Puppy Love Read online

  Muckle and Ozzy both barked too. Gizi turned, still wiggling all over, and leaped toward them with the exuberance only a hyper puppy can show. Ozzy started doing the play bowing thing, but Muckle jumped straight up in the air.

  “Muckle, no!” I cried as I felt the leash slip out of my hand.

  Muckle let out an excited bark as he realized he was free! Free! Free! He jumped right over Ozzy, who was still bowing hopefully in Gizi’s direction, and took off toward the middle of the store.

  “Sorry!” Rachel exclaimed, dragging her puppy back with a hand on her collar. But it was too late; Muckle was already ten yards away and still going, dragging his leash behind him. His legs might have looked short, but they could move fast.

  I was already running after him, following the sound of his high-pitched barks. “Muckle, get back here!” I hollered. “Come, boy! Come!”

  He disappeared down one of the aisles. Skidding around the corner, I saw that the shelves were packed with canned cat food. Muckle barely paused to sniff at them before racing on around the next corner.

  “Oh, you rotten thing,” I muttered. “Muckle! Come back here!”

  The barking stopped suddenly. Uh-oh. Various possibilities flashed through my mind. Option one, Muckle had found a puppy-height display of edibles and was now stuffing his greedy little face with the eleventy-twelve pounds of liver snaps or pig’s ears or gerbil food I’d have to beg Robert for the money to pay for. Option two, he’d become a snack himself for a cranky Rottweiler or something. Option three, he’d gone into stealth mode on purpose just to drive me crazy.

  Yes, I knew dogs didn’t really think like that. Sometimes, though? I had to wonder. Especially when Muckle peed on Mom’s favorite Persian rug for the third day in a row, as he’d done just the day before. Which was part of the reason we were here, come to think of it. . . .

  All of this went tumbling through my mind as I sprinted around the corner. I was moving so fast that it took an extra second or two to register the guy standing in front of me, cradling my dog in his arms.

  I skidded to a stop just in time to avoid crashing into them. The guy was rubbing Muckle’s fuzzy head, and Muckle was gazing up at him adoringly.

  Not that I blamed him. The guy was a little older than me, maybe seventeen or so. More importantly, he was the most gorgeous guy I’d ever seen in real life. Like, almost on the Corc scale. He was tall and lean, with dark hair, pale skin, and ice-blue eyes.

  “Oh, hello,” he said, glancing up and locking his gaze on mine. “Is this your runaway puppy?”

  My jaw dropped. I couldn’t believe my ears—he had an accent!

  “Are you Scottish?” I blurted out.

  One corner of his mouth twitched up. “Irish, actually,” he said. “My family moved over from County Kildare when I was in middle school. But you were close.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” My face flamed. I know the difference between a Scottish and an Irish accent! I wanted to scream. I swear I totally do! I can even identify whether a speaker comes from north or south of the Firth of Tay, for Pete’s sake!

  Yeah, no. Probably not the best way to impress him at that point. Instead, I smiled weakly and glanced at Muckle. He was cradled in Mr. Irish-Not-Scottish-Accent’s arms, tongue f lopping out and a look of bliss on his little puppy face. Clearly a dog with taste.

  “Thanks for catching him,” I said. “He pulled away and took off before I could catch him. He’s not very good with obedience.”

  “It’s okay, shelties can be tough at first. But they’re very smart and trainable once you get their attention.” He gave Muckle one last cuddle, then held him toward me.

  As I took my puppy, my hand brushed against the guy’s, and an electric jolt went through me from head to toe. For a second I felt dizzy, as if my fantasy life was colliding with the real one—as if Corc himself had just stepped into my local suburban strip mall and was about to whisk me away to enjoy the life of romance and adventure I’d always dreamed of. . . .

  “So you should bring him to my puppy K,” the guy said. “I’ve got a class for teen handlers starting right now, actually.”

  I blinked at the vision of male perfection before me. “Wait—you’re teaching the puppy class?” I exclaimed. “We’re in that class!”

  If he noticed how over-the-top geeky-psyched I sounded, he didn’t let on. “Cool,” he said with a smile. “I’m Adam O’Connell, by the way. Certified dog trainer.”

