The Perfect Match

“No!” Charlie exclaimed, looking from Rowena to her father in dismay. “No, it’s okay, Rowena. Daddy’s right.”

“No, he’s not!” Rowena exclaimed, feeling the little girl’s desperate need. Knowing in her bones that Clancy could heal her.

Cash Lawless’ lip curled. “Let’s get this straight once and for all, Dr. Doolittle. The day I take that dog into my home is the day they haul me off to the insane asylum and lock me up. What the hell?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe I should let them. Sometimes a quiet cell might be a relief.”

“No!” Mac cried, suddenly tearful, her clinging arms all but cutting off the deputy’s windpipe. “Daddy, no! Don’t go to the ’sane asylum! You promised you’d never go ’way!”

Lawless flinched as if the girl had slapped him. Even Charlie looked ice-white, stricken, though she didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry, button,” Lawless soothed, obviously appalled at his children’s distress. He tamped down his anger at Rowena to comfort his little ones instead. He stroked a curl back from his daughter’s cheek with a tenderness that surprised Rowena, confused her. “I’m not going anywhere, Mac. It was just a—a figure of speech. A grownup way of saying no.”

“Well, it’s a really bad way!” Mac plumped out a quivering bottom lip.

“It sure is, if it makes you cry. I won’t do it again.”

“Pinkie swear?” Mac demanded, holding out her tiny finger.

Lawless hooked his long, strong masculine finger with his daughter’s. “Pinkie swear,” he repeated, a sheepish flush spreading up his throat as he slanted a glance at Rowena. She didn’t want to feel touched by his gesture. Didn’t want to like him even a little.

Tears welled up in Charlie’s eyes, rolled down the silent little girl’s cheeks to plop on Clancy’s fur. There was something horrible in the resignation on the child’s face. Rowena fought back tears of her own. The child’s heart was breaking. Rowena could see it.

Lawless held out his other hand to Charlie. “Come on, cupcake. Better get a move on or we’ll be late.”

“Late? Again?” Rowena grumbled. “If being late is more important than taking a little time with your daughter, to—to—”

“To what?”

“To soften this for her. To explain…”

Charlie was losing Clancy once and for all and the little girl knew it.

Fury bubbled up in Rowena. “Is your precious appointment schedule more important than taking time to pay attention to your daughter’s needs?”

The deputy’s jaw hardened, his eyes black ice. “Don’t you dare tell me how to run my family! Look at you. Telling impressionable kids you can talk to animals when anyone with a brain knows that’s a bald-faced lie. If that’s how you get your kicks, lady, there’s nothing I can do about it. But tell your bullshit fairy tales to someone else’s kids. Not mine. Got it, Ms. Brown?”

Rowena stared at him, stunned at the rage in his face, the bitterness, an almost…hopeless edge.

Clancy’s worried gaze flickered between the two grownups. He whined piteously.

“Don’t yell!” Charlie cried. “You’re scaring him!”

Cash fell silent. Rowena’s throat closed, aching for the little girl as Charlie turned back to the Newfoundland, stroked him lovingly.

“Don’t be sad,” Charlie pleaded, giving the Newfie one last hug. Clancy looked up at the little girl, his eyes mournful as if he understood her every word. “Maybe Rowena was wrong,” she tried to reassure him. “Maybe you’ve been waiting your whole life for some other girl to love. Maybe you’ll be so happy you won’t even remember me. Maybe…” Her voice choked. Lawless stepped forward, took her hand.

“We’ve got to go, Charlie.” He drew her gently away. Then he leveled Rowena a glare filled with loathing and blame. “Looks like you and that dog have exactly the same M.O., Ms. Brown, bashing around in places you don’t belong. Maybe next time you’ll think about the damage you could do before you go interfering in a child’s life. Unless you like breaking kids’ hearts as much as Destroyer likes breaking china.”

“I didn’t…I mean I don’t…” Rowena stammered, unable to shake the sick feeling the deputy was right. Why hadn’t she listened to the warning in her head? Why hadn’t she been more careful? Waited until she could be sure Charlie’s father would welcome the dog into his home?

Because she’d been so certain this time. She would have wagered her shop, her last dime, her own life that Charlie Lawless and the Newfoundland were a match made in heaven. But now the little girl looked as if she’d been through hell. What use was this “gift” Auntie Maeve had given Rowena if it could make such a painful mistake?

