Читать книгу: «Bride In Training»
Mr. Tough Guy had been weakened by a little fluffy dog.
Emily pressed her lips together so as not to laugh. “We have dog obedience classes here a couple of nights a week.” She handed him a pamphlet.
“Do you teach these classes?”
“I mainly run the office, but I also own a dog-sitting and dog-walking business.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that, but it was too late now. He needed to learn to take care of his own animals.
“I—I might like to use your dog-walking service if you could fit me in.”
“I’m filled up right now.”
“I’d still like your card if you have one. You never know.”
She knew. She could handle dogs, but she couldn’t handle Martin Davis. She dug into her pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to him.
“Thanks. Will you call me if you get an opening?”
Emily forced herself to be firm. “My customers stay with me a long time.” When she looked at his expression, she wished she’d been gentler.
He didn’t look back as he marched outside. Apparently Martin wasn’t a man to accept the word no.
GAIL GAYMER MARTIN
A former counselor, Gail Gaymer Martin is an award-winning author of women’s fiction, romance and romantic suspense. Bride in Training is her forty-third published work of long fiction; she has three million books in print. Gail is the author of twenty-five worship resource books and also wrote the book Writing the Christian Romance released by Writer’s Digest Books. She is a cofounder of American Christian Fiction Writers, the premier Christian fiction organization in the country.
When not behind her computer, Gail enjoys a busy life—traveling, presenting workshops at conferences, speaking at churches and libraries, and singing as a soloist, praise leader and choir member at her church, where she also plays handbells and hand chimes. She also sings with one of the finest Christian chorales in Michigan, the Detroit Lutheran Singers. Gail is a lifelong resident of Michigan and lives with her husband, Bob, in the Detroit suburbs. To learn more about her, visit her Web site at www.gailmartin.com. Write to Gail at P.O. Box 760063, Lathrup Village, MI 48076, or at authorgailmartin@aol.com. She enjoys hearing from readers.
Bride in Training
Gail Gaymer Martin
MILLS & BOON
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By his mighty power at work within us, he is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or hope.
—Ephesians 3:20
In memory of our daughter, Brenda Martin Bailey, who lost her life to ovarian cancer in 2006.
And to men and women everywhere who love dogs and provide them with loving homes. From those unions, families receive a blessing, unconditional love, which is an underlying theme in the three novels of the Man’s Best Friend series.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Good decision? Bad?
Martin Davis gripped his steering wheel as he eyed the shelter’s Time For Paws neon sign glowing in the dusk. He’d never thought he would darken the doors of a dog shelter, but here he was. Now the question hung in his mind. Was it a good decision or bad one? He’d become lonely without Suzette, his Bouvier, but he hadn’t been able to handle her. Sometimes he wondered what he could handle. Not dogs or women, apparently.
So if he couldn’t deal with Suzette, why come here to look for another dog? He released his grip on the steering wheel, fell back against the seat, and rubbed his temples. Because he couldn’t bear coming home to an empty house any longer. He’d been a failure as a husband. Cats were too aloof. Dogs? He had hopes.
Martin ran his fingers through his hair. He’d been alone for eight years since his wife walked out on him. The loneliness had faded, he thought, but since his brother, Nick, married, he had stopped popping by for visits. That was the whole of it. Being alone wasn’t for Martin anymore.
He turned the thought over in his mind. He recalled Steph and Nick talking about the unconditional love a dog provided. He’d never been one to worry about love or the lack of it, but unconditional love meant someone would be excited to greet him when he came home. A dog’s happy yips and wagging tail filled the bill, and a dog wouldn’t care if he were preoccupied with his business or even a little edgy at times.
Unconditional love. He shook his head. He sounded like a poet or a psychiatrist. The thought rallied an uneasy grin. Martin turned off the ignition and pushed open the door. If nothing more, he could take a look.
He slipped out of his car and gazed at the gray concrete building, once his friend Brent Runyan’s unoccupied factory until Molly wheedled away his building and his heart. They’d married, too. Everyone had gotten tangled in that web of “two by two.” He wondered if Noah had any idea what he started when he filled that ark.
