Puppy Love by the Sea Read online

  As if sensing Sarah’s emotional turmoil, the puppy woke up and continued its gut-wrenching cries. She brought Paisley to her chest and made soothing noises.

  Franco’s head dipped as he took in her uniform and the puppy in her hands, barely glancing at Sarah’s face. He put his hand on his daughter’s small shoulder, rubbing her back. “Are you all right, Bella? I’m sorry you were frightened.”

  “Yes, yes. Sarah said Paisley has a tooth ache.”

  His furious gaze snagged hers and held it. “Sarah Murphy,” he said between gritted teeth, his throat red with suppressed anger. “What are you doing here?”

  She refused to back down from the contempt radiating from him, though it stung. “We got a disturbance call. Animal Control.”

  “I know what you do.” Calm. Cool. Controlled.

  She knew her weekly visits angered him, but she wouldn’t let his money, charm or good looks stop her from doing the right thing. “My job.” Sarah thought it was too much of a coincidence that he’d swooped in and opened another puppy store. Designer dogs were easy money. Enough to afford this penthouse? “I protect animals that can’t protect themselves.”

  There was probably a reason Paisley had bad teeth. Disreputable breeders tossed a mix together based on looks rather than what was healthy, all for the big bucks.

  They stared at one another, tension screeching like nails down a chalk board.

  “You are on the wrong trail,” Franco said, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve got the citation you gave us taped by the register. My staff knows to call the real police if you ever set foot in my store again.”

  Chapter Two

  Sarah rocked from one foot to the next, humming to keep the puppy calm. She remembered giving Franco the citation his first week in business. He’d left a bucket of cleaner out along with a mop. While she’d looked for other potential signs that the puppy mill was back in operation, it was all she could get him for—a possible health hazard if the puppies were to drink the toxic cleaning solution. She’d been sick to her stomach, wondering if he was new management for an old scheme. “It was just a warning ticket.”

  He opened his mouth as if to argue, then looked at Bob and Bella and closed it. The puppy quieted as Sarah massaged its belly. Probably hungry.

  “Paisley has an infected baby tooth, which has more than likely stopped her from eating. She’s hurting and hungry, a bad combination. I can recommend a vet, if you need one.” She tried not to take Franco’s anger personally.

  “I have the best,” Franco said, moving toward his front door with Bella attached at his denim-clad leg.

  Sarah clenched her jaw. The best? She regretted any acrimony between them, but she wouldn’t let another illegal mill pop up. Her weekly checks at his store had shown nothing out of line. “Money can’t buy everything.”

  Franco scowled at her, holding out his hands. “Give me my dog.”

  Paisley fit inside Franco’s large palm, instantly quiet as she nudged her nose between his thumb and forefinger. His touch soothed the puppy, just as he’d soothed his daughter. Sarah observed how different he was here compared to the pet store. Can I blame him for being a jerk after I threatened to shut him down?

  Bella clung to her dad’s leg, her bare feet curled against the thin carpet. “It was very nice to meet you, Bella.”

  “Bye, Sarah,” the little girl said. “Come back and visit me!”

  Not likely, she thought with a pang. Confused emotions tangled around her, mainly empathy for Bella. And there was a glimmer of understanding regarding Franco, who was now more than just an arrogant, handsome pet store owner.

  Franco said nothing, though his brown eyes, eyes just like Bella’s, spoke volumes. He was angry she had intruded on his home turf. They both knew she had every right to check out his shop.

  Bella went inside their condo without a backward glance. “Daddy, I’ll get the carrier so we can see Dr. Wilton.”

  “You use Dr. Wilton?” Sarah asked with surprise. It was her vet of choice, too.

  “I told you, I use the best.” Franco looked behind him to make sure that Bella was not in hearing distance then he spoke through clenched teeth in a voice pitched just low enough for Sarah. “Don’t come back here again. I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.” He closed the door in her face.

  Sarah stepped back in a huff, cheeks stinging. “Take care of your puppy, and I won’t have to,” she muttered, suddenly conscious of Bob holding the elevator for her. He’d witnessed the entire exchange.

