Chasing Her Tail (9 page)

Despite his fascination with her, Micah thought he’d done everything he could to not get involved. He’d tried his best to stay clear of her. With a wince, he amended that—except for that first night, when he’d followed her to the bar, slavered all over her 45

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on the dance floor, dragged her outside and almost fucked her silly before some guy interrupted. In the grocery store, he’d rebuffed her attempts at conversation and silently watched her walk away. He’d not called her back, even as he’d stared, entranced, at the swaying fall of her hair and the silky-smooth way she moved, even as every cell in his body screamed at him, demanding that he pursue her, catch her, drag her home and never let her go.

His head came up. Where had that last thought come from? To distract himself, he glanced out the window again and saw that Sam was drawing in the sand. Micah relaxed a little. The kid would be fine. Sam would go with Joey on tour, surrounded by dozens of security guards. He’d be spoiled and played with and given too many treats, and Sam would be fine.

Still, Micah stared out the window at his nephew, anxiety chewing a hole in his stomach.

It was almost worse now that Bridget had made it to Myra. Now that she was weaving between pine trees lining the back of a neighborhood, she had to actually make a plan. She was too tired, hungry, pained, cold and wet to make any kind of rational decision.

Giving herself an all-over shake—one of the parts of dog-dom Bridget had decided she liked—she tried to dump her self-pity. The rain had lightened to a mist, although threatening thunder rumbled in the distance, promising more storms to come.

Okay, think
, she ordered her brain. She needed food, warmth, a dry place to sleep and probably a full course of antibiotics. Bridget gave a defeated whine.

What she needed was an owner.

Although the independent part of her rejected the idea, her logical side knew this was the easiest way. She should find a family who wouldn’t try to get her to eat dog food, perform a few tricks to keep them happy then change back to human and use their internet at night while they slept. It would only need to be for a few days until she had this whole thing figured out a little more. Pressing down mental images of collars and leashes and doghouses and other possible degrading dog things, Bridget focused on the warmth, the safety, the
food
.

Swallowing as her salivary glands kicked into overdrive at just the thought of something edible, she trotted between two houses, ready to start her search for a temporary family. The only problem was the rain and darkness had driven everyone inside. The street was deserted, as were porches and front yards.

Having swallowed her pride and made the decision to pick someone to “own” her, Bridget was disappointed her plan was being foiled. Trotting down the sidewalk, she looked left and right, trying to find someone who had braved the weather and looked as if they might be a dog lover. There was no one around.

The rain picked up and Bridget stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She wanted to howl out her misery to the sky but she was afraid of getting water up her nose.

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Quit whining
, she told herself. It didn’t look as if anyone was about to give her food and shelter for the night. There was nothing she could do about the food but she could find a drier place to sleep. She started walking again, this time with a different focus. A block and a half down, she spotted the perfect spot—a cushioned wicker loveseat tucked back on a wraparound porch.

She trotted in that direction, noting that the windows to the front of the house were dark. Slipping up the porch steps, she hopped onto the loveseat, which creaked beneath her weight. Bridget held her breath, waiting for someone to come out and kick her off the furniture, but the house stayed quiet.

She lay down, trying to get comfortable. Despite her exhaustion, Bridget couldn’t fall asleep. The loveseat, as cushy as it had looked from the street, wasn’t very padded, and she could feel the ridges from the wicker pressing into her. Her whole body ached with hunger and the injured hind leg would give an extra throb now and then, just to add to Bridget’s misery.

With a sigh, she settled her chin on the armrest and watched the rain. The mist caught the illumination from the streetlights, appearing almost gold as it fell. Even as miserable as Bridget felt, she had to admit it was beautiful.

Her ears caught a faint sound in the distance. Bridget listened to the noise, trying to puzzle out what it was. Her head jerked up—running feet! Panic caught her for a few seconds before she realized it was too steady, too slow for any of her pursuers. It had to be someone jogging, although why the idiot was running in the rain was beyond Bridget’s comprehension.