  “Lauren,” I said, pointing to myself. “Certified spazzy-puppy owner. And this is Muckle. Certifiable.”

  Adam laughed as if my joke had actually been funny. “Charmed.” His smile lit up the store, putting the overhead fluorescents to shame. “Come along then, Lauren and Muckle. Let’s get over there and get started, what do you say?”

  “Sure.” I smiled up at him, still dazzled. Suddenly the difficulties of the past six weeks melted away. It had all been worth it, because it had led to this. Fate. Kismet. Destiny. Basically, a dream come true. Even though at the time it had seemed to be turning into a nightmare. . . .

  Chapter Three

  Six weeks earlier

  You don’t have to do this, you know.”

  I looked up from consulting the Google Maps directions I’d printed out the night before. “What’s with you, anyway?” I asked Robert. “You’ve been saying that since we left my driveway an hour ago.”

  He shrugged, not looking at me. “I’m just saying. A dog is a huge pain in the patootie.”

  Robert was probably the only sixteen-year-old in existence who’d use the word “patootie.” If it was even a real word, which I doubted.

  “Turn left up by that church,” I told him. “We should be almost there.”

  A shiver ran through me as I said it. Almost there. Almost to the breeder’s house, where my lifelong dreams would finally come true. I was picking up my puppy today. My. Puppy. I could hardly believe it.

  I’d wanted a dog my whole life, pretty much. At least since the day when I was five years old and went to a friend’s house to play, and fell in love with their sweet older Lab. After that, I’d dreamed of becoming a dog owner myself.

  The reason it hadn’t happened for another ten years? My older sister, Britt. She was deathly allergic. Which meant no pets for me—until now. Britt had left for the University of Virginia two weeks earlier, and my parents had finally agreed to let me get a puppy. Of course, I had to promise to pay for the pup and all its expenses myself, and to do all the work involved. Oh, and to make sure whichever canine I got didn’t wreck the house, which was their pride and joy. Especially Mom’s. She loved redecorating the place almost as much as she loved redecorating herself at Neiman Marcus and the local spa.

  “Seriously, though,” Robert said. “It’s not too late to back out. I have my phone—we can call this breeder chick, say we had a flat tire or something. . . .”

  “Give it a rest, okay?” I scowled at him. “It would be nice if you could be at least a little supportive. This is only the most exciting thing I’ve ever done.”

  “Bringing home some bag of fur? If you say so.” He eyed me. “Anyway, I am being supportive. I’m driving you to pick the mutt up, aren’t I?”

  “That doesn’t count. You’d drive anyone anywhere.” That was true, and he knew it. He’d earned his license less than a month earlier, and the novelty hadn’t worn off yet. Slumping down in my seat, I consulted the directions again, then glanced out the window. We’d just left another tiny town behind, and thick forest lined both sides of the quiet country highway. “Wow, this place is really out in the middle of nowhere,” I said, hoping we weren’t going the wrong way.

  “Yeah.” He flicked his gaze toward me. “Don’t a whole bunch of those stupid horror flicks you love so much start exactly like this?”

  I chose to ignore that. Robert had never appreciated my taste in films. “Tell me again why you didn’t want to borrow your dad’s GPS?” I asked instead.

  “I don’t believe in going where some
high-tech gizmo tells me to go,” Robert informed me with a flicker of his usual spirit. “I believe in charting my own path, creating my own trail, following my own—”

  “Turn there!” I interrupted, waving the paper at him. “Quick! Right there!”

  Robert spun the wheel, squealing around the corner onto a tiny side road. The car thumped over a rut with a moan of protest from the springs.

  “Are you sure this is right?” Robert asked, slowing down a little. He glanced dubiously at the tiny houses that appeared wherever the woods thinned out a bit. Most of them looked kind of worn out, with ragged lawns and sagging shutters.

  “I think so.” I checked the printout again. “Yeah, this has got to be it. How many Raccoon Roads can there be around here? Now watch for number seventeen.”

  Number seventeen turned out to be a brick ranch with a chain-link fence around its small, mostly dirt yard. A dog raced out of the house and barked at us as Robert pulled carefully into the narrow gravel driveway.