  “No telling what’s what with the rich and famous,” Bob said as they got back into the elevator. He was obviously curious but too polite to ask.

  “Franco de Silva doesn’t care for me,” Sarah said with an indifferent shrug that hid her tumultuous feelings. “You know he owns that designer dog store? de Silva’s Diamond Dogs. What do you mean, famous?” He was hot enough to be an actor, but she’d never seen him in anything. She would have remembered.

  “Not him. His wife. Bianca Rodrigues was a daytime drama actress in Brazil. My girlfriend showed me some pictures on the Internet. Very beautiful. I guess she died of a drug overdose. Not sure if it was intentional or not.” He jerked his thumb upward toward the penthouse. “Just over a year ago.”

  “Poor Bella.” Sarah pulled her gloves from her back pocket, twisting the soft leather. Jennifer Murphy nagged about eating right and burned the Thanksgiving turkey, but Sarah couldn’t imagine her mother not being a phone call away. Nope, money was not everything.

  And what about Franco? At the shop, he epitomized arrogance. A need to be in control. He wore machismo like cologne and Sarah avoided guys like that as if she had an allergy.

  They didn’t usually go for her, either. She was proud of her independence and felt no need to apologize for being female.

  “Cute kid,” Bob said. “I didn’t realize she lived in the building, but I don’t normally work weekends.”

  The elevator dinged at the third floor and they picked up an older gentleman with a brown panama hat and plaid shorts. He nodded to Sarah, said hello to Bob, and stepped back against the wall.

  The doors closed, and Sarah saw herself in the silver reflection. Blonde hair, khaki shorts. Work boots. Plain and boring. While Franco was so good-looking that she told herself, in those odd moments when, for no reason at all, she imagined him smiling at her instead of sneering, he couldn’t be real. Yet seeing him with his daughter, so tender and caring? The gentle way he’d cupped the puppy in his gigantic hands? Did something to her heart that messed with what her head knew to be true.

  He’d moved right into that old pet store and slapped a fresh coat of paint on the walls, as if that would cover up the crimes that had been committed there. He’d known what happened—she’d told him in minute detail.

  He’d shouted something about Brazilian integrity.

  What a mess.

  They reached the bottom floor and Sarah nodded to both men as she got off first. “Call me if you need anything, Bob.”

  “Thanks for coming,” the manager said.

  Once in the truck, she dialed the office.

  “Thanks for calling Pet Rescue, how may we help you today?”

  “Martin, you are never going to believe what just happened.”

  *****

  A few hours later, Franco sat on the couch next to Bella, watching cartoons in Spanish. He usually made her watch them in English, but she was so upset about Paisley having to stay overnight at the vet’s that he didn’t push the issue.

  “Will Dr. Wilton pull Paisley’s tooth?”

  “Yes,” Franco said, tugging on one of Bella’s curls. “It is a baby tooth, like yours.”

  “Will the tooth fairy come?”

  Franco scratched his jaw. Would the tooth fairy make an appearance for a puppy? He’d have to check with the vet. Dr. Wilton, a gorgeous woman of about sixty, had steered him around some sticky issues already. Where to send Bella to school, where to buy her uniforms. A good pediatrician. It ha
d been a blessed day when he’d found her business card in the chamber of commerce.

  “We can ask Dr. Wilton.”

  Bella nodded, the answer satisfying her for the moment. He, who’d made millions, relied on the kindness of strangers when it came to advice for his daughter.

  This single parenting was new for him, though as it happened, his wife had mostly left Bella with nannies. He remembered his surprise when Bianca had announced her pregnancy over caviar and champagne. Supposedly an accident. She’d acted horrified, but then again, Bianca was a professional actress. How could he have forgotten that?

  He’d expected they’d be a family. Dinners, church, vacations. Oh, how his wife had lied. Covered up. Deceit and betrayal burned his heart and he rubbed at the poisonous ache in his chest.

  Franco thanked God every day that Bianca hadn’t taken their daughter with her while she bought drugs, or did them. Absent parenting was better than putting his baby at risk.

  He’d assumed his wife wanted to spend her free time with their only child, as he did, but it seemed Bianca had demons driving her that he knew nothing about. He liked to party as much as the next man. Brandy, good cigars. He enjoyed food and amusing company, but he always looked forward to being home with Bella.