Just to be on the safe side, she slipped off the loveseat and down the porch steps to the lawn. A large bush grew wild at the corner of the house and Bridget tucked herself behind it, hoping that the shadows would hide her from the passerby. She felt a little silly crouching in the greenery but Bridget figured she was entitled to be paranoid, given the number of people who’d been pursuing her during the past twenty-four or so hours.

When the runner came into view, Bridget held her breath. Water droplets clung to the man and the reflection of the streetlights off the moisture made his black skin appear to glow. Bridget shifted, trying to get a better look.

Holy moly
, she thought, staring at the way the muscles stood out on his thighs and calves with each stride, the strong curves emphasized by the oblique lighting. He looked like a commercial for running shoes.
Or a commercial for gods
, Bridget thought, completely and utterly entranced. Safety forgotten, she moved out of her hiding place and trotted after him.

This is a nice angle
, Bridget decided, watching the flex of his ass beneath the fabric of his shorts as he ran in front of her. The closer she got, the bigger the man looked. Tall, wide, strong… Bridget dreamily decided he was perfect, from the top of his shaved head to his feet hitting the wet pavement.

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His smell was nice too, even with the sweat mixed in, especially the trace of…cooked meat. Bridget’s eyes almost rolled back in her head. He’d had a hamburger for dinner—she could smell it on him. She couldn’t hold back a whimper. She
loved
him.

The man whipped around in mid-stride, hand flying to his hip. Bridget froze less than ten feet away. She hadn’t noticed how close she’d gotten. They stared at each other and Bridget realized just how stupid she’d been. He could call animal control on her or chase her off or, if he’d actually been carrying the gun he’d instinctively reached for, even shoot her. She crouched down a little, torn between running away and just curling up in a little ball and pretending none of this had ever happened.

“Shit!” the man swore quietly. “You scared me there, dog.”

Bridget started breathing again. No shooting or chasing or calling of authorities yet.

He was still watching her warily though. She figured that her dog body language was a little strange. Trying to think of how “I come in peace” would translate into dog language, Bridget remembered her tail and wagged it tentatively. She glanced back at it as she did so, just to make sure it was actually working. It was.

The man smiled in a flash of white teeth. “Better go home, dog.”

Kind of hard to do when random men are breaking into that home
, Bridget thought, but just wagged her tail again.

“Home,” he commanded, pointing back down the street.

Can’t. Besides, that’s the wrong way.
Obviously, the tail wasn’t working as a pick-up gesture. She sat down and lifted a paw.

With another smile, the man walked toward her. “Are you lost, puppy?”

Bridget tried cocking her head and giving a little whine. She knew it was pathetic but at this point, she would do anything to go home with this man with the gorgeous body who smelled like heaven and hamburgers. In a stroke of genius, she stood up and walked a few steps toward him, exaggerating her limp.

Hah
, she thought triumphantly when the man’s smile fell away, replaced by a look of concern.
Benji has nothing on my acting skills.

“What’s wrong, puppy?” With another whine, she limped over to him and sat, giving him the biggest, most entreating eyes she could manage. Bridget was tempted to lean against his legs but remembered in time that she was fairly damp. She really hoped she didn’t smell like wet dog.

“Shit, you’re big,” was the man’s response. If Bridget could have frowned, she would have. She supposed that a hundred-plus pounds of human body had to translate into a fairly large dog but it still wasn’t very nice to hear. He owed her another hamburger for that one.

Besides, he was one to talk. The guy was
huge
. Sitting next to him, Bridget was dwarfed and she had to tilt her head back to see his face. This close, she could see a scattering of scars over his cheek and forehead, and his left eye turned down a little at 48

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the corner. His smile was a little lopsided too—higher on the right than left side. Bridget guessed that whatever had caused those scars had done some nerve damage as well.

“Think you can make it to my house?” the man asked.

For hamburgers? Definitely.
Bridget stood up and wagged her tail madly.