  I smiled with relief. “Look, a sheltie—this is it!”

  Robert cut the engine and glanced around. “Doesn’t look quite like it did on the website, does it?”

  He was right, but I didn’t bother to respond. The sheltie was gorgeous, with a thick sable coat and an alert expression. I wondered if it was my puppy’s father.

  “Come on, let’s go—we’re late,” I said, unclipping my seat belt.

  By the time we climbed out of the car, a woman had come out onto the front stoop and called the sheltie over to her. She was in her forties or so, with a tired, pasty face and a knot of thinning light-brown hair twisted on top of her head. Her hands and feet were petite, but the rest of her was . . . not.

  “Hi!” I called to her. “I’m Lauren. Is Vicky here?”

  “I’m Vicky.” The woman gave me a weary smile. “Come on in, honey.”

  “Oh. Um, thanks.” I tried to hide my surprise. Vicky wasn’t what I’d been expecting either. There had been no pictures of her on the website or anything, but there’d been lots of text talking about all the fun stuff she did with her dogs, from agility and obedience competitions to long walks in the woods. I’d formed a picture in my head of someone youthful and active and cool. Someone a little younger and, well, more athletic-looking.

  But never mind. You weren’t supposed to judge a book by its cover, right?

  “This is my friend Robert,” I told Vicky, gesturing for Robert to come join me. “He came along to help.”

  Vicky glanced at Robert and did a double take. No wonder. We weren’t supposed to be playing the Disguise Game today, but that didn’t mean he looked normal. He was dressed in his favorite vintage pink bowling shirt with one of his dad’s prep school ties knotted over it.

  “Come on in, kids,” Vicky said. “Your puppy’s waiting for you.” She turned and heaved herself back up the step, disappearing into the house. The sheltie went with her.

  I traded a look with Robert. He actually looked more alert and interested than he’d been all day. Unlike me, he enjoys it when things don’t go as expected. I rolled my eyes at him, then followed Vicky inside.

  Her house smelled like dog poo and burned milk. A loud chorus of barking erupted as soon as we entered, and half a dozen more shelties came pouring into the tiny, dimly lit front room from every direction. Soon we were surrounded.

  “Boys! Girls! Down, please,” Vicky ordered. “We have guests.”

  Most of the dogs obeyed, though one cute little blue merle insisted on continuing to sniff Robert’s crotch. Robert eyed the sheltie with suspicion.

  “The puppies are back here,” Vicky said, heading through a doorway that turned out to lead into the kitchen.

  The place was small and even smellier than the rest of the house. A round wooden table and several chairs had been pushed back to make room for a large exercise pen. Newspaper covered most of the linoleum, and the sink was full of unwashed dishes.

  But I hardly noticed any of that. My gaze went straight to the half-dozen adorable sheltie puppies running around the pen. As we approached, one of the adult dogs separated itself from the rest of the pack and jumped the low barrier into the x-pen.

  “That’s Bella, the mother,” Vicky said. “Your puppy is the little sable in the corner there.”

  “Wait, doesn’t she get to pick out her own dog?” Robert put in.

  “That’s not how it works.” I shot him a glare, wishing he’d listened better when I’d explained all this. “Vicky chooses a puppy for me based on what I told her I’m looking for. After all, she knows the pups best.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, yours is this one right here.” Vicky leaned over and scooped up one of the adorable bundles of fur. “Male, like you wanted.”

  “Oh, he’s beautiful!” I cradled the pup gingerly, though I tightened my grip slightly when he wiggled so vigorously that he almost sprung right out of my hands.

  I’d read online that dog breeders usually asked potential buyers lots of questions about themselves, to make sure they could provide the right kind of home for their precious puppies. In our online exchanges, Vicky had mostly just inquired what color puppy I preferred and whether I wanted a male or a female. But I figured she’d probably been waiting to size me up in person before getting to the interview stuff. I’d always been a little bit of an overachiever, so I was ready to volunteer the information before she had to ask.

