Seducing His Heart Page 8

  “He’s kind of a mess. Stinky, too.” Whit wrinkled his nose.

  “I’ll be right back.” Again, Bess went home and then returned, to the accompaniment of barking. “Here. You can borrow Dumpling’s doggie shampoo.” She glanced around. “He’s small enough to fit in the sink. Give him a bath, and he’ll be sweet-smelling again.”

  “At four in the morning?”

  “Whatever. That’s up to you.”

  “Where’ll he sleep?”

  “Dumpling has several beds around the house, but she spends the night in mine.”

  “Men must love that,” he murmured, staring at her flimsy robe.

  “I’ve had no complaints,” she said, blushing as she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I’ll bet,” he chuckled.

  Her blush deepened. “Thank you again for taking Homer. I’m sure Rory’ll have a new home for him soon.”

  “I hope so. My hours are irregular.”

  “Crash walks Dumpling sometimes, if I can’t be home. Don’t worry. I’m sure everything’ll be fine.”

  Whit was petting the dog while he listened. Homer licked his hand. “He’s stopped shaking.”

  “He must trust you.”

  Her confidence in him made him smile. She’s buttering me up, but what the hell. Having a dog for a few days won’t be a problem. Might be fun.

  “Homer’s a year old, so he’s probably going to be active. But he’s house-trained, so he shouldn’t relieve himself inside. You’ll have to pick up after him outside. It’s the law.”

  “Got it.”

  Bess covered a yawn with her hand. “It’s late.” She headed for the door.

  Whit put Homer down and took hold of the knob.

  “Thank you so much,” she said, kissing him on the mouth.

  Before he could react, she was at her doorway and gone. He touched his lips. Nice. “Come on, Homer. Let’s get you cleaned up. You got me a kiss from the hot chick across the hall. Guess you’re good luck.” He picked up the shampoo and turned on the water.

  Whit dried himself and Homer as best he could after the dog’s bath. Homer shook off all over Whit, who dumped his robe in the laundry. Then, he placed the damp little pooch on the bed next to him. Homer curled up and was snoring before long. Whit chuckled and fell back to sleep.

  Homer woke him at seven, crying at the door to go out. Whit threw on sweats, fastened on the harness, and out they went. The dog went to the nearest post and lifted his leg. After ten minutes outside, the animal was ready to return home. Whit took down another bowl and filled it with food. Homer uttered a small squeal before he demolished it in the blink of an eye. Whit watched, astonished.

  Shortly after eating, the dog threw up by the front door. Whit cleaned it up, muttering obscenities at the pug, and then went across the hall. He knocked loudly. Bess answered.

  “He threw up.”

  “How much did you feed him?”

  “He’s starving. I filled the bowl, and he polished it off in about two seconds.”

  “Can’t do that. Too much, too fast. Give him a smaller portion. When he keeps that down, you can give him a little more. Get him used to a normal amount, slowly.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before?”

  “It was four o’clock, Whit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  He returned to his apartment and began the feeding process over with Homer. Then, he headed off to work after giving Crash instructions and payment. He decided a trip to the pet supply store during his lunch hour was necessary. Walking to the studio, he whistled as he trotted briskly down the avenue.

  That night, he returned home laden down with bags of food, beds, treats, and toys for Homer. The dog started barking as soon as Whit came to the door. Good little watchdog. Once he was inside, the pug went wild, jumping up on him, trying to lick his face, running in circles, and dashing into the living room and back. Whit dropped his bags as he watched the silly animal race from room to room.

  “I sure don’t get a greeting like that from anyone else,” he said, laughing.

  He leashed the wiggling pup and took him for a walk. When Homer pulled toward the street, Whit tightened his grip on the leather strap. Home again, he fed Homer, poured a shot of good scotch over some ice, and sat on the sofa. The dog wolfed down his food and joined him. Homer curled up, resting his chin on Whit’s leg, and closed his eyes.

