From The Ashes. Sharon Mignerey

nodded, a smile making her eyes light. “Polly, Bailey and Checkers are being trained for hearing-impaired owners. Gatsby and Jasper are being trained for the blind. Gatsby is already spoken for.”

      “That leaves Jasper,” he said.

      “It does. Why don’t you call him?”

      Brian did, and the prissy poodle in the red sweater came to sit in front of him.

      THREE

      “He has purple hair,” Brian said, looking at the dog, who stared right back at him with dark, intelligent eyes. He had the fleeting impression that the dog was sizing him up—and that he might come up lacking.

      “Disgusting, isn’t it,” Angela agreed cheerfully. “He just had a haircut, so most of it is gone. You should have seen him when he first got here. A full continental cut and purple from his head to the pom-pom on his tail.”

      “So he’ll be white when the last of this is cut off?”

      “Yes. His previous owner thought he was a fashion accessory, not a dog.” Angela came to stand next to Brian, the top of her head just at his shoulder. “Imagine how humiliating it would be to be dyed purple so you go with an outfit, then taken to a function where you’re supposed to act like a stuffed dog.”

      “Sounds bad.”

      The dog appeared to wink, which made Brian grin, though he still couldn’t believe that Angela saw him with this particular dog.

      “It gets worse,” Angela assured him. “This was an outdoor affair, a fashion show. There was a close-by bolt of lightning and a huge crack of thunder. Jasper’s owner screamed and dropped his leash. Rain started falling in buckets, and Jasper, exercising good sense, headed for the nearest shelter—the buffet table.”

      “That couldn’t have been good.”

      “It wasn’t,” Angela said, glancing at him. “The hero of our sad tale—”

      Unable to resist, Brian teased, “Would that be tail with an i or—”

      Grinning, Angela nudged him with her elbow. “Be good.”

      “The buffet table,” Brian prompted, imagining the event. White tablecloths and a gallery of who’s who all dressed in their Vogue and GQ finest.

      “Jasper caught the tablecloth in his crown.” Catching his glance once more, Angela held up a hand. “Don’t ask me why he was wearing a crown. I don’t know. But when everyone started shouting, he ran. Or tried to.”

      Jasper winked again, and Brian patted the top of his head.

      “Evidently embarrassment and being expected to pay for thousands of dollars of seafood delicacies were too much for his owner. She had him taken to the pound with orders that he be put down.”

      “You’re kidding.” Brian’s heart fell, the story going from funny to heartbreaking in an instant. He admitted the story put the dog in a different league. He still couldn’t imagine Jasper as the dog for him. “How do you know all this?”

      “A friend who was there told me about it. In fact, she was the one who told me he was in the pound. Unfortunately, it took us almost six weeks to get him out. He’s been here five months now.”

      Brian felt sympathy for the dog and couldn’t resist scratching his ears, the fur surprisingly soft.

      “He’s the smartest dog I’ve ever worked with,” Angela continued.

      “You should be the star of your own show,” Brian said to the dog. “For putting up with bad hair days and people who don’t understand.” He glanced at Angela. “I’m sure he’s great, but I don’t quite see myself with a poodle.”

      “He’s an athlete,” she countered. “He’d go jogging with you.”

      How could she know jogging was important to him and that he’d been wondering how he could continue after his sight was gone? “I think a golden retriever or a German shepherd—”

      “Did you know that poodles were originally used for hunting?” She waited until Brian looked from the dog to her. “Or that in Russia they were used to haul milk carts? These dogs were first bred to be working dogs. He may look fragile, but he’s not.”

      “Can I think about it?”

      “Of course.” She looked away, then back at him. “This whole process of having you involved in the training is unorthodox and unproven. Decades of experience from other training facilities have owners coming to the dogs only after they’ve completed their training. Bottom line, there’s a good chance this might not work.”

      “You’re not going to talk me out of this,” Brian said, “even if I’m not sure the poodle is the right dog for me.”

      “From the beginning of the process to turning over a fully trained dog is a huge investment of time and effort. The dogs that are specifically bred for use as guide dogs are earmarked for the training facilities they are contracted with. It could be a long time before I have access to another dog who is as good as Jasper.” When she met his gaze, her beautiful eyes were serious.

      “I understand.” Brian stared down at her, liking her conviction and her passion for her work. She was close enough he didn’t have to compensate for his peripheral vision being completely gone. This close, he could see a fine blue vein beneath her skin at her temple and varying shades of brown in her luminous eyes. She stared back at him, the attraction shimmering between them. With effort, he reclaimed the thread of what he needed to say to her. “Whatever releases you need that absolve you from any liability, I’ll sign them.”

      She waved a hand. “I wasn’t thinking about that.” She looked back at Jasper. “I was thinking about the dog. You have weeks to months before your vision is…”

      “Gone?” Brian finally prompted.

      “An uncertain amount of time,” she qualified. “For every guide dog we’ve trained, we’ve assessed dozens that didn’t make the grade.” She met his gaze square on, all businesslike again, making him wonder if he had imagined that instant of mutual interest.

      “So the poodle is the dog you think I should have?”

      “His name is Jasper. And yes, he’d be a good dog for you.”

      “Are you always this blunt?”

      She looked away for a moment, and surprised him once more by smiling when she turned back to him. “When it comes to the dogs, yes.”

      The storm door at the back of the house slammed, drawing Brian’s attention. When he looked toward the sound, he became acutely aware once more of just how much his field of vision had shrunk in the past month, reminding him that he didn’t have a lot of time left before his sight was gone completely.

      “Angela,” Maisey called, coming toward them.

      She wasn’t alone. The guy Angela had been talking to yesterday was with her, a smug smile on his face as he strolled along, his hands in his pockets. Angela was in the fog that had once been Brian’s peripheral vision, so he had to turn his head until he could see her. There was a glint of anger in her eyes.

      Interesting. It wasn’t the look of a woman happy to see a boyfriend, and yesterday Brian had been sure that’s exactly who this guy was. Something eased in his chest, a feeling of joy he hadn’t even been aware of. In that split second he realized his interest in Angela went beyond the simple appreciation of an alluring and intriguing woman…and the timing couldn’t have been worse.

      “I told you yesterday that I didn’t want to see you again,” Angela said, focusing on the man.

      Maisey’s smile vanished as she came to a halt. “Who are you?”

      “This—” Angela took a breath, waving a hand “—is Tommy Manderoll.”