  “So like I told you, this will be my first dog,” I said, cuddling my puppy—my puppy!—against my chest. “But I’ve always adored dogs, and I’ve read a ton to prepare myself . . .” I babbled on for a while, telling her about Britt’s allergies and my deal with my parents, the vet I’d picked out, and the food I planned to feed.

  “Good, good,” Vicky said when I paused for breath.

  “Oh, and in case you’re wondering why I decided to get a sheltie,” I went on, “it’s mostly because my grandparents live on a farm in Vermont, and they have a collie. She’s an amazing dog—I always spend tons of time with her when we visit, and I love her. So I’m definitely partial to herding breeds. And I figured a sheltie was the perfect size for a suburban house, so that’s why I chose the breed.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Robert smirking. He knew the real reason I’d settled on a sheltie. In a word: Corc. My crush on him had expanded into an obsession with all things Scottish.

  Still, my grandparents’ collie truly was an awesome dog. That had helped make up my mind too. At least a little.

  “Anyway,” I said quickly, not wanting to give Robert a chance to throw in any “witty” comments, “I’m also hoping to maybe get into some dog sports eventually. You said the parents have both competed in stuff, right?”

  “Uh-huh.” Vicky leaned over again, sliding a piece of newspaper over a wet spot on the linoleum. “My dogs do a little of everything.”

  I barely heard her. The puppy in my arms had managed to wiggle himself into a position where he could reach up and lick my chin. As I felt his warm pink tongue on my skin and breathed in his puppy scent, my heart melted and all rational thought dissolved from my brain. If Vicky had more questions for me, she was going to have to ask them and hope I wasn’t too addlepated to answer.

  “Aren’t you the cutest thing ever?” I cooed at the puppy, who let out a happy yip and wagged his entire body.

  “So how did you want to pay?” Vicky asked, breaking into the lovefest.

  I looked up at her. “I brought cash,” I said. Giving the puppy one last squeeze and setting him back in the x-pen, I dug into my pocket for the wad of bills I’d stuffed in there. “Is that all right?”

  “Of course.” Vicky stepped over to a tall stack of paperwork balanced on top of the microwave. “Let me just find a copy of the contract.”

  “She has to sign a contract?” Robert said.

  “Yes. I told you about that, remember?” I glared at him. Now that I was madly in love with my puppy, I definitely didn’t want him to mess things up.

  Vic
ky pulled a sheaf of papers out of the stack. “Here it is,” she said. Then she glanced at Robert. “By the way, one of my buyers backed out, so I have an extra puppy available,” she told him. “Male, sweet, very healthy. You interested?”

  “Me?” Robert looked as shocked as if she’d just suggested he take up cannibalism or something. “Um, no. Thanks.”

  Vicky shrugged. “You sure? All right, just figured I’d ask.” She handed me the contract, then scrabbled around in a drawer until she found a pen.

  While I signed the contract, Vicky bustled around the tiny kitchen, tossing things into a big paper shopping bag. “The puppy comes with a week’s supply of food,” she said. “You’ll want to make any diet changes slowly. You also get a free toy and a booklet about shelties.”

  “Great.” My puppy was wrestling with one of his siblings. I smiled as I watched his tiny, fluffy tail wag and listened to his playful little growls and yaps. I didn’t want to interrupt the puppies’ game, but Vicky seemed to have no such concern. Reaching down, she grabbed my puppy, gave him a kiss on the top of the head, and handed him to me.

  “Here you go,” she said. “Feel free to e-mail me with any questions. But I’m sure you’ll do great.”

  “Oh. Um, thanks.” Was it my imagination, or was she pretty much telling us to get out? I’d been hoping to talk to her more about how to get involved in dog sports, maybe ask for a demo from some of her adult shelties. . . .

  But never mind. As my puppy settled himself against my chest, a warm glow filled me. I had a dog. A special, lively little sheltie pup, all my own. Finally my dreams had come true.

  “Ready, chica?” Robert sounded impatient. “We should probably hit the road. It’s a long drive home.”

  “Okay, okay, we’re coming.” I smiled down at my puppy. “Isn’t that right, little guy? It’s time for you to come home.”

  Chapter Four

  Meanwhile, back at puppy K . . .