Drawing up his shoulders, he headed for the door. The bell jingled as he stepped inside, and in the distance he heard dogs making a ruckus. He glanced at his watch. Dinner time, he guessed. His own stomach gave a rumble.
No one stood behind the desk. He waited, his impatience growing each second. He tapped his foot, staring at the doorway. Maybe this was a dumb decision. It could be God’s way of telling him to go home. But maybe not. It might just be bad customer service. Or his impatience. If he asked Nick, that’s what his brother would tell him. He had no patience.
Frustrated, he returned to the entrance and swung the door open and closed. The small bell jingled again. With no response, he walked deeper into the room and aimed his gaze at the door standing ajar. Through the opening, he could see a young woman at the far end of a long aisle, but before he could call to her, she turned and headed his way. Her dark hair brushed against her shoulders, her arms swinging past her trim hips as if she had nothing better to do. But he did.
Finally she noticed him and picked up her stride. When she came through the door, the woman paused, a look of curiosity on her face. “Sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
About five minutes came to mind, but Martin didn’t offer one of his biting comments. Instead he wondered why she gave him that questioning look.
She stepped closer. “What can I do for you?”
He motioned to the door. “You might change that bell to a siren.” Okay, so he’d let that comment sneak out.
“Great idea. Now what can I do for you as far as our dogs are concerned.”
Martin noted the sarcasm in her voice, but with it, the flicker of a grin.
The grin faded as she studied him. “I think I know you.”
A frown burrowed onto his face.
“I don’t really know you, but I’ve seen you.” Her probing gaze raked across his face.
Martin’s eyebrow tugged upward.
She gave a knowing nod. “At Steph’s wedding. You’re Martin Davis, right? Nick’s brother.”
That explained the look. “Yes, the infamous Martin Davis.”
She didn’t blink. “I’m Emily Ireland.”
Martin eyed her slender hand reaching toward his. He grasped it, surprised her grip was stronger than he’d expected. He gazed into her eyes. Beautiful eyes, wide-set and the color of dark chocolate. Her straight dark brows lifted at the ends, giving her an impish look that caught him off guard. His mind snapped back, and he mumbled a nice-to-meet-you comment, although he wasn’t really sure if that would prove to be true. For all her innocence, she made him feel on edge.
Emily released his grip with a new expression more confounding than the last. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for another dog?”
Ah-ha. She had all the dirt on him from Steph, naturally. “Is that a problem?”
Her uneasiness deepened. “No. It’s…it’s good.”
Martin figured she was trying to make up for her earlier comment. He watched her squirm a little and rub her palms together as if trying to decide what to say or do next.
Martin shoved his hand into his pants pocket unable to understand why looking at her left him confused. Worse than confused. He wanted to give her a hug and suggest they start over, but it would ruin his apparent reputation. “I want a dog, but definitely one quieter and less work than Suzette. I’m sure you’ve heard about those problems.”
She flashed him an uneasy look. “Yes. You gave her to your brother.”
Martin’s brows knitted, sensing an undertone from this impish woman. “Suzette was rambunctious.” Her knowing gaze tripped his pulse.
“Dogs are until they’re trained.”
Her knowledge of him crept under his skin, and he itched to know more about her. She had the upper hand, and he didn’t like it. Maybe he could grill Nick. But subtly. If not, Nick would be all over him to know why he was asking about a Time for Paws employee.
Her demeanor softened, and Emily motioned toward the doorway. “I think I know the perfect dog for you.”
Martin arched his brow, curious why this dog was so perfect. Probably it was old and three-legged.
Emily didn’t let his look slow her down. She pointed again. “Through that doorway.”
He headed for the door, giving up on trying to understand the subliminal feelings charging through him.
Emily moved ahead, her hair brushing against her baggy shirt. Hidden beneath, he sensed, was a woman who was hiding something. Her look was direct, but the flicker behind her intriguing eyes made him wonder. If he asked Steph, she’d be on him like a bloodhound.