“How could I have been so wrong?” she murmured to herself as she watched Cash Lawless and his daughters disappear beyond the pet shop door.

The Newfie tugged at his collar, looking up at Rowena as if he were sure she would chase after them. As if she could fix things. Make things right.

But she couldn’t mend the damage she’d done to Charlie Lawless anymore than she could make Miss Marigold’s teapots whole. This must be some kind of record, even for you, Rowena chastened herself grimly. Two mistakes impossible to mend. Two broken hearts in a matter of days.

Maybe more, a voice inside her whispered. She couldn’t help but wonder if Charlie had been the only Lawless she’d hurt moments ago. Had she bruised Cash Lawless’s heart, as well?

Absurd. The man didn’t have a heart if he could turn his back on the love in his daughter’s eyes when she looked at Clancy, her desperate need for everything the dog could bring into her life. The dog would always be there when the little girl needed him, would love her even if she made the mistakes Charlie was so afraid of.

Clancy nudged the door with his big head, bulldozed past Rowena to run after Charlie. But it was too late. Through the shop’s big front window Rowena could see Cash Lawless’s forest-green SUV pull away.

Clancy scratched at the door, whining. Did even the Newfoundland sense that he’d just lost his chance to be the magical dog she’d known from the first he could be?

She thought of Charlie Lawless with her tidal-wave-proof watch and little Mac in her sparkly raincoat with the unicorn on its front. And the deputy, their father, with his blasted appointments and his stubborn loathing of the dog that could bring his daughters such joy.

She wanted to hate him, and yet…he’d seemed so strong, so gentle, when he’d tried to soothe his daughters’ fears. Solid in a way that surprised Rowena.

She hadn’t expected that kind of tenderness. Not from Cash Lawless. Not when he was so angry, so harried, obviously so upset.

You promised you’d never go ’way… Mac’s cry echoed through Rowena, wringing her heart.

So somebody had left the little girls. Their mother? Rowena couldn’t help but wonder. But why? Death? Divorce? No, not divorce.

No woman would leave those beautiful girls by choice. If Miss Marigold was still speaking to Rowena, Rowena could just slip through the gate and ask her. Those bug eyes beneath the lenses of her cat’s eye glasses had a knack for ferreting out top secret information the CIA would envy. The old woman was a more reliable source than the library archives when it came to unearthing town gossip. But Miss Marigold would welcome Attila the Hun and his barbarian hordes into her beloved tea shop before she would Rowena.

Clancy scrabbled at the door and whined again.

So, now what are you going to do? Rowena asked herself. Sit down and cry? What good will that do Charlie and Clancy? You didn’t go into this business to give up. Just think of all the matches you’ve made over time. How many people refused to believe you knew what was best for them where a pet was concerned. What makes this time any different?

Cash Lawless.

There was something about the deputy that unnerved her. Irritated her. Confused her. Made her feel restless inside, the way she did when her intuition hit the ‘on’ switch, hard. But just because the man rattled her nerves was no reason to give up.

“Damned if Cash Lawless is going to make a quitter out of me!” she resolved aloud. “I have to make this happen. For Charlie. For Clancy.” She grimaced wryly. “So I can get some sleep.”

Because she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, now that she’d made that perfect match—it would churn inside her, keep her awake. Until she settled Clancy in that house it would make her half crazy—

Only half crazy? Deputy Lawless mocked in her mind. Lady, you’d rate certifiable in any psych test I can name.

Terrific, Rowena thought. Now I’ve got him talking in my head, as well. As if Bryony and Ariel and Mom and Auntie Maeve weren’t enough.

Don’t be fobbing me off, you cheeky lass, the old Irishwoman’s voice whispered in Rowena’s memory. It’s important work I’ve given you to do. Rowena’s palm tingled with cold, as if she could still feel the imprint of the tin whistle her godmother had pressed into her hand. No one else in the wide world but you can do the task you’ve been given. This pipe, Cuchullain’s own, holds the power to charm all broken creatures’ hearts.

“But what about my heart?” Rowena sank to her knees and hugged Clancy tight, sudden loneliness wrapping around her. She found so many ways for other people to give love. Had put so many pets in other people’s arms. She’d never once found one her gift told her was destined to fill her own.

Temptation nudged her. Maybe Clancy could stay. Be her dog to love and come home to and laugh over.

