Free Man's Best Friend by Ec Sheedy Page A

closed behind the Carters, the only sound in the office was three homesick yelps from the kennel below.
    "Tessa, are you okay?" Marie asked.
    "Fine," she lied. "Perfectly fine."
    I've just learned I'll be out of a job sooner rather than later—with Annie's college fund running short.
    And if that weren't enough, she was in major emotional meltdown over a man who refused to recognize she existed.
    Of course I'm, fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?
    But, damn it, she would be fine. She'd make sure of it. All she had to do was quit feeling sorry for herself, something that did nothing for the state of her mental health.  
    Just when it looked as though Marie was going to say more, the phone rang. Bless it. Because Tessa couldn't think of one more word to say.
    She wished her feelings for Rand weren't so wildly confusing. If she didn't need the puppy training job so badly, she'd quit and get out of the man's hair. Trouble was when it came to Rand's shiny dark hair, what she longed to do was curl her fingers in it. Even the thought of it made her knees weak.
    "It's for you, Tessa," Marie said.
    When Tessa took the phone, Marie mouthed a "see you" and left.
    "Tessa Darwin, can I help you?"
    "No, but you can do a favor for Ned."
    Tessa, who'd been standing behind her desk, sat down in a sloppy, thumping heap. "Rand?"
    She'd barely caught sight of the man in days—no matter how hard she tried. She was sleeping in a bedroom a few feet from his, but it might as well be in a hotel across town. The man, a top-grade workaholic, kept the most incredible hours.
    "Yes, it's Rand. I should have introduced myself."
    His voice was low, silky with a trace of teasing. It went straight to her heart and made it beat faster. Tessa picked up a pen, rolled it between her fingers, and concentrated on staying sane. "No, it's okay. It's just, hearing your voice on the phone for the first time, I, uh, wasn't sure."
    She fumbled for more conversation. "Ned's back?"
    "Yes," Rand said. "He was in my office today. He's coming for dinner tonight, and he was wondering if you'd bring his dogs Pam and Lansky home with you. Save him a trip to the kennel."
    "Sure. No problem."
    "Good. He'll appreciate it."
    Silence.
    "Is that it?" she asked, disappointed her Prince Charming hadn't called to invite her to a ball.
    "Join us for dinner?" he asked softly. "We'd enjoy your company."
    Tessa's throat went dry, and she chewed her lower lip so hard she was certain she'd drawn blood. She should say no, and stay as far away from Rand as possible. A smart person didn't go looking for heartache. "Sure. I'd like that," she muttered—weak, wanting woman that she was—and was instantly disgusted with herself, knowing that nothing short of a UFO abduction could keep her away.
    "I'll let Milt know," Rand said smoothly. "Although he'll probably be mad as hell when he hears I've claimed his daily dinner companion. But Ned will look forward to seeing you."
    Never mind Ned! she wanted to yell. What about you?
    "And so will I," he added, his voice deepening.
    Ah... now that went down like hot chocolate on a winter's day.
    "I'm so glad you said that." She dropped the pen, took a couple of breaths, and ran a fingertip along the pocked edge of her old desk. "Because I'm wearing out my eyes trying to catch sight of you, coming or going from the house. Being able to ogle you from across the dinner table for an hour or more will be my idea of heaven."
    "Tessa—" His tone was solemn, but then he laughed. "Are you always so blunt?"
    "I call it honest."
    "How about unnerving?"
    It was her turn to laugh, and she did. "Unnerve Rand Fielding? I don't think so." Although it was the one thought in an otherwise depressing day to lift her spirits.
    The other phone line rang. And rang. And rang.
    "Darn! Gotta go," she said, letting out an exasperated breath. "And just when the conversation gets interesting."
    "Dinner's at eight, Tessa," Rand said, his tone a notch less serious than when he'd first spoken.