The Moment of Truth. Tara Taylor Quinn

gift had been a housekeeper of his own.

      He’d brought his bicycle, with a promise to himself to get back to riding it. His business books, a flat-screen for his bedroom and one for the front room, his stereo. And very little else.

      Not even a trash can, or trash bags, he’d realized during the night when he’d had no place to put the puppy’s soiled towels.

      He hadn’t brought paper towels, either. Or cleaning supplies. And he’d found that while toilet paper was good enough for human waste, it didn’t stand up to the messes his new housemate made.

      An early-morning trip to the big-box store outside of town had taken care of the basics. He’d already used up a full roll of paper towels. Filled two trash bags with smelly and destroyed goods and hadn’t made his bed.

      Or showered, either, for that matter. There’d been the little issue of soap. He’d had the toiletry bag he’d used on the road, the one he always traveled with and that he’d kept stocked with the supplies his housekeeper bought for him. He’d just never had to stop and think about such things as soap before. It was embarrassing to realize that he was a grown man who’d never done a thing to take care of himself. Including buying a bar of soap.

      He definitely wasn’t ready for company, but neither could he afford to turn away the help from Pretty Pet Woman, who was giving up her Saturday to help him. Remembering her homework comment, he wondered if she was a student at the university. She’d seemed older to him.

      He heard her car in the driveway and watched through his uncurtained front window as she climbed out, hooked a big brown satchel on her shoulder and shut the door of the old Mazda behind her. Mazdas weren’t bad cars. He’d never ridden in one but he’d read reviews. Their engines were decent.

      The woman, Dana, looked even better this morning. Her jeans weren’t designer, by any means, but they fit her snugly and accentuated her long legs. Josh wasn’t swearing off women. But he’d sworn off commitment—relationships where someone was going to count on him. He wasn’t going to risk letting someone else down.

      “Where’s Little Guy?” she asked after he let her into the modest, three-bedroom, two-bathroom home he’d rented on a month-to-month basis until he could find something he could afford to purchase.

      She didn’t seem to notice the house. Or him, either, for which he was thankful, considering the day-old jeans...and beard...he was sporting.

      He wouldn’t have been caught dead looking like this outside his bedroom in Boston.

      “He’s back here,” he said, leading the way to the spare bathroom that was now completely taken up by the kennel.

      As soon as they got close, the puppy started to howl again, saving Josh from the need to make conversation with the woman whose plain black sweater hugged her breasts. He was pissed at himself for noticing.

      Maybe once the dog was settled he’d head into Phoenix for the night, find a club and a willing woman. Even without the Redmond money backing him, he shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone to hook up with. “Oh...my...”

      Dana Harris was kneeling in front of the kennel door, unlatching the hooked closure. The puppy—drenched in pee again, judging by the whiff of air Josh caught as the demon hurled itself at Dana’s chest—squealed with delight when he saw his visitor.

      And then Josh caught a glimpse inside the bathroom. The dog had done a number two in his kennel again. How could any being excrete waste so many times in one day? And he’d also reached through the bars to find the roll of toilet paper Josh had erringly left on the floor beside the kennel. It was smeared with puppy doo, ripped up into little pieces and now...scraps of it were everywhere those flailing, awkward paws could put it.

      “Hey, Little Guy, what’ve you got going on here?” Dana asked with a voice he wouldn’t mind hearing directed at him. The woman, who was obviously a lot more comfortable around animals than Josh was, held the squirming ball of fur up and away from her as she lifted him from the kennel to the sink in one swift arc.

      “I’ll need a towel, some soap and a glass if you have one,” she said over her shoulder, already running water lightly into the basin as the dog did everything he could to claw himself away from the water and up her shirt. Somehow she managed to hold on to him—and keep him at bay.

      Josh didn’t need a second invitation to vacate the scene of the disaster. Grabbing a couple of rolls of paper towels, a bottle of dog shampoo and his travel coffee mug, he made his way back to the bathroom. Josh wasn’t a religious man, but he prayed, anyway, all the way back to the bathroom where he could hear his rescuer in a continuous monologue with his new housemate.

      He prayed, not for freedom from the demon, but for the dog’s very quick acclimation to the right way to live in a home. Josh was on a personal mission to think of others, to be aware of their needs and put them before his own, so the dog was staying.

      He was going to keep it alive and well if it killed him.

      Which it might.

      Hurrying back into the bathroom with his sleeves rolled up and with every intention of getting dirty, he found the puppy soaking docilely in the sink, a slightly sad and bedraggled-looking thing, shivering as Dana held him in place.

      And for the first time since he’d rolled into Shelter Valley, Josh felt relief.

      CHAPTER SIX

      WHERE TO BEGIN?

      Holding a wet and subdued but very clean Little Guy wrapped in paper towels in her arms, Dana stood in the hallway of the ranch-style home waiting while Josh Redmond cleaned up his spare bathroom. The man was a sorry case when it came to dog ownership. And almost equally inept at cleaning.

      The kennel and floor he did on his hands and knees. Then he used the same sponge on the sink that he’d used on the floor and the kennel—and used up the rest of the roll of paper towels, too.

      He was trying.

      And for that, she was okay with leaving the puppy in his care.

      Once they’d had a talk.

      She might only be a pet-placement volunteer, but she’d been volunteering in the veterinary clinic at home in Richmond since she was old enough to drive herself to and from the facility, and Cassie and Zack were depending on her to make decisions regarding the animals’ well-being and to report back to them if she thought there was a problem.

      Knowing Little Guy as well as she did, she suggested that they have their first discussion outside, where the puppy could roam at will and not destroy anything.

      Josh Redmond had no patio furniture. Or anything else in the six-foot-high block-fenced backyard with dirt and a few weeds for landscaping. Warm enough in her sweater, as long as she stayed in the sunshine, Dana stood on the small cement patio and watched the puppy as she said, “First problem, the kennel’s too big.”

      Little Guy tripped over his front paws and rolled onto his head.

      “I was told he was going to be a minimum of fifty pounds.”

      “Eventually, yes. In the meantime, you can borrow kennels from the vet’s. It’s part of the service we offer the Love To Go Around adoptive families. His kennel should only be big enough for him to turn around in. It’ll help him feel more secure and dogs typically don’t go to the bathroom where they sleep, so if the kennel is only big enough for him to sleep in, chances are he won’t go to the bathroom until you come get him. And then, after he relieves himself outside, you praise him with great gusto so he’ll know he pleased you. That’s his goal in life, to please you.”

      She was rambling. Sticking to what she knew best so she didn’t feel self-conscious and stupid. Dana had dated in high school. And had one serious boyfriend before Daniel had hooked her up with Keith, the troubled son of Daniel’s best friend, and made it almost impossible for her to keep peace in the family unless she agreed to date him.

      But