No. Much as she loved the Newfoundland, he’d never be as happy with her as he would with Charlie. He wouldn’t have a child to tend, to watch over, to guard. Never have the chance to wash away a little girl’s tears with swipes of his big pink tongue.

Clancy was Charlie’s miracle. Charlie’s chance. And somehow Rowena was going to make certain the child and the dog got to realize every bit of the magic she sensed would blossom between them.

No matter what Cash Lawless had to say about it.

CHAPTER FOUR

THERE WAS A PINK concrete poodle in Cash Lawless’s front yard.

Rowena shifted into Park in front of the tombstone gray house at 401 Briarwood Lane and stared out her van window. She blinked hard in disbelief, but the statue was still there.

For an instant Rowena wondered if Charlie was wrong about her mother giving the puppies away. Maybe the deputy had put a hex on the poor things and turned them into lawn ornaments. In fact, maybe the statuary-cluttered yard was the reason Charlie was so scared of making mistakes. One pouf and the poor kid could be condemned to spend eternity like the Asian-inspired turtles balancing shell-crackingly heavy pots on their backs.

Truth was that if someone had constructed one of those games where you matched the house to the person who lived there, this would be the last place Rowena would have connected to Cash Lawless’ picture.

No iron bars across the windows, no dungeons to lock helpless stray dogs in. Okay, so maybe the dungeon thing was an exaggeration, as Charlie would chasten her, but the idea of Cash Lawless in this modernistic nightmare was almost as ridiculous.

No question about it. With all the gorgeous vintage houses and charming cottages in Whitewater, the deputy had chosen the ugliest place of all.

And as for the yard he was so worried about Clancy ruining—Rowena figured the dog would be doing the neighborhood a favor if he dug a hole big enough to dump those creepy sculptures in.

Rowena switched off her engine and sucked in a deep breath. Okay, she told herself in her most reasonable tone, let’s get real here. The deputy’s lack of taste shouldn’t be distracting you this much. It’s not like anyone is forcing you to live in this place. The bottom line is you’re stalling.

She heard Clancy snuffle from the backseat in agreement. Rowena glanced back at the dog, who tossed his beloved football over the back of the seat. It landed in her lap as if to say, “it’s your play, quarterback.” Unfortunately, the whole sports analogy wasn’t a helpful one. It rekindled the memory of when Rowena was a kid and her far more competitive sisters sank to bribery to keep her off their teams.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll screw this up, too,” Rowena reassured Clancy.

After all, she’d argued the dog’s way into the Lawless household a jillion times the past week and a half. Composed and discarded speech after speech in her head, as she worked in the shop or designed artsy new dog bowls or sifted through broken pieces of pottery. She’d hoped she wouldn’t find the kitty teapot Mac Lawless had loved amongst the rubble. But there was no mistaking the deliciously snooty feline face captured on one of the fragments of china.

Unfortunately digging out all the shards of the cat, then trying to superglue them together, proved to be an exercise in frustration. She ended up with the cat’s butt fused to her fingers and could have sworn the blasted critter smirked at her.

She’d mourned Miss Marigold’s teapots more than ever after that. She adored whimsical designs, things to surprise smiles out of people when they least expected it. Like the birdhouse Rowena had hung outside her kitchen window: a cat with a red-checkered napkin tied around his neck, a fork and knife clutched in his paws and his mouth wide open, forming the hole for the bird to go in.

That was the problem with the Lawless house. It had absolutely no sense of humor or wonder, an astonishing fact in light of the concrete poodle. The only thing vaguely human about the place was a straggly marigold at the bottom of the stairs.

Rowena rolled down the van’s back window just enough to give Clancy a bit of fresh air then climbed out of the car. “Wait here, pal,” she said, straightening her clothes. She’d dressed sedately—at least for her. Black slacks, a sunshine yellow jacket she’d bought at an art fair and earrings she’d made herself out of art deco-era buttons. Best to look like a respectable member of society when she told Cash Lawless how to run his life, she thought with a wry smile.

She climbed up the steep flight of stairs and made her way toward a front porch that caught the light in spite of the dismal house paint. The windows and doors were wide open, as if the house was gasping to drink in some of the beautiful September day beyond.

But Rowena hadn’t even reached the door when she heard something that raked her nerves. Sounds coming through the screen. A child sobbing.