  After reading his mail, Whit looked down at the sleeping dog and smiled. Almost like having a family. Homer’s presence thawed a piece of his heart.

  A ruckus outside his door with lots of barking and laughter drew him to the peephole. He saw several women and a bunch of pugs go into Bess’s place. He combed through all the things he’d bought at the pet store and pulled out the ones he had questions about. After tucking Homer under one arm, he marched across the hall and knocked on the door.

  * * * *

  Bess held a glass of wine in one hand and the front door knob in the other. There was Whit with Homer tucked into his embrace.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I’ve got this stuff that says it’s for ticks, and I’m not sure how to use it or when.”

  “Come in.”

  The minute he entered the apartment, the women of the Dinner Club stopped talking. They looked him over. Bess chuckled behind her hand, watching them checking him out. She made introductions. The dogs came running in, barking. Homer squirmed in Whit’s arms, anxious to join the others.

  “Is it safe to put him down? Is Dumpling going to attack him?”

  “I think it’s okay. As long as he doesn’t take her chew toys.” Bess bent down, scooping up a couple of rawhides and other attractive toys that might set her dog off.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” He lowered Homer gently to the floor.

  “You’re the neighbor, Whit? I’m the pug rescue person, Rory. Thank you so much for taking Homer.” She extended her hand, and he shook it.

  “He’s great. We’re having a good time.”

  “Glad to hear that. We’re working to find him a forever home.”

  “No rush.” Whit raised his palm. “I like having him around.”

  Rory shot a glance and a smile at Bess. “You might be able to keep him, if you’re interested.”

  “I am.”

  The other women approached slowly, their gazes traveling his length. A conversation about rescues started. I’m going to hear from them when he leaves.

  “Let me have that. I’ll show you how to put it on Homer,” Brooke said, reaching for the packet of tick prevention medicine.

  Miranda joined her, explaining how and why it was necessary. Whit hung on every word. When the dogs came racing back into the living room, Whit nabbed Homer, on the run, and held him still. After the liquid was applied, the pooch broke out of Whit’s grasp and raced into the bedroom.

  “You don’t think anyone’s going to attack him, do you?” Anxiety knit his brow.

  Look at him. Already the worried dad. He’s going to be a great dog owner.

  The women buzzed around him, pouring him a glass of wine, offering him some guacamole. Whit smiled, rested against the granite counter, and appeared to be at ease. Surrounded by beautiful women, of course he’s not nervous. This is his element.

  “I’ve seen you before .What are you all doing here?”

  Bess explained how the club was formed.

  “No male members?”

  “Women only,” Bess answered, before returning to the boeuf bourguinon she was re-heating.

  “Something smells delicious,” Whit said, changing the subject.

  “I’ll bet a whole lot of delicious smells come out of this place,” Miranda quipped.

  “I get hungry walking from the elevator to my door,” he said.

  That sparked a discussion of their favorite foods that Bess had prepared. Each woman had her own point-of-view. Whit chimed in about mocha magic.

  “Why don’t we let him stay?” Brooke asked, turning big eyes on
Bess.

  “It’s not our usual…but if y’all say he can stay, that’s okay. There’s enough food.”

  “We never made a ‘no men’ rule,” Rory said, taking a sip from her glass.

  “I’ve got some great red wine I can throw in,” Whit said. “Be right back.”

  The minute he left the apartment, the women clustered together.

  “Oh my God, you didn’t say he was this gorgeous,” Rory said.

  “He’s much better looking in person than on television,” Miranda piped up.

  They buzzed about his hair, the width of his shoulders, and the incredible clear gray of his eyes until the door opened. Then, conversation halted.

  His gaze traveled from face to face. “Was it something I said?” he asked, his eyes merry with mischief. Bess pulled him in and shut the door as the timer buzzed. A flurry of activity began. Bess took out the stew, Miranda drained the noodles, and Brooke tossed the salad while Rory finished setting the table and lighting candles.