  Franco’s business called for him to travel. He was a chef to the stars. He hadn’t been there when his six-year-old daughter found her mother “sleeping” in the bathtub.

  He’d promised himself then that he would never leave his daughter again. Not looking back, he sold their holdings in Brazil and brought Bella here, where she remembered hunting for shells at the ocean’s surf and looking at sea turtles. Not a single memory of her dead mother.

  “I like Dr. Wilton. She’s nice.” Bella snuggled next to him, her eyes on the dancing teddy bears.

  She’d been sent by angels, he was sure of it. His daughter always wanted a dog but they’d never had pets because of Bianca’s allergies so he’d promised her a puppy when they came to Florida. Somehow he’d ended up with an entire store. de Silva’s Diamond Dogs.

  “Yes, she is.” He’d gone to Dr. Wilton once he’d bought the old pet store business, proposing that she give him a discount on vet services if he used her for healthy puppy certification. She’d warned him that the previous owners had been running a sham operation. He had the time and patience to turn the place around, he’d told her. It helped that he didn’t need the money.

  What he needed was a community. A place where he and Bella could heal.

  After Bianca’s death, news reporters had stalked his daughter for pictures of her grief. They’d broken into her private school. Hidden in trees to capture her face for the tabloids. Bianca had been a loved celebrity.

  And a royal bitch.

  There were so many questions he’d never have answers to. Franco hugged Bella to him, blinking tears from his eyes. “Want Daddy to make you lunch, princess?”

  “Yes, please. Grilled cheese with tomato soup.”

  He buried his face in his daughter’s hair. He, chef to the stars of Europe, who made dishes rich in creams and savory sauces, was reduced to grilled cheese. “Cracked wheat bread all right with you?”

  She nodded, engrossed in the program. “Can we invite Sarah to come back for lunch?”

  God, no, he thought, immediately picturing Sarah Murphy. Fair blonde hair and freckles, green eyes the color of the tropical Amazon, and knobby knees beneath her serviceable khaki shorts.

  The animal control officer stopped by once a week, letting him know she was watching. It got under his skin, even though he understood her reasons. He would never stoop to something illegal or immoral. But would she even give him a chance? No. She slapped him with a bogus citation just because she could.

  Sarah set his nerves on edge and he found himself doing a double-take out the shop’s windows whenever a woman with her shade of blonde hair walked by. She challenged him, refusing to be charmed. Not that he’d tried too hard. No, she brought out his worst.

  “She’s nice.” Bella slid a sideways glance at him.

  He’d taken a hit to the gut, getting off the elevator to see his precious Bella leaning so trustingly against his enemy. Bella wouldn’t understand why Sarah was determined to close his shop. He’d asked Dr. Wilton about her, and the vet had nothing but glowing words. Ran a no-kill shelter, volunteered in the community. Hired by the city to answer animal complaints, which was why she’d shown up at his home this morning. She’d looked so soft, so caring, until she’d recognized him and then her entire demeanor had changed. Why did it bother him, whether or not the woman liked him?

  Bella patted his cheek. “Isn’t she, Daddy? Isn’t Sarah nice?”

  “Yes, yes, Bella. She is nice.” He gritted his teeth and got up from the couch. A nice pain in the butt.

  Instead of staying put, Bella followed him, climbing up the barstool to the high counter overlooking the square kitchen. “Can I butter the bread, Daddy?”

  “Sure, princess.” He got the tub of whipped butter from the refrigerator, six slices of bread and a plate, along with a butter knife. “Remember to get the corners.”

  She grinned. “I know, or the bread won’t toast.”

  “Pretty soon, you will be making the grilled cheese all by yourself,” he told her. How he cherished this time with Isabella, sensing that childhood would be gone before he was ready. He had memories of cooking with his mother, of being encouraged to create. It led him to a lucrative career, following his passion.

  “As good as you, Daddy?”

  He lifted a spatula from the drawer. “Better.”

  She giggled, carefully spreading butter to each corner of the bread, the tip of her tongue poking out as she concentrated. “No way.”

