The Perfect Match. Kimberly Cates
She sputtered. “Don’t you know how many animals they have to put down?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Deputy Lawless planted his fists on his narrow hips. “They don’t have any choice when an animal is out of control and a danger to others.”
“Clancy’s not a danger to anyone!” Rowena protested. “You’re mixing him up with—with some other dog. It’s a case of mistaken identity.”
The chill in Lawless’ tone snapped. “Lady, I could pick Destroyer out of any lineup you could name,” he growled. “That dog has been a pain in my behind for almost a year. He’s a public nuisance, running at large. And this time he added assaulting an officer to the mix.”
“Assault?” Rowena’s heart hit the floor. “Did he bite you?”
A barely stifled laugh came from somewhere in the room, the other officers enjoying the show. A muscle in the deputy’s jaw jumped in irritation. “He slammed one of Ms. Marigold’s swinging doors into my face.” Color darkened Lawless’ high-set cheekbones. “When I identified myself as law enforcement, the dog lunged through the swinging doors between the kitchen and the tea room and—”
“That was an accident,” Rowena objected, imagining Clancy’s joyful response to a human voice. “He was just trying to greet you.”
“That dog couldn’t have landed that blow any squarer if he’d aimed it!” Lawless challenged, his good eye blazing.
“You were probably in danger of being licked to death!” Rowena scoffed. “He loves people.”
“Yeah. That dog adores me. About as much as I like him.”
“If Clancy caused trouble, I’m the one to blame.” Rowena thumped her chest with her flattened palm.
“If he caused trouble?” Lawless pointed to his injured eye.
Rowena swallowed hard. That was a really impressive shade of purple the deputy had going there. “What I’m trying to say is that Clancy’s behavior is my responsibility.”
“Then you should be damned glad it’s my eye that’s turning black and blue. If that little old lady had been walking into the dining room with those scones she’d just baked you’d have a hell of a lawsuit on your hands.”
“Scones?” Rowena gasped. “Oh, God. That must’ve been what he was after.” When she had researched the Newfie’s history, she’d cried over the report about how badly his first owner had neglected him. Clancy still went a little postal when his dinner was late.
She’d love to get her hands on the monster that had left him to starve. “Deputy Lawless, if you only knew about what Clancy went through before I got him—”
“I’m more worried about what almost happened at that tea shop,” Lawless cut in, judge, jury and executioner all rolled into one. “If that dog had bowled Miss Marigold over, he would have shattered her into a million pieces.”
Rowena paled at the image the deputy painted in her mind. Her hand clenched around the strap of the tapestry bag. “But he didn’t.”
“This time,” Lawless asserted grimly. “Now I don’t care how many aliases you and those bleeding heart animal lovers at the shelter give this monster. He’s a menace. And it’s my duty to make damned sure he doesn’t get another chance to break someone’s hip.”
“But you don’t have any legal recourse,” Rowena said with an edge of desperation. “He didn’t bite anybody. Besides, it’s his first offense.”
Lawless rolled his good eye. “And Charles Manson just crashed a few parties. Like I told you, Ms. Brown, Destroyer—”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This is just a case of mistaken identity. The dog in question isn’t this Destroyer maniac you keep running on about. The dog you picked up is my dog, Clancy. He’s had all his shots. All his registration stuff is filed. I’ll pay for whatever damage he did to Miss Marigold’s tea shop.”
“You sure will. You’re legally liable,” Lawless said. “Once you take a look and add up the cost of what Destroyer’s done you’ll probably be begging me to take the dog back to the shelter. Any sane person would.”
“And I’m not sane, is that what you’re implying? Because I think an animal’s life is worth more than—than a bunch of old china teapots?” Rowena craned up on tiptoe, peering around the room in an effort to find her dog. “I’ll buy the woman new ones.”
“She doesn’t want new ones. Some of those had been in Ms. Marigold’s family since the Revolutionary War. If you had seen that poor old woman picking up all those bits of broken china, crying her heart out…”
Rowena fretted her bottom lip at the picture Lawless painted, but a long, mournful howl from somewhere nearby drove back anything but fear for the animal in such danger. She edged around the deputy and tried to make a break toward the sound. But his hand closed around her arm, stopping her in her tracks. Rowena started at the feel of his callused palm against her bare skin, his fingers imbued with a more powerful authority than even the badge pinned on his shirt-pocket gave him.
“I know this is hard,” Deputy Lawless said. “But there are plenty of other dogs in the world who need homes. This one is hopeless.”
Rowena pulled her arm out of his grasp. “Even a dog that really attacks someone gets a second chance! This was a mistake! Just a mistake!” Like the ones you’ve been making lately? her older sister Bryony’s voice nagged in her head. “But then, I suppose you’ve never made one before, have you, Deputy Lawless?”
The man glanced away, something sparking in his eyes. Regret? Bitterness? It was gone before she could tell.
“Ms. Brown, I’ve had a very bad day.” He enunciated so carefully she could almost feel black ice cracking under her feet. “Ten minutes before I got off duty I was called to Miss Marigold’s Tea Shop to investigate a burglary in progress. I entered the premises with my gun drawn, and got a door slammed in my face. By a dog who proceeds to smear my uniform with the colored frosting for three birthday cakes. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I have to haul Destroyer—”
“Clancy.”
“Whatever. I had to haul that demon dog back to the station so that I could file a mountain of paperwork which made me late to a very important appointment.”
“An appointment for what? The Cruella de Vil Fan Club?”
The man’s jaw clenched so hard, Rowena bet he could have snapped a bullet in two between his teeth. Keep your smart mouth under control, Rowena, she thought. Pulling the man’s chain more than you already have isn’t going to help. Deputy Lawless looked as if he’d gone terminal when it came to a sense of humor.
Rowena strained up on tiptoe, finally seeing a familiar mountain of black fur in what must be some kind of holding cell. Clancy strained to squeeze his muzzle through the bars in an effort to lick the stout man next door who was obviously sleeping off last night’s bender. Her heart twisted, eyes stung. Even here the Newfie was trying to take care of whoever was within reach.
“Ms. Brown, I’m responsible for protecting the people of Whitewater County,” Deputy Pompous said, as if she were a recalcitrant two-year-old. “I’ve called the shelter and told them Destroyer is coming.”
Her chin bumped up. “Well, you’ll have to call them back. This is my dog Clancy Brown, Deputy Lawless, and I’ll fight you for him in any court you can name to prove it. And what’s more, I’ll win. Microchips don’t lie.”
“Micro what?”
“Take him to any shelter in the country and they’ll wave their magic wand over him and—bingo!—my name will bleep up on their nifty little scanner screen. Any competent veterinarian can verify Clancy’s identity under oath.