MARISSA VANDERSON
"WHAT ARE WE doing here?" Marissa lifted the cardboard cup to her lips and sipped the convenience-store cappuccino. A headache threatened. Her head felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton when Dane had shaken her awake a mere hour ago. She'd been unable to sleep and it irked her to see Dane looking so rested.
Fresh from a shower, he'd hovered over her, tempting pectorals just out of reach, the woodsy scent of his cologne torturing her senses...it would have been much more fun to see him had he followed through with the promise of last night's kiss.
Dane parked the car in front of a dingy white building surrounded by a monstrous chain-link fence. Big black letters spelled SPCA on a crude wooden sign hanging crookedly above the screen door.
"C'mon," said Dane in an eager voice.
She put the cup on the dash and got out of the car. To her surprise, Dane clasped her hand. She instantly loved the feel of his warm, calloused palm against hers. Her headache faded, too. Dane led her through the gate, up the cracked sidewalk, and into the building.
A bell jangled as they entered a small room as dingy as the outside of the building. Piled haphazardly all over the room were bags and bags of dog and cat food. A rickety table and two mismatched plastic chairs occupied one corner. Marissa noticed a long table filled with flyers and pamphlets. To the left of the table, she saw another doorway.
"Whew," she said. "It smells like wet dogs and spoiled lima beans."
"Just remember that when you have a fur baby, okay?"
"Fur baby?"
He tugged her forward, leading her through the doorway. To the right was a long counter and behind it, a mishmash of desks, file cabinets, a lone ancient computer, and more bags of food. An older woman was on the phone, but she smiled and gestured for them to wait. Her long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a tie-dye T-shirt and jeans.
Marissa examined the rest of the room. There were four more doors, two in front of her, one behind her, and another on the right. More rickety chairs offered places to sit. Pictures of dogs and cats along with a number of newspaper articles were pinned to the grayish walls. The muffled sounds of barking dogs and people's voices filtered into the room.
"Is this whole place depressing?" ask Marissa.
"We don't think so."
Marissa turned and saw the woman leaning on the counter. Heat seared her cheeks. "I'm sorry. My comment was rude."
"It's okay. Any money we get goes to the animals. We'd rather care for them than paint walls or buy new furniture. Besides, the animals don't mind." The woman held out her hand. "My name's Peggy."
Marissa offered her free hand to Peggy, the other she kept in Dane's solid grip. "I'm Marissa and this is Dane."
"Nice to meet ya." She pursed her lips and appeared to size them up. "What kind of animal do you want to adopt?"
"Adopt?" Marissa looked at Dane. "We're adopting? An animal?"
"Any hairball you want."
"Oh, thank you, Dane!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He squeezed back then let her go.
Joy surged through her. She'd always wanted her own pet—she'd even put it on the list. After the way Dane threw out Sophocles last night...she nibbled her lip. Dane was probably doing this out of guilt. It didn't really matter, did it? She looked at Peggy. "I want to see all of them."
***|***|***|***|***
BRENT WILLIAMS
BRENT OPENED THE door and looked down at the little ball of black kitten fluff in Dane's arms. His gaze traveled to Marissa, who held a tiny, shaggy creature of indeterminate breed. Four pairs of eyes were trained on him.
"We need a favor," said Dane. "You have plenty of room—"
Realization dawned and Brent shook his head. "No. No way. This is my brand new, just-built house. With white carpet. And leather furniture."
"And two acres."
"No, Dane. This is my dream bachelor pad. No kids. No animals. No way."
"Please, Brent," said Marissa in a soft, vulnerable voice. "I can't bear to take them back. We had to fib—a little—about Dane's living arrangements so we could adopt the maximum number."
Brent's eyes bulged. "You mean there's more?"
"Four dogs and four cats."
"You left them in your car?"
Dane grimaced. "Actually...can we borrow your truck?"
"What?"
"The Great Dane wouldn't fit," offered Marissa.
Brent's brows rose. "Dane bought a Dane?"
"Adopted. He only has three legs," said Marissa. "And this little guy here—" She pointed to the kitten. "—is blind. We couldn't leave them there. They need us."
"Let me get this straight. Dane, who'd rather jump naked into a rattlesnake pit than own a dog, adopted eight animals?"
"She adopted eight animals. Your place is only a temporary home until Marissa can find one of her own."
Brent laughed. He laughed so hard his guts hurt.
Dane clenched his teeth. "Look, are you going to help us out or what?"
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Brent opened the door to let them in. "Sure. Bring that new, furry family of yours right on in."
***|***|***|***|***
DANE SINCLAIR
MARISSA AND DANE returned to the shelter with Brent's truck and six newly purchased animal carriers along with various cords to keep the creatures from sliding around in the truck bed. Dane realized he was just plain crazy. He'd never been fond of animals. His mother had been too tight-assed to even consider having a pet in her perfect home. She was obsessed with vacuuming and dusting.
Hell, he wasn't allowed to even sit on the pristine living-room couch. The living room was for guests. Her guests.
When he was four, she left. He and Dad had gotten along just fine—they'd sold that damned couch—but getting a pet had always been the least of their worries.
If it hadn't been for his dad, he might have ended up like one of the kids at the TeenCenter.
His mother, a debutante who'd fallen in love with a bartender and gotten pregnant, made no secret about how much she hated her blue-collar life and how much she wanted back her blue-blooded one.
Dane knew that if his father had given in to her demands to live on her parents' money, she might not have grown so bitter and bitchy. She might even have stayed.
But Dad had wanted to support his family his way. So Mom finally left, married a wealthy man, had other children, and promptly forgotten about her terribly uncouth existence with Bernie and Dane Sinclair.
Then he had to go and repeat his father's mistake by marrying Lorraine Whittaker. At least they'd come to their senses before children entered the picture.
"Are we going in?"