The Perfect Match. Kimberly Cates
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the shop’s big front window Rowena could see Cash Lawless’s forest-green SUV pull away.
Clancy scratched at the door, whining. Did even the Newfoundland sense that he’d just lost his chance to be the magical dog she’d known from the first he could be?
She thought of Charlie Lawless with her tidal-wave-proof watch and little Mac in her sparkly raincoat with the unicorn on its front. And the deputy, their father, with his blasted appointments and his stubborn loathing of the dog that could bring his daughters such joy.
She wanted to hate him, and yet…he’d seemed so strong, so gentle, when he’d tried to soothe his daughters’ fears. Solid in a way that surprised Rowena.
She hadn’t expected that kind of tenderness. Not from Cash Lawless. Not when he was so angry, so harried, obviously so upset.
You promised you’d never go ’way… Mac’s cry echoed through Rowena, wringing her heart.
So somebody had left the little girls. Their mother? Rowena couldn’t help but wonder. But why? Death? Divorce? No, not divorce.
No woman would leave those beautiful girls by choice. If Miss Marigold was still speaking to Rowena, Rowena could just slip through the gate and ask her. Those bug eyes beneath the lenses of her cat’s eye glasses had a knack for ferreting out top secret information the CIA would envy. The old woman was a more reliable source than the library archives when it came to unearthing town gossip. But Miss Marigold would welcome Attila the Hun and his barbarian hordes into her beloved tea shop before she would Rowena.
Clancy scrabbled at the door and whined again.
So, now what are you going to do? Rowena asked herself. Sit down and cry? What good will that do Charlie and Clancy? You didn’t go into this business to give up. Just think of all the matches you’ve made over time. How many people refused to believe you knew what was best for them where a pet was concerned. What makes this time any different?
Cash Lawless.
There was something about the deputy that unnerved her. Irritated her. Confused her. Made her feel restless inside, the way she did when her intuition hit the ‘on’ switch, hard. But just because the man rattled her nerves was no reason to give up.
“Damned if Cash Lawless is going to make a quitter out of me!” she resolved aloud. “I have to make this happen. For Charlie. For Clancy.” She grimaced wryly. “So I can get some sleep.”
Because she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, now that she’d made that perfect match—it would churn inside her, keep her awake. Until she settled Clancy in that house it would make her half crazy—
Only half crazy? Deputy Lawless mocked in her mind. Lady, you’d rate certifiable in any psych test I can name.
Terrific, Rowena thought. Now I’ve got him talking in my head, as well. As if Bryony and Ariel and Mom and Auntie Maeve weren’t enough.
Don’t be fobbing me off, you cheeky lass, the old Irishwoman’s voice whispered in Rowena’s memory. It’s important work I’ve given you to do. Rowena’s palm tingled with cold, as if she could still feel the imprint of the tin whistle her godmother had pressed into her hand. No one else in the wide world but you can do the task you’ve been given. This pipe, Cuchullain’s own, holds the power to charm all broken creatures’ hearts.
“But what about my heart?” Rowena sank to her knees and hugged Clancy tight, sudden loneliness wrapping around her. She found so many ways for other people to give love. Had put so many pets in other people’s arms. She’d never once found one her gift told her was destined to fill her own.
Temptation nudged her. Maybe Clancy could stay. Be her dog to love and come home to and laugh over.
No. Much as she loved the Newfoundland, he’d never be as happy with her as he would with Charlie. He wouldn’t have a child to tend, to watch over, to guard. Never have the chance to wash away a little girl’s tears with swipes of his big pink tongue.
Clancy was Charlie’s miracle. Charlie’s chance. And somehow Rowena was going to make certain the child and the dog got to realize every bit of the magic she sensed would blossom between them.
No matter what Cash Lawless had to say about it.
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE WAS A PINK concrete poodle in Cash Lawless’s front yard.
Rowena shifted into Park in front of the tombstone gray house at 401 Briarwood Lane and stared out her van window. She blinked hard in disbelief, but the statue was still there.
For an instant Rowena wondered if Charlie was wrong about her mother giving the puppies away. Maybe the deputy had put a hex on the poor things and turned them into lawn ornaments. In fact, maybe the statuary-cluttered yard was the reason Charlie was so scared of making mistakes. One pouf and the poor kid could be condemned to spend eternity like the Asian-inspired turtles balancing shell-crackingly heavy pots on their backs.
Truth was that if someone had constructed one of those games where you matched the house to the person who lived there, this would be the last place Rowena would have connected to Cash Lawless’ picture.
No iron bars across the windows, no dungeons to lock helpless stray dogs in. Okay, so maybe the dungeon thing was an exaggeration, as Charlie would chasten her, but the idea of Cash Lawless in this modernistic nightmare was almost as ridiculous.
No question about it. With all the gorgeous vintage houses and charming cottages in Whitewater, the deputy had chosen the ugliest place of all.
And as for the yard he was so worried about Clancy ruining—Rowena figured the dog would be doing the neighborhood a favor if he dug a hole big enough to dump those creepy sculptures in.
Rowena switched off her engine and sucked in a deep breath. Okay, she told herself in her most reasonable tone, let’s get real here. The deputy’s lack of taste shouldn’t be distracting you this much. It’s not like anyone is forcing you to live in this place. The bottom line is you’re stalling.
She heard Clancy snuffle from the backseat in agreement. Rowena glanced back at the dog, who tossed his beloved football over the back of the seat. It landed in her lap as if to say, “it’s your play, quarterback.” Unfortunately, the whole sports analogy wasn’t a helpful one. It rekindled the memory of when Rowena was a kid and her far more competitive sisters sank to bribery to keep her off their teams.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll screw this up, too,” Rowena reassured Clancy.
After all, she’d argued the dog’s way into the Lawless household a jillion times the past week and a half. Composed and discarded speech after speech in her head, as she worked in the shop or designed artsy new dog bowls or sifted through broken pieces of pottery. She’d hoped she wouldn’t find the kitty teapot Mac Lawless had loved amongst the rubble. But there was no mistaking the deliciously snooty feline face captured on one of the fragments of china.
Unfortunately digging out all the shards of the cat, then trying to superglue them together, proved to be an exercise in frustration. She ended up with the cat’s butt fused to her fingers and could have sworn the blasted critter smirked at her.
She’d mourned Miss Marigold’s teapots more than ever after that. She adored whimsical designs, things to surprise smiles out of people when they least expected it. Like the birdhouse Rowena had hung outside her kitchen window: a cat with a red-checkered napkin tied around his neck, a fork and knife clutched in his paws and his mouth wide open, forming the hole for the bird to go in.
That was the problem with the Lawless house. It had absolutely no sense of humor or wonder, an astonishing fact in light of the concrete poodle. The only thing vaguely human about the place was a straggly marigold at the bottom of the stairs.
Rowena rolled down the van’s back window just enough to give Clancy a bit of fresh air then