As soon as Emily opened the door, a din of woofs and whines rose to greet them. Martin strode past her, glancing inside the pens as tails wagged and noses pressed against the wire fencing of the upper door while the shorter dogs leaped to see above the Dutch door’s solid bottom. Martin paused and took a good look at the inside of the pen. “The dogs have furniture. That’s odd.”
Her demeanor changed and took on a businesslike manner that let him know she’d been offended by his comment. “Coming here is traumatic enough for them, so we try to make the dogs as comfortable as possible.”
“Apparently.” He didn’t let her browbeat him.
“The dog I have in mind is down here.” She strutted ahead, her attitude decisive.
Martin followed her down the aisle, gazing into the dog pens. When she reached her destination, a tender look filled her face. She motioned to the little dog jigging beside the door, its tail wagging as it looked up at them. “Here you go.” She swung open the Dutch door and stepped inside.
Martin joined her, feeling his stomach growl.
Emily bent and lifted the dog. “What do you think?” She extended the furry ball toward Martin.
“What is he?”
“She’s a cairn terrier.” Without waiting for him to accept her invitation, she pressed the dog against his chest.
He drew back before grasping the squirming fluff ball into his arms but not before her pink tongue swiped his hand. He couldn’t stop the flicker of a smile. The dog wiggled until her chin rested on his chest, and she looked into his face. Martin gazed back, his heart giving a little kick.
“She’s quiet and well-behaved. I think she’d be perfect for you.”
What would be perfect for him? What did she know about him but hearsay?
“Nessie’s been spayed and is up to date on all her shots.” Emily ran her hand along the dog’s fur. “She’s five, by the way. A healthy cairn terrier can live to be fourteen or fifteen.”
“Nessie?” He tilted his head. “That’s her name?”
The dog’s ear’s perked, and she tried to climb higher up his jacket.
Martin adjusted his grip but not before she licked his hand again.
“Cairns originated in Scotland. You know, the Loch Ness. That’s how she got her name.” Emily touched his arm. “And she’s purebred, too. We have the papers.”
Apparently she’d heard of his preference for purebreds. But that had changed, too. His attention shifted from his thoughts about the terrier to Emily’s warm palm against his arm.
She held it there a moment before shifting her hand and taking the dog from his arms. “Would you like to look at a different small dog? We have a beagle.”
“No. They howl.” He gazed again at the terrier. If Emily were accurate, and clearly she knew dogs, she had made a good choice for him. Quiet and well-behaved. That he could handle. He pulled his gaze from Emily’s lovely eyes and turned his attention to the dog. “What do you think, Nessie? Want to come home with me?”
Emily’s jaw dropped. “You want her?”
His single nod sent her rushing toward the office as if she feared he would change his mind. He stood at the desk while she became all business again. As she explained the paperwork, Martin sensed Emily was seeing him as more than just Nick’s difficult brother.
When finished, she handed him the documents. “Now if you have any questions, Mr. Davis, just ask.”
He folded the paperwork and jammed it into his pocket.
“Here you go.” She snapped a leash onto the terrier’s collar, and Martin grasped it, waiting for the dog to tug and run. Instead she stood there, her tail wagging. But when he headed for the door, the dog’s personality changed. Martin gripped the leash as Nessie jerked him outside. For a small dog, she had power to spare. He tugged her back not knowing what else to do. She might be trained, but he wasn’t.
Emily grinned, watching Martin charge out the door with Nessie. She’d been honest. The dog was quiet and well-behaved in her pen, but when she found freedom, she became difficult to handle. She’d neglected to tell him about the elderly woman who’d owned the dog and kept her inside most of the time. Getting out into the world was a new experience, and Nessie wanted to live and make the most of it.
So did Emily, but it hadn’t happened and probably never would. It was just the way her life always seemed to be.
Martin’s parked car caught her attention. Through the window, she watched him try to move Nessie off the driver’s seat so he could get inside. He finally managed it.
When she’d first seen him in the office, she had been guarded in their conversation. Martin’s reputation preceded him, and she’d felt intimidated. Yet she did her best to stand up for herself, rather than let the world run over her as she usually did.
