Groomed For Love. Helen R. Myers

adorable white bichon frise was going to try to take a bite of his earlobe or that the young dog would ruin his very attractive silvery-gray suit?

      “Thanks for the prompt assistance,” Noah muttered when he finally made it inside.

      “You’re very welcome, A.D.A. Prescott,” she replied cheerfully, purposely misunderstanding his sarcasm. “I would never have guessed a little eight-pound dog with such an amiable nature would scare a man with the entire police department at his service.”

      “I. Am. Not. Scared.” Checking his edgy tone, Noah added stiffly, “I’m simply trying not to get dog hair on my suit. I happen to be due in court within the hour.”

      “Well, you’re wearing the best color to hide a strand or two,” Rylie assured him, all smiles and pleasantness. “Hello, Bubbles, you cutie.” She relieved Noah of the tiny bundle, who had been nothing but obliging during her two previous visits. “I hope nothing has happened to Ramon,” she added to Noah. “Your mother’s driver?” she added, after his odd look.

      “I know his name. I just thought it unusual that you did.”

      Maybe Uncle Roy was right—Noah Prescott could be the snob Roy claimed. Unable to resist, Rylie said with several more degrees of sweet demeanor, “Why wouldn’t I? Because he’s only a driver? I’m only a dog groomer. Who am I to put on airs about the hired help?”

      After staring at her as though he would like to put her behind bars, or at least walk out without another word, Noah replied with painstaking civility, “Ramon is at the dealership. The car had a flat before getting out the driveway. Mother didn’t want him driving way down here on the spare, then all the way back to Rusk.”

      “That sounds just like her. She’s such a thoughtful woman.” Audra Prescott was also turning into her best customer so far, thanks to her preference for having her dog groomed more often than the average person. With a few more clients like her, Rylie knew Gage and Uncle Roy would be convinced that there was definitely a market for another dog groomer in the area. “You’re a good son, too,” she assured Noah, with impish humor, “for helping out in a crunch.”

      “I can’t tell you how that reassures me.” Checking his watch, he added quickly, “I take it that Mother gave you instructions on what she wants done?”

      “Bathing, trimming...the cut still a little shorter since the days are still quite warm, even though it’s shorter than the AKC prefers—” Turning to reach for her reservations book that she’d left on the lower level of the reception counter, Rylie misjudged the distance and bumped her elbow. She hit hard enough to gasp and jerk back, and she had to do a neat little jig to keep her balance. “Oops. Sorry, Bubbles. That’s the last misstep for this visit, I promise.”

      From behind her came Noah’s droll observation. “I take it that it wasn’t runway modeling that you gave up for this line of work?”

      “As a matter of fact, it was,” she replied, her wicked humor kicking in. “Call me crazy, since there’s only so much demand for five-foot-three glamour girls. But I just love animals too much.” She kept her smile bright, determined not to let her disappointment in him show. But who was he to add a jab at her height into his cutting remark? Mr. Glass-Half-Empty Prescott might reach six feet if someone gave him an inch of credit for his ability to look down his nose at her. While he had the face for it, no modeling agency would hound him to sign a contract, either. “As I was saying, aside from the usual care, Bubbles will get—”

      Noah silenced her with a dismissive wave. “Don’t bother. That Mother relayed instructions is all I care about. Good grief, primping is primping. Any of the shops between here and Rusk would do the same thing.”

      Sexy, but grouchy, Rylie thought with renewed disappointment. All because he had to drive a few extra miles for his mother’s dog? She couldn’t resist rubbing it in a bit. “Yes, I am fortunate to have her, Mrs. Collins’s and Mrs. Nixon’s support, as well. They’ve all been very kind about spreading the word. As it happens, I’m a little different from some in the business because I’ve been doing this kind of work since I was old enough to know the difference between the front and back end of animals. And for the record? The term primping is condescending. There are a good number of health issues related to good grooming for animals, just as there are for humans.”

      In a moment that couldn’t have been better choreographed if she’d tried, Bubbles started licking Rylie’s hand as though apologizing on Noah’s behalf. Rylie nuzzled the little dog.

      “Aw...thank you, precious.” She returned her focus to Noah. “I also don’t believe in sedating animals, whatever their temperament. How safe or wise would it have been for your mother, or nanny, to sedate you when giving you a manicure or trim?”

      From the corner of the room the four musketeers chuckled and snickered.

      Noah Prescott stared at her as though she’d just burst into “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” and took a cautious step back toward the exit. “Just call my mother when it’s ready. Ramon should be home by then.”

      Almost before the doors drifted shut behind Noah, Stan Walsh launched the inevitable commentary. “Whatcha trying to do to the poor guy, Rylie? You had him acting like he’d OD’d on sticky buns.”

      As the others laughed, Rylie stroked the adorable animal in her arms and gave them her most innocent look. “Now, Stan, are you accusing me of being an instigator?”

      “Never met a honeybee who wasn’t.”

      “It’s been my experience,” Pete Ogilvie offered, “that the harder a guy tries to convince a gal that he doesn’t approve of her, the more he’s really trying to deny he’s attracted.”

      “That sounds like forced logic to me,” Jerry Platt scoffed.

      “That’s because you have the libido of a rabbit,” Pete countered, “and the mind of one. You think that any female who happens to cross your path is a gift from the gods.”

      As the men burst into laughter, Rylie pretended the need to cover Bubbles’s ears. “This conversation is getting way too frisky for our tender ears, baby girl. Let’s go.”

      Damn her perkiness.

      She was the most annoying female he’d met in some time, and what was driving Noah crazy was that it was for all the reasons that usually attracted him. What the heck was going on? Rylie Quinn was friendly, good-natured, a born optimist. How could he fault someone who tried to see the bright side of things? Yet for some bizarre, quirky reason, he was discovering that he had no problem where she was concerned.

      She was an irritating mix of sweetness and provocation, deceptively packaged in a Peter Pan–size body that her maroon medical smock would mostly hide, except when it wasn’t fastened today any more than on his other visit to the clinic. That gamin-short hair didn’t help make her look fully grown, either. The short, punkish style left her looking more like a nine-year-old boy than a woman in her early or mid-twenties, an ironic observation, since he liked his women slender and sleek. But then she did little to enhance her femininity—maybe just mascara and some lip gloss, and yet every receptor in his molecular being went on full alert the instant she was within sight.

      It was those gray-green eyes that got him on edge, he decided. Sure they were incredibly framed by lashes that would make a sable proud; however, their color was that unnerving shade of storm clouds before a tornado dropped from them and turned your life inside out. That’s it! he thought, feeling as though he’d locked in on some important detail. She looked at him as though she had a secret, and she wasn’t telling. Well, he wasn’t big on secrets. It was one of the chief things that made his work so difficult and, often, ugly: secrets and lies.

      As Noah sped north to Rusk, and the courthouse, he considered phoning his mother again to ask if she really knew what she was getting herself into trusting Rylie Quinn. Just because her equally dog-crazy