woods, especially not that kind of leather, which looked as soft as kid gloves. A high gloss bounced light off the finish, which sported fine, delicate stitching.

      He was too…perfect to be the typical renter who came into town in the summer, stayed a week or two for the fishing, then went back to his normal life. Kane Lennox could have passed for a cover model, one of those men clad in a three-piece suit, hawking expensive cologne or designer watches. Except…

      Except for his eyes. His eyes held a summer storm, the dark blues of passing thunderclouds, the depths of unplumbed mysteries. Behind his cobalt gaze, Susannah wondered, was the real Kane Lennox the man in a suit, or the barefoot man she’d met this morning?

      “Well, I don’t recognize this little guy,” she said, bending down to stroke the dog’s silky ears, distancing herself from thoughts of his temporary owner, “but I’ll put up a notice in my shop.”

      “Good. I appreciate you doing so.” Kane turned on his heel.

      “Wait. You’re not leaving him here, are you?”

      He stopped in the doorway. “Of course. I couldn’t possibly be responsible for the caretaking of a dog.”

      “Why not? Are you allergic?”

      “I don’t believe so.”

      That right there. The way he talked. That, too, didn’t fit with the image of a cabin renter. Some weekend fisherman, or an avid hunter on a few days’ break from the daily grind. Every one of Paul’s friends was the typical guy-next-door, the kind that sat at the bar and knocked back a couple of beers, told a bawdy joke or two. This guy…not at all that type. How on earth did he ever become Paul’s friend, and not just friend, but best friend?

      “Do you have two hands?” Susannah asked.

      “Yes.” He gave her a dubious look.

      “Two legs?”

      The dubious look narrowed. “Yes.”

      “Then that, along with this,” Susannah grabbed a five-pound bag of dry dog food from the shelf and thrust it into his arms, “is all you need for now. Even though we take great care of our shelter animals here, we first try to find foster families for them.”

      “Foster families. For dogs.”

      “Yep. And since this little guy is already attached to you, it should be no sweat for you to take him home. He’ll do much better emotionally with you, at your house, than he would stuck in a kennel all day anyway. And really, all you have to do is feed him, walk him and wait until his owner claims him.”

      He stared at her. “Are you completely insane? I am not a dog person.”

      Again, he had that air about him. Not just out of town, but completely out of her world. Out of her social stratosphere. Clearly, the man came from some money. He had

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