Moonlight Over Manhattan: A charming, heart-warming and lovely read that won’t disappoint!. Sarah Morgan

remarkably human characteristics.”

      “You want me to look after the dog?” Ethan jammed his fingers into his hair. “No. Just—no, Debs.”

      “You said you’d help. You said ‘anything.’”

      “Anything but that!”

      “You were willing to fly to California, but you won’t take my dog?! This is so much easier.”

      “Not for me. I’m out of this apartment twenty hours out of twenty-four.”

      “All the more reason to have Madi for a week or two. She will give you something to come home to.”

      Ethan had a strong suspicion she’d give him a few things to come home to, none of which would be welcome.

      “There’s a reason I don’t own a dog, Deb. And that reason is that I’m not in a position to give an animal the care and attention it deserves.”

      “This is an emergency. I wouldn’t be asking otherwise. I don’t know how long I’ll be on the West Coast. Karen needs me—” her voice wobbled “—please, Ethan. I promise Madi will be no trouble at all.”

      It was the wobble in her voice that did it.

      He couldn’t remember ever seeing his big sister cry. Not even when he’d put a frog in her backpack when she was twelve.

      He felt himself weaken. Dammit. “Why can’t you put it in doggy day care? Or overnight care—a dog hotel—whatever it is people do with their pets.”

      What did people do with their pets? It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about.

      “We tried that for a night when Mark won that award and had to go to Chicago. We made a weekend of it and put her in overnight boarding, but Madi almost scratched her fur out she was so stressed. Now we make a point of going places where we can take her with us. She’d be so much happier with human company.”

      Not if the human was him. “I’m not great company after a day in the ER. I think I have what they call compassion fatigue.”

      “She doesn’t need compassion. All she needs is food, walks and occasional company. I want to keep her routine as close to normal as possible so I’m going to continue with the dog walker while I’m away.”

      “Dog walker?”

      “I use a company called the Bark Rangers. They cover the whole of the East Side of Manhattan so they won’t have any problems coming to your apartment instead of mine. Easy. And she’s a lovely girl.”

      “Who is a lovely girl?”

      “Harriet. My dog walker. Actually I don’t suppose girl is the right word. She must be late twenties.”

      He didn’t care how old she was. “So she walks the dog for one hour a day—”

      “Two. She’ll come twice.”

      “Two hours a day. What happens to the dog for the other twenty-two hours?”

      “Will you stop calling her ‘the dog’? You’re going to hurt her feelings.”

      “Yet another reason not to leave her with your cold unfeeling brother. If she’s that sensitive, you don’t want to leave her with someone as insensitive as me.”

      “You’re a doctor. You’re not insensitive.”

      “I have it on expert authority that I’m insensitive.”

      “If this is about your ex-wife—”

      “Her name is Alison, we are on excellent terms and her comment was entirely justified. I am insensitive. And I know nothing about dogs.”

      “It’s not complicated, Ethan. You feed them, you walk them. If you could bring yourself to talk to her, she’d probably appreciate that too.”

      “And what’s she going to do the rest of the time?”

      “She will happily sleep in her crate.”

      Ethan glanced round his apartment. Nothing had been moved since the cleaning service had been there two days previously. Mostly because he hadn’t been here, either. One way to ensure you didn’t make a mess of your home was to never be in it. “Are you sure that’s what she’ll do?”

      “Yes. And if you do this it will stop Karen worrying. Madi is her dog.” His sister, sensing weakness, pounced. “The whole family thanks you.”

      Ethan knew he was beaten. And truthfully he was too worried about his niece to dwell on the practicalities of caring for a dog. “Call me with an update as soon as you get there. And if you’re not happy with what they’ve told her at the hospital let me know and I’ll make some calls. I know a few people around there.”

      “You know everyone.”

      “We meet at medical conferences. It’s a surprisingly small world. What time will you be dropping off this dog?”

      “On my way to the airport. I’ll walk her before I leave her with you, and we need to arrange for Harriet to meet you later. When works for you?”

      None of it worked for him.

      “Tonight? I’ll try and get away early.”

      “Good. I’ll give her my key to your apartment in case you’re late, then she can go ahead and walk Madi. Practice saying her name, Ethan. Madi. Not ‘the dog.’ Madi.”

      “I need to go. I have two hours to dogproof—sorry, I mean Madi-proof—my home.”

      “You won’t need to. She’s very civilized.”

      “She’s a dog.”

      “You’re going to love her.”

      Ethan doubted it. Life, he knew, was rarely that simple.

CHAPTER FOUR

      “MRS. SULLIVAN?” HARRIET paused in the doorway of the apartment, the key in her hand, an array of bags at her feet. Her ankle throbbed, but not as much as it had a few days earlier. Hopefully that was a good sign. “It’s me! Harriet. Are you there? You didn’t answer the door and I didn’t want to make you jump.”

      “Harriet?” Glenys Sullivan appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, holding tightly to a walker. “Harvey and I were worried about you, sweetheart. You’re late.”

      “I’m moving a little slower today.” Harriet closed the door. She was worried about Glenys too. She’d lost weight since her husband had died ten months earlier and Harriet knew she was struggling. As a result she’d taken to dropping in whenever she was passing. And if sometimes “passing” meant taking a detour, that was fine with her. She didn’t often see her clients once the dog-walking arrangements were confirmed, so she enjoyed the interaction. “I took a bit of a tumble a few days ago and I’ve been off my feet. Silly me.”

      Glenys had lived in the same sunny apartment on the Upper East Side for almost five decades, surrounded by her books, her furniture and her collection of china dogs.

      “You fell? Is it icy out there?”

      “Not yet, but it’s coming. They’re forecasting snow and my fingers are freezing. I need to find my gloves.” Harriet carried the bags through to the kitchen, ignoring the pain in her ankle. She’d rested it for a couple of days, icing it as the doctor had instructed. It still hurt but she was tired of being trapped in her apartment and she’d wanted to check on Glenys. “I didn’t want you to find yourself with an empty fridge. It’s crazy out there. People are clearing the shelves and we’ve had around four snowflakes so far.” She bent to make a fuss over Harvey, an eight-year-old West Highland terrier she’d been walking for two years. Often she handed walks to their reliable team of dog walkers, but