The check he’d written caught her eye. Martin Davis. She studied his signature and drew in a deep breath. He had a flourish that whipped off into a curved line. Steph and Molly talked about him often, especially when she first started working at Time for Paws. Stories of Martin seemed a form of entertainment. When she’d seen him at the wedding, wow, she’d caught her breath. He was totally handsome, so unlike the vision she’d conjured in her mind.
What was it about him? She liked his eyes. They were rich brown like the saddles she’d seen in Western movies. Brown with flecks of gold, and though she knew eyes reflected attitude, Martin’s hadn’t. Walking behind him along the dog pens, she had admired his frame, six feet, she guessed, and lean with broad shoulders that added to his good looks. But Martin had the tendency of lowering his eyes, and that look gave him away. He might have a sharp tongue, but inside, she suspected he was as insecure and vulnerable as she was. She’d spent her life hiding her past, but Martin confounded her. He had so much going for him. What did he have to hide?
Tonight Martin had shown a softer side despite a few barbed comments. When he held Nessie, he’d melted like a cheap candle. And she’d caught him in a brief smile. His chin had dimpled below his even white teeth. She liked that, but it had made her selfconscious and she’d dragged her tongue over her teeth, fearing the sandwich she’d grabbed for dinner had left a telltale residue. She’d never liked her teeth. One was a little crooked so she tried to cover it when she smiled.
She glanced through the window again, her curiosity growing. Martin’s car was still there, and she wondered if she should go out to see if he needed help. Instead, she gripped the desk and talked herself out of it. If she softened too much, she could be in trouble. He was single, she knew, and the kind of man that could make her life wonderful. She’d watched Molly and Steph marry, and though she had always figured marriage wasn’t for her, her singleness seemed empty and lonely.
Wanting to get that nonsense out of her head, she focused on the check. He’d paid for Nessie’s shots and added a generous donation for the dog shelter. Somewhere inside Martin Davis beat a kind heart. Someone just needed to find it. But definitely not her.
Emily edged forward and blocked the headlights’ glare on the glass to see outside. Martin sat inside the car with Nessie sitting on his lap. The sight made her laugh. As she did, she turned away from the window before he spotted her.
The door to the pens remained ajar, but the noise inside had quieted. She strode to the door and slipped it closed before the dogs got riled again. The bell tinkled behind her, and she spun around. Martin stood inside with his hand on the doorknob. She caught her breath. If he smiled now with those white teeth and that dimple, she couldn’t cope.
Maintaining a semblance of control, Emily moved closer. “Is something wrong?”
As the last word left her mouth, a horn blasted outside.
Martin spun around and peered through the window. “You didn’t tell me the whole story about that dog.”
“Whole story?” She hoped her voice sounded steady.
“For one, she prefers the driver’s seat or my lap.”
“She’s lonely.”
Something flickered on his face, then faded. “I guessed that.” He ran his hand over his jaw.
The horn blew again.
He waved his hand toward the window. “Any idea how to stop her from pawing at the horn?”
Emily chuckled. “Did you tell her to sit?”
Martin raised his shoulders, then lowered them. “About fifteen times.” He opened the door and beckoned to her. “Look.”
Feeling sorry for him just a wee bit, Emily strode to his side and looked at the car. Nessie stood on the steering wheel, gazing at him through the front windshield. When Martin didn’t respond, the dog jumped from the steering wheel to the passenger window, her sharp barks penetrating the glass. Martin spun around and faced Emily. “I’ve been out there for five minutes, frustrated.”
“It’s the newness. She’ll adjust. It takes time.”
“Time? I just need a few tips on handling her.”
“Nessie’s had basic obedience training.”
“Here’s the situation. I don’t have a clue how to…”
Emily pressed her lips together not to laugh. Mr. Tough Guy had been weakened by a little fluffy dog. “Let me give you a brochure. We have dog obedience classes here a couple nights a week.” She stepped to the desk, pulled out a pamphlet and handed it to him.