“Hurts, Daddy!” Mac Lawless wailed. “You always hurt me!”

“I know.” Cash Lawless’ rough-edged voice answered. “I know it’s tight, honey, but it’ll loosen up if you just—”

The hairs on the back of Rowena’s neck stood on end. What in the world was he doing to the child?

“I hate you when you hurt me!”

“I hate myself.” Lawless said with fierce feeling. “But damn it, Mac, I won’t stop. Got that? I’ll never give up. Never. Now come on, sweetheart! Open your leg and—”

Rowena’s stomach clenched with outrage at the child’s tears, terrified at what might be happening behind the gray walls. Dread overpowered caution. Without stopping to think, she wrenched the screen door open and plunged in. Stripped down to a sleeveless white T-shirt and running shorts, the deputy had the child pinned on the floor, his big hands curved around her ankles…

“Leave her alone,” Rowena cried, lunging to grab him around the neck and pull him off the child. But Lawless’ reflexes were too good. Before she could get a solid grip he dodged to one side, catching her arm, using her own momentum against her. In a heartbeat she was hurtling over him, Mac’s shrieks piercing the air.

Rowena flailed, kicked, terrified she’d crush Mac, but Lawless controlled her flight. One leg snagged something on a side table, the sound of glass shattering in its wake. Rowena caught a glimpse of something glittery, pink just a second before she collided with it.

Cash swore, trying to help her avoid the blow, but it was too late. The object she’d hit careened over from the impact, taking her with it, a horrendous racket making her ears ring. Pain burned under Rowena’s right eye as she struggled to untangle herself from whatever she’d fallen on. But the instant her mind registered the lines and shape of it, her heart slammed to the floor.

It was a wheelchair.

A child-sized, glittery pink wheelchair.

She pressed her hand over her mouth, feeling sick, feeling foolish, feeling like…well…like she was about to be slapped in handcuffs and hauled down to the hoosegow. For breaking and entering. Assaulting an officer. Not to mention vandalizing his property. She stared down at the hideous lamp she’d shattered—well, his really ugly property.

Slowly she shifted her gaze to the little girl she’d been trying to defend. Mac-sized metal braces encircled the child’s tiny legs. Elastic exercise bands and miniature weights scattered the mat rolled out on the taupe carpet. Stuff for physical therapy.

Cash Lawless faced her down like one of her sister Ariel’s bad-cop fantasies, his broad chest heaving, his tanned shoulders sweat-damp, some kind of tattoo smudging his left biceps. He looked disoriented, hunted, his nerves stripped raw as if he’d just gotten up from a torture session on the rack. Maybe he had.

He seemed to shake himself, trying to clear his head. “You.” He pinned her with eyes that were granite-hard beneath spiky black lashes. “What the hell are you doing in my living room?”

For a moment Rowena couldn’t remember the answer to his question herself, let alone form it into a coherent explanation. At least, not with the deputy’s gaze peeling back the layers of her soul that way. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to get a little oxygen to her brain.

“It was Mac…” Rowena stammered. “She was screaming, saying you were hurting her. I could see you bending over her from the door and I…” She faltered, remembering all too well the power in him, the size of him, leaning over the tiny child who seemed completely at his mercy.

Somehow Rowena doubted the deputy would appreciate what her snap judgment of the situation had been. “I, uh…” She shrugged, undoubtedly looking as guilty as she felt. “I thought you…”

His gaze narrowed. “It’s obvious what you thought.”

Obvious and embarrassing. Rowena’s cheeks burned. The man would hate her worse than ever after this. She’d taken Clancy’s chances of being placed in the Lawless household from slim to none in less than twenty seconds.

“What can I say?” Rowena swallowed a lump of defeat. “It’s official. I’m an idiot.”

She glimpsed Mac moving on the exercise mat, pushing herself up to a sitting position and scooting her way over to lean against the wall. At least Mac was able to move her legs, Rowena thought in relief. Still, they looked far too thin, way too frail sticking out from under the ruffle of the glittery purple tutu about the little girl’s middle.

“It’s a very bad thing to hit a policeman!” she accused with a formidable frown. “My daddy’s going to have to ’rest you now. And you’ll get handcuffs on and—Hey, Daddy. That lady’s bleeding.”