  As they were ready to sit down, the dogs raced into the living room. Their nose-radar alerted them to the serving of dinner. Each approached its owner and sat, begging. Bess passed out treats to everyone. She stopped at Whit. “Don’t hold it in your fingers, you might get nipped.”

  “He wouldn’t bite me, would he?”

  “He’s new, so I don’t know. Not on purpose, but if he has a hard mouth, maybe.”

  “Hard mouth?”

  “Trust me.” Bess grabbed his hand. She laid the treat on his palm then held his hand down close to Homer’s face. The dog scooped the tidbit up without drawing blood. “I think he has a soft mouth,” she said, dropping Whit’s hand.

  “Hard, soft. So many things for me to learn.” He shook his head.

  “You’ll get it. We were in your shoes once.” She squeezed his shoulder and smiled before giving Dumpling her treat. The pug waited patiently, keeping an eye on Homer.

  They sat down and passed around the delectable food.

  “What dessert did you make to go with this?” Whit asked before putting a spoonful of stew in his mouth.

  “Pear and apricot compote. And a plum torte.”

  “That’s what I smelled! It was like butter baking.”

  “That’s it. Plum torte. My mom used to make that in the fall.”

  “Any leftover?” She detected the note of hope in his voice.

  “Of course.”

  “Ah, my lucky day. I meet three charming, beautiful women and am fed like a king. This must be a dream.”

  “Oh, brother. Some malarkey,” Rory muttered, rolling her eyes.

  “I’m afraid flowery talk doesn’t go over well with this group,” Bess said.

  “But I meant every word!”

  Bess shot him a dubious look.

  “Perhaps I’d better eat and shut up,” he muttered.

  The ladies laughed. The dogs had settled down, each finding a place on the sofa, a chair, or the floor. Some were cuddled together with another pug or two, while others rested alone. Homer inched closer to Dumpling, who issued a low, warning growl. The young male stopped and cowered. The female lay back and closed her eyes, allowing him to move toward her. Homer curled up back-to-back and closed his eyes as well.

  “I see our dogs have made their peace,” Whit said.

  Bess blew out a breath. “Thank God. What hell, having dogs hate each other and living across the hall.”

  As soon as they finished eating, Miranda, Brooke, and Rory got busy cleaning up. Whit helped by clearing the table. They were a whirlwind, creating a spotless kitchen within minutes.

  Miranda looked at Brooke and raised her eyebrows. Rory checked her watch. “I think it’s time to go. Baxter!” she called for her pug.

  “But it’s only eight thirty,” Bess said. Before she could offer take-home leftovers, the three women had packed up their pooches and hit the elevator. Whit tilted the wine bottle over her glass and looked at Bess. She nodded. “Why not?” She took her drink over to the sofa, sank down next to Dumpling, and put her feet up on the coffee table.

  Whit joined her. Bess’s gaze roved over the city as darkness deepened and the many lights of New York apartments twinkled like stars on the East side of Central Park. She lifted her wine. “I’m lucky to have such good friends.”

  “They seem like a nice group. Think they’re sizing me up for you.”

  Bess turned to face him. “You think so? I’ve told them we’re only friends.”

  He inched closer. “Are we only friends? Are we sort of related now, through our dogs?”

  She laughed. “That’s quite a line, Whit.”

  “Hey, I tried.” He sat back and gave her a long look. “You’ve heard my life story, what about yours?”

  “Me? Too boring for words.”

  He ignored her attempt to shut down the conversation. “How’d you get into cooking?”

  She shifted around, trying to get comfortable.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Okay, okay! I started a long time ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Patience! I’m getting there. I was a regular, boring kid when I was little. My favorite things were raking leaves with my dad, reading, and taking pictures. I’d take long nature walks with my father. He’d lecture me about the plants and animals, and I’d take pictures.”

  “Doesn’t sound boring to me.”

  “Wait. My sister, Jane, is two years younger. She was the smart one, always getting the best marks in school. I was a daydreamer.”

  “Creative, maybe?”