He grasped it without interest. “I thought the dog had basic training.”
“But you haven’t. The classes are for you.”
“For me?” He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s too quiet out there.” He held up one finger and jerked open the door and headed outside.
In a moment, he was back, a look of relief on his face. “I peaked through the window. She’s curled up on the backseat. I think she’s asleep.”
“I told you.”
“This time.” He eyed the brochure for a moment. “Okay, I suppose I need to understand the basics. Do you teach these classes?”
“Molly handles that, and sometimes Steph helps. I mainly run the office and take care of the dogs when I’m needed, and I own a dog-sitting and walking business.” She hadn’t meant to tell him that, but it was too late now. The problems Nick had experienced with his brother skittered across her mind. Martin leaned on everyone but himself. He needed to learn to take care of his own animals. Too late. His face had brightened, and Emily knew she was in trouble.
He rested his hand on the desk. “I—I might like to use your dog-walking service if you could fit me in. Some days I work long hours, and I hate to leave an animal alone for that long.”
Emily gazed at his hand, noticing his long fingers with neatly trimmed fingernails. “I’m filled up right now.” That was the best she could come up with quickly, and there was truth to her response, though she always tried to squeeze in every new costumer…except this time.
The brightness dimmed on Martin’s face. “I’d still like your card if you have one. You never know.”
She knew. She could handle dogs, but she couldn’t handle Martin Davis. Even his hands intrigued her.
She dug in her pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He eyed the card, then tapped the edge of it against his thumb. “Will you call me if you get an opening?”
Emily swallowed and forced herself to be firm. “I doubt that will happen. My customers stay with me a long time. They rarely drop the service.” When she looked at his expression, she wished she’d been more gentle. But she had to stay in control.
Martin slipped the card into his pocket.
“You can call Molly about the training.” She tilted her head toward his pocket. “The shelter’s number is on there too.”
He didn’t look back. He grasped the knob and marched outside. Apparently Martin wasn’t a man to accept the word No.
Martin bounded toward his car, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. I doubt it. Short but not sweet. Direct. No ifs, ands or buts. Though he’d always been able to manipulate people to do what he asked, he’d failed with dogs and obviously women. He’d never go to Molly or Steph for training. He’d feel uneasy. Feel stupid was more like it. He excelled in things. Martin Davis didn’t fail. But he had. He’d thought he could intimidate Emily a little, but apparently he’d been wrong about that, too.
He stood outside a moment drinking in the fresh air as Emily’s image filled his mind. When he’d first seen her, he’d taken a full sweep of her slender frame. She was tall like a reed. Thin and straight. She wore a long skirt that hung nearly to her ankles with that pale gray shirt that looked too big, as if she were drowning in her clothes. Beneath all that loose clothing he imagined a pretty woman with a nice figure who didn’t want people to notice. She aroused his curiosity—his interest—and that scared him.
A question sizzled in his head. Women never attracted him, so why did this one? Perhaps he felt safer with her. She was younger than his forty-three years. Barely in her thirties, he guessed. He was too old for her even if he were interested, and he wasn’t. He grabbed the door handle and pulled it open as he glanced into the backseat.
His pulse soared. “Nessie, no.”
The terrier sprawled on the rear seat, gnawing on the handle of his attaché case. “What are you doing?”
She looked at him with innocent eyes. So had Emily.
Martin slammed his door and opened the back. Pushing Nessie aside, he jerked out his case, feeling the teeth marks embedded in the handle. “Bad dog.” He shook his finger in her face.
She licked it.
He lowered his hand and wiped it on his pant leg. “Nessie, I wanted a quiet, little companion. Don’t do this to me.”
Martin tossed the attaché case on the floor, lifted Nessie in his arms, dodging her tongue, and placed her on the passenger seat. “We’re going home. Be a good dog.”
The terrier wagged her tail, and Martin took that as a yes.
If only he could have Emily eating out of his hand, but she’d nipped at it instead. She’d given him little hope. No hope. He started the car and backed away from the building. No hope? That was unacceptable.
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