“Yes, she is.” Was his voice a little softer, or had Rowena imagined it? The deputy probably came with that whole “if I get quiet be afraid—very afraid” warning Rowena’s mother had.

Rowena’s hand fluttered up to the crest of her cheekbone. It stung, felt a little sticky. Great. She hadn’t just humiliated herself. She’d managed to get cut in the process. She could just imagine trying to explain the mark it would leave behind.

Cash righted the wheelchair. He gathered Mac, tutu and all, in his arms and put her into the seat. There was something heart-wrenching in the big man’s gentleness as he buckled her in, set her feet in their tiny rainbow striped stockings on the footrests.

“Guess I get to stop therapy while you take that lady to jail, huh, Daddy?” Mac chirped.

Cash grabbed the white hand towel he’d looped around his neck, looking as uncomfortable as Rowena felt. “We’ll finish later,” he said. “Head on into your room and watch Dora the Explorer.”

“Watch TV?” If the kid could have danced a jig, she would have. “Before my therapy’s finished?”

“You heard me. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Completely unfazed by his growl, Mac flashed him a gleeful smirk then wheeled her chair down the hallway. Lawless watched until she vanished into one of the rooms. Silence fell, his utter isolation crushing all the anger out of Rowena.

“I’m…so sorry,” she said.

“Yeah. So am I.”

He turned back to Rowena, but instead of slapping her in cuffs or bellowing at her or any one of a jillion characteristically hostile actions she expected from the deputy she loved to hate, he paced toward her, a bemused expression on his face.

“You’re crazy.” Why didn’t the insult sound nearly as scathing as it should have?

“You should talk to my mother.” She grimaced, then touched her cheek gingerly as her cut stung anew.

Lawless’s eyes narrowed as if he’d just remembered the injury, as well, and he closed the space between them. Frowning in concentration, he grasped Rowena’s chin, tipped her face into the light streaming through the window. With the corner of his towel, he dabbed at the cut.

“Doesn’t look like you need a stitch,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “A butterfly bandage will work just as well.”

“In your expert medical opinion?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. We’re the first responders to accidents. We handle triage until the EMTs get there. Come on back to my bedroom.”

Rowena’s surprise must have shown in her face. She could see the instant he realized what had given her pause.

“I keep the first aid kit on the top shelf in my closet to keep it out of Charlie’s reach,” he explained. “That kid makes boxes of bandages disappear so fast I should’ve taken stock in the company.”

Rowena hated the niggling suspicion he rekindled. Neglected dogs and neglected kids often had the same markers to indicate they were in danger. More injuries than usual were at the top of the clues to look for. “Does Charlie get hurt that often?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

Lawless gave her a long look, as if he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “No. She just has this thing about Band-Aids. She’s always afraid we’re going to run out.”

Rowena remembered Charlie’s big eyes filled with dread as she’d talked about tidal waves. Was there a good reason the girl was busy making disaster plans for their future trip to Florida?

“She seems…very worried for a child her age. I know it’s none of my business, but—”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

She’d hoped for some sort of insight, but she couldn’t exactly blame him for closing up tight. She was a stranger, after all.

“Listen, I should just go,” she suggested. “You’re being a really good sport about this, but you don’t want me here, and after this is little debacle I sure don’t want to be here.”

“You’re not going anywhere until I dress that cut. Move.” He sounded like a drill sergeant, and she doubted he’d hesitate to grab her arm and march her down the hall if she resisted. Instead, she let him herd her down the corridor.

As they passed what must be Mac’s room, the child howled for Cash to adjust the television. Rowena waited for him outside the door, her eyes finding a collage of pictures on the long sweep of wall, family pictures of the girls from babyhood until just a few years ago.

Rowena’s heart ached at the images she saw. Mac dancing in some kind of recital, her fluffy little costume making her look like a plump yellow chick. Charlie and Mac in doll-sized karate outfits. So Mac had been able to walk at one time. What had happened to change that? Rowena wondered. An illness? An accident?

She examined the center shot of the collage—an eight by ten. One of those family holiday pictures Rowena had always dreaded when she and her sisters had gathered at the family brownstone. It pictured the Lawless girls in matching Easter finery on the front steps of the gray house, ribbon-festooned wicker baskets clutched in their white gloved hands. Mac appeared angelic in rose-petal pink while Charlie looked as if the ruffles that made up her collar had developed sharp little teeth that were gnawing into her neck.