Page 2 of Housebroke

The other dogs would swim on occasion, but not every day, preferring the copious amounts of shade over in the grassy area of the yard. And it was getting late, so she scooped Gordon into her arms, unzipped him from his harness, and placed him on the ground, letting him shake off the water. Of course he’d dry in no time, so she grabbed a towel and dried herself off, put on her T-shirt, and headed into the house to get dinner ready for the dogs.

They all followed, knowing the routine.

She stood at the kitchen peninsula, prepping their food, the dogs sitting and waiting patiently nearby. All bets were off once she set the bowls down and told them to eat. Then it was slurping and crunching and Hazel should probably think about making her own dinner.

Except she needed to make a plan. She had the foster dogs, and the agencies she worked with paid for their medical care and provided a stipend for their food, which was great. But as far as income? She had mostly... Okay, she had nothing. And that wasn’t going to put a roof over her head and gas in the car.

She took odd jobs here and there to pay the bills, but long term it wasn’t ideal. And she was dipping into her meager savings more than she wanted to.

She sat on the fold-up chair and watched the dogs eat, realizing she was going to have to come up with something morepermanent and soon. Living day-to-day and sometimes hour to hour just wasn’t cutting it.

For her or for her dogs.

•••

Lincoln Kennedy pulled into the driveway of his next project, a nice four-bedroom in a prime location in Orlando. He turned the engine off in his truck and wished it was still daylight so he could take a look at the outside of the house, but that would have to wait until morning.

What a shit day. Shit month, actually. He gripped the steering wheel, wishing he’d had time to take a long vacation to somewhere tropical and shake off the dregs of his breakup with Stefanie.

It had all boiled down to the money. His money. Once Stefanie had found out how much he had, she’d changed. He thought the two of them had a chance at something, but she’d turned out to be no different than any other woman he’d ever had a relationship with. He’d been judged by his wallet, and once a woman found out his was fat, she saw him differently. Wanted things from him. Planned a future based on his income.

So he’d ended it, just like he’d ended all his other relationships.

Whatever. Girlfriends were too much trouble. And he needed to get to work.

He grabbed his bag and the keys that the Realtor had overnighted to him and walked to the front door, then slipped the keys in the lock, noting the lockbox was still on the door. He made a mental note to contact the agent in the morning so it could be removed.

As he opened the door, he yawned. The flight from San Francisco to Orlando had been long and exhausting, but such was the nature of his business. Not that he was complaining, since he loved the travel, and he was excited to start this new project. At least this would give him something to get jazzed about.

He dropped his bag at the front door, then paused, certain he’d heard a noise. He waited a few beats listening for anything else that didn’t seem right. When he didn’t hear another sound, he headed straight to the kitchen.

From the photos he’d seen of the place, he knew that’s where he’d need to do the most work, so he might as well take a look.

He was about to hit the light switch when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Something was headed toward him, and he caught whatever it was in mid swing, his heart pumping triple time as he figured he was about to get blasted on the head by a tire iron or something equally skull smashing. In what felt like hours but in reality was probably only a few seconds, he had the offending weapon in one hand and the intruder wrapped around him in the other.

“Hey, hold on there,” he said, realizing whoever it was trying to kill him was a lot smaller than him. And lighter, since he’d grabbed his or her arm and their weapon, which was a...

Cast-iron skillet?

He held the squirming burglar against his chest and leaned back to fumble around the wall for the light switch. He hit the switch with his elbow, which bathed the kitchen with light.

Okay, this was unexpected. He quickly let go of the intruder, and they made a hasty retreat to the other side of the room.

Linc had figured maybe a teen, or a small man. But never in a million years did he figure he’d come face-to-face with a gorgeous woman dressed only in a T-shirt and underwear, along with several glaring sets of eyes directed at him. He quickly counted—

Five dogs. And they hadn’t even barked.

“What the hell’s going on here?” he asked. “What are you doing in here?”

She tugged the T-shirt over her flowered cotton panties. “I think I should be the one asking the questions here, since you just broke in.”

He shook his head. “No, I own this place.”

“You do not. I’m friends with the owner.”

“You mean the former owner. I closed on this house three days ago.”

She frowned. “Prove it.”

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