  “Way.” He took out sharp cheddar, provolone and pepper jack. His daughter liked to eat, which made cooking even the simple things fun.

  “I think Sarah is pretty. I wish I had blonde hair.”

  The last thing Franco needed was his daughter to form an attachment to the woman who thought he’d knowingly sell unhealthy puppies for his own profit. “Bella, you have beautiful dark hair. It matches your eyelashes and your eyebrows. You would look funny with blonde hair.”

  “Or purple hair?” she asked with a snicker.

  “Especially purple hair.”

  “But it looked pretty on Kelly Osbourne.”

  “How do you remember that, princess? You met her over a year ago.” He’d cooked for many famous families, and they’d come to pay their respects at Bianca’s funeral.

  “It was pretty. She was nice, too.” Bella shrugged and went on to the next piece of bread. “Can I pierce my nose?”

  Franco, who had been getting a frying pan from the bottom cupboard, stood up so fast he hit his head against the counter. “Ouch, er.” Damn it. “No, you are not going to get your nose pierced!”

  Bella laughed from her tummy. “Just kidding.”

  He exhaled and leaned against the sink. “You think you’re funny? A comedienne?”

  “Want to hear my knock knock joke?”

  “Where did you learn a knock knock joke?” He turned the stove on and added butter to the pan. “Cartoons?”

  “My teacher at school. She has gray hair, Daddy, and she’s not always very nice.”

  “But she teaches you jokes?”

  “It goes like this…”

  Franco bowed his head, his heart bursting with love for his daughter. How could his wife have chosen drugs and suicide over this?

  Chapter Three

  Sarah sat at her desk, wishing the numbers in her checking account had a few extra zeros in it. No matter how hard she stared at the computer screen, they never changed. The phone rang and she answered, glad for the reprieve. “Thanks for calling Pet Rescue, how can we help you today?”

  “Hi Sarah, this is Bob, the manager at the Pelican Perch.”

  “Hello, Bob. Is the puppy still a problem?” She glanced at the wall calendar that had been her Grand Opening giveawa
y. “It’s been a week.”

  “It’s not about that. Haven’t heard a peep. Mr. de Silva and Bella are really good at taking care of her. I’ve seen the puppy since then. Very friendly, now that she’s not in any more pain. Which is why I’ve called. Sort of. Mrs. Drummel was thinking about getting a cat, and she wondered if you had any for adoption.”

  Nashville yowled from behind the file cabinet. Sarah shook her head, knowing she was stuck with this particular cantankerous feline. “Does she want a kitten, or a full grown cat?” She knew each of her animal residents well, down to their eating habits and nap times. “Someone abandoned a litter by the pier last week and I’ve got them all inoculated and healthy. Then I’ve got a neutered black cat, about ten, white paws. A real hugger.”

  Bob cleared his throat. “She wants a white one.”

  Sarah tried not to laugh. She imagined Mrs. Drummel might be particular, herself. “We’ve got a five-year old female that’s mostly white. She’s got gray at the tip of her tail and her hind paws.”

  “I’ll ask her.”

  “There’s a picture of Miss Priss on the website. Of all the animals, if you want to help Mrs. Drummel browse.”

  “Great idea, Sarah. Thanks!”

  She hung up the phone and went back into the rooms where the animals were kept. The old warehouse connected to the front office gave her plenty of room for her rescued pets. Lots of light, with an indoor area to run around. Matching people with pets was something she really enjoyed and right now she had the cats, three mutts, a rabbit and an iguana all looking for homes.

  Food cost money, the roof had to be fixed, and she had no idea how to get the cash she needed—but she would go down fighting. The animals relied on her and it satisfied something in her DNA to help.

  Martin came in the back door with the three dogs on leashes, all of them panting. His thin belt reflected the light coming in from the windows. “Woo! It’s getting hot out there. Were you looking for me?”

  “No, I just was checking on Miss Priss back here. We might have a taker.” Sarah walked to the cage where the white cat slept at the very top of the cat climber. Six feet tall with carpet branches, the pole allowed the cats to climb and scratch. Sarah opened the screened-frame door and walked in. “Hey there, sweetie.”