  “Shhh! Do you want to listen or not?”

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” He held up his palm and took a sip of wine.

  “Jane and my mom were inseparable. Mom drove Janie to be number one in her class. She wouldn’t let her come on walks with Dad. Jane was always studying and practicing to become a cheerleader.”

  “Not you?”

  “I had no interest. She succeeded, too. Still, Mom and Dad would get into awful fights about us. Dad wanted Mom to stop pushing, and Mom wanted Dad to push me more.” She took a breath to steady herself. “Here comes the hard part.”

  Whit took her hand.

  She smiled at him. “One day, spring, I think, it’s hard to remember every detail. They had a huge fight. It was right before dinner. Dad had had a few. I don’t remember what they said, but Dad grabbed the car keys and left the house. Mom stood at the door, screaming after him. I blocked it out. Simply one more fight. But it wasn’t.”

  Whit raised his eyebrows.

  Bess’s eyes watered. She breathed in, shuddered, and then pushed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “It was their last fight,” she whispered. Whit handed her his handkerchief. “Dad got into an accident, a DUI, and was killed. Fortunately, he didn’t hurt anyone else. Wrapped his car around a tree.”

  He squeezed her hand then pulled her into an embrace. For a moment, Bess hid her face in his shoulder. “It was a long time ago. I was fourteen.” She sighed and wiped away her tears.

  “That’s pretty young to lose your dad.”

  “Not as young as you losing your mom.” Bess took a sip of wine.

  “That was different.” He shifted in his seat. “Go on.”

  “The shock affected us all. There was no more fighting allowed in the house. Mom had to get a job. She went to work. I bought the groceries and cooked. Janie did the laundry. We all cleaned together.”

  “A team?”

  “Yeah. All bad feelings were forgotten. Janie and I did babysitting on Friday and Saturday nights. We contributed to the food bill.”

  “And?”

  “That’s where I learned to cook, by trial and error. I took out lots of cookbooks from the library. I liked the creativity. And I was learning. Janie buckled down even more and became the top math kid in school. She won a full scholarship to college.”

  “What about you?”

  “I couldn’t go. Within a year of Dad’s death, I took over running the house. Mom worked lot
s of hours selling real estate. Sometimes she’d do well, and some months we were overdue on everything.”

  “Life must have been tough.”

  “It was. I didn’t realize it at the time. Survival. At sixteen, I was making pies and selling them to local restaurants. I could make and sell six on a Saturday. Sold ’em for ten bucks. We needed the money. I didn’t even think about college. I knew I couldn’t go.”

  “What did your mom say?”

  “We never discussed it. The guidance counselor tried to change my mind, but I knew what Dad would have wanted me to do. He’d want me to stay and help out. So I did.”

  “And your photography?”

  “Oh that?” She laughed. “I made a couple of scrapbooks, but the stuff was pretty pathetic. I put my camera away after Dad died.”

  “That’s terrible,” he said.

  “What’s terrible was my pictures. I didn’t have any talent.”

  “Continue.”

  “Nothing more to say. Janie graduated with honors. That’s when I got my freedom. After winning a couple of contests, I had an offer for a cable cooking show in Baltimore. I took it. Janie landed a job at the bank, supported Mom, and I was free.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-four. I worked in Baltimore for four years on that show before I got this deal.”

  “Still in touch with your mom and Janie?”

  “Yeah, sort of. Janie’s pretty busy. We were never close. Mom is happier with her. As vice president of the local bank, she gets a lot of attention. Mom loves that.”

  “But you have your own television show.”

  “I know. But it’s cooking. She says anyone can do that, but not everyone is gifted in math. She has a point.”

  “Not everyone can cook like you do.”

  Bess shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve been with this program for four years. I’m happy. I love what I do, even if it isn’t unique.”

  “I think it’s unique. I’ve never eaten food as good as you make. And I’ve eaten in some top restaurants.”

  The heat of a blush warmed her cheeks. “Thanks.”

  “You sell yourself short.”