“I’d check at some of these houses to see if anyone knows who you belong to but I think everyone’s asleep by now. Besides, they’d probably not open the door once they looked through the peephole and saw this face. Not without a shotgun, at least.” He gestured toward his cheek and gave a rueful grin. “Just moved here so I haven’t gotten to know too many people yet. Obviously I need to get out more, since I’m standing here talking to a dog on the street.” He glanced up toward the sky. “In the rain. C’mon, muttly. Better get home before it really starts to pour.” He turned and jogged down the street.

Muttly?
With a sigh, Bridget trotted to catch up with him. This dog shape wasn’t very good for her ego. Muttly was not a pet name she’d like to hear coming from the mouth of a man she was drooling over. If she hadn’t been a dog, she would have laughed. She’d been
literally
drooling over him once she smelled the hamburger.

The man glanced down at her. “Where’s the limp?”

Oops.
Now that she wasn’t thinking about it, her limp had almost disappeared.

Although she was tempted to fall back into it, she reminded herself that, now that she was around people, she had to start acting like a dog and pretend as if she didn’t understand what anyone was saying. Instead of limping, Bridget looked up at him with her blankest look and wagged her tail.

“Con artist, huh?” Even though he was running at a pretty fast pace, the man wasn’t even breathing hard. “Can’t really blame you. It’s a miserable night. No one in their right mind would be out in this.” He let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Guess ‘right mind’ are the operative words, huh? Okay, talking to the dog again. Gotta stop that.”

Glancing down at Bridget, he said, “Race you to the house, fuzzy!” and took off at a sprint.

Bridget decided that being called fuzzy was slightly better than muttly, although not by much. Realizing that she was staring at the flexing muscles in his back that were outlined by the wet fabric of his t-shirt, Bridget took off after him. He was fast. She had to work a little to draw even with him.

She fell into a steady pace next to the man, not wanting to get ahead, especially since she didn’t know where they were going. The man slowed to a walk and turned into a driveway attached to a cute two-story house. He was breathing hard as he walked to the front porch. Unzipping a pocket on his shorts, he pulled out a key and unlocked the door.

“Well, come on in,” the man told her, pushing the door open. “You’d better be housetrained.”

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Bridget didn’t even bother to take offense at that, since she was so grateful for the offer of a warm house. She politely did a full body shake on the porch before stepping inside. The man swore.

“Watch it!” he sputtered, his arm across his face to block any droplets. Bridget felt somewhat bad, although hunger took over and wiped all guilty feelings away when she stepped into the house, her nose leading her straight to the kitchen.

“Go right ahead and make yourself at home then,” he muttered behind her but Bridget ignored him. The smells were wonderful, filling her nose and making her drool.

“Hungry?” he asked, having followed her into the kitchen.

Yes! Yes! Yes!
Bridget tried the sitting and offering a paw thing again. After all, it had gotten her a home for the night. Hopefully it worked for food too.

The man smiled his lopsided grin. “I’m starting to learn your bag of tricks. I suppose if I don’t give you something to eat, you’ll start limping again.”

Bridget figured she’d have to work on her range of doggie manipulations. For now, though, since he was headed to the refrigerator, this appeared to be working.

“I don’t have any dog food,” he told her, his head buried in the fridge.

Thank God.

“How about leftover hamburgers?” He emerged with a plate covered in foil. The most marvelous smell emanated from the platter, making her drool once again.

Hallelujah!
Her tail went crazy with wagging.

He grinned. “Guess that’s a ‘yes’.”

Bridget could barely resist knocking him down in order to eat the burgers directly off the plate. He pulled another plate from a cupboard and forked a burger onto it.

Although she knew it wasn’t really polite, she’d eaten the hamburger before the plate even reached the ground.

The man eyed the empty plate and then her beseeching eyes. “Still hungry?”

She wagged her tail again. The first hamburger had barely made a dent in her hunger.

He sighed and forked two more hamburgers onto her plate before setting it on the floor. This time, Bridget was able to restrain herself and didn’t gobble the burgers down until the plate made contact with the tile.