Page 46 of Perfectly Matched: Harbor Falls Romance Collection

One week later….

Lyssa threaded seven leashes through the palm of her hand and wrapped the excess around her wrist. Her entourage spread out before her, their doggy paws leading her down the North Main sidewalk toward downtown. This was the best route possible, she had determined weeks ago, for getting the dogs exercised and for her getting some extra steps in each morning. She started at her house on Cottonwood Place, took a left on Loblolly Avenue, a right on North Main, another right on Elm, and then yet another right on Sycamore which almost brought her full circle back to Cottonwood. She just had to make another short jag to the left on Loblolly then she was home again.

The older subdivision housed a mix of families, both established and new, who had settled into the oldest section of Harbor Falls. She lived in the section often call Upper Old Harbor, the newer section of Old Harbor Falls built in the early 1900s. She owned a 1920s Craftsman bungalow that had belonged to her grandmother.

The college kids made up most of the population of Lower Old Harbor. They rented out apartments carved from the older and larger Victorians and a few carriage houses. She avoided that area like the plague with the dogs because for one, the dogs attracted attention, and for two, there were a lot of people milling about that caused both stress and distraction to the dogs.

She preferred the quieter side of town from North Main and to the west.

Her seven charges for the day spanned out in front. The chocolate Lab always pulled on the leash. The Chihuahua tried hard to keep up with him. The Pug set his own pace. The Poodle couldn’t take in everything fast enough and crisscrossed in front of the rest—he was usually the culprit for things going awry during their walks. Bringing up the rear was the Shih Tzu, the Yorkie, and an Australian Shepherd mix—which was unusual for the Aussie, he was usually at the head of the pack. Today seemed more interested in herding the menagerie than walking.

This morning, though, she was managing.

That is, until Jeremiah the Lab spotted Bea Brammel across the street. Jeremiah didn’t like Bea for some reason, and Bea held no love lost for the dog. The librarian assistant raced to unlock the heavy library door and duck inside.

Jeremiah lunged and barked.

About the same time, a large yellow cat streaked out of the alley and shot like a bullet across the sidewalk in front of the pack.

Simultaneously, Lyssa tripped over a crooked brick in the sidewalk, throwing the leashes into the air as she pitched forward, and narrowly missing a man entering the bakery as she stumbled.

“Excuse me!”

she yelled, then scrambled, trying to step on and grab leashes, but only managed to snag the Yorkie.

“Jeremiah!”

she screamed, trying to warn Bea.

The big Lab raced across the street and Lyssa anxiously looked up and down to make sure there were no cars. Whew. Then her gaze pinned on Bea as she frantically worked the key in the library door lock, glancing back at an oncoming Jeremiah. Lyssa could see her eyes widening from across the street.

“Matt get the big dog!”

Suddenly, the action on the street picked up. As she grabbed for the Aussie, Suzie Hart burst out of the bakery screaming instructions to others pouring outside to help—one of which was Suzie’s brother-in-law, Officer Matt Branson. Lyssa snatched the shepherd’s leash and looked up in time to see Matt halt Jeremiah just as Bea slipped inside the library doors.

“Oh God, the poodle is taking a whiz on the newspaper stand!”

Crap. This isn’t going well.

“Take the Shih Tzu!”

Suzie handed another leash to Lyssa and then was off again.

Lyssa called after her.

“Thank you! Oh God, Suzie, I’m so sorry!”

Suddenly it seemed all of Harbor Falls’ residents were scrambling in an attempt to capture the rest of the dogs. She stood on the sidewalk while Matt brought her Jeremiah and the Chihuahua. Someone handed her the Pug. Finally, Suzie shoved the Poodle’s leash into her hand. Lyssa held tightly onto the seven leashes.

Suddenly, she was exhausted.

“Do a head count?”

“Seven.”

Lyssa looked at Suzie and huffed out a breath.

“There are seven. That’s right. Moose, Gilda, Jeremiah, Sophie, Crackers, Spot, and Harold.”

“Harold?”

“He’s the Standard Poodle.”

Suzie shook her head.

“Lyssa, you either need to chain those dogs to your body or get another profession.”

“But I love the dogs!”

“Then control them! I can’t do this every morning.”

Lyssa eyed her.

“It’s not every morning, Suzie. Seriously.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Besides, it wasn’t my fault. Mrs. Pierson’s cat, Mellow Yellow, jumped out of the alley and scared Crackers—he’s the Chihuahua—and started him barking. Then Sophie, who doesn’t really like little dogs at all, got annoyed at Crackers and started lunging at the little guy. Then, Jeremiah, the Lab, spotted Bea across the street and well… Well, it was all over then.”

Suzie glanced toward the bakery.

“It’s not good for business, Lyssa, all of this commotion. People will stop coming. You understand that, right?”

Lyssa bit her lip. Of course, she understood but what was she to do? She guessed she needed to map out another route. Maybe she should stick with residential streets, but the sidewalks were better downtown.

Except for that one brick.

The bakery door swung open and Lyssa watched a man step out onto the street. He paused for a moment, looking down at his cell phone and scrolling with one hand. In the other, he balanced a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries.

Then she spied the Poodle.

“Harold no!”

Lickety-split, Harold hiked a back leg and peed on the man’s shoe.

“No, no, no, no!”

Lyssa jerked all of the dogs and they started barking in unison.

Suzie shouted, talking to the man.

“Oh my God. So sorry!”

Then back to Lyssa, she frowned, scrunched up her face, and said.

“Get the dogs out of here! I’ll handle this.”

Lyssa mouthed the words, I’m sorry, and took off, tripping and skipping down the street trying to keep up. She heard Suzie talking with the man behind her and felt a little bad that she was leaving the cleanup to her. She needed to change her route.

And she owed Sydney and Suzie an apology.

****

From: M. Roberts

To: Alyssa Larkin

Subject: Services desired beginning April 14

Ms. Larkin:

I am interested in your boarding service. A one-week period, perhaps a few days more. They are quite young, still, and need trained. I hope you can accommodate.

M. Roberts

The owner of the house at 223 South Foothills Drive, slightly south of downtown Harbor Falls in the Lake View Subdivision, left a white envelope taped inside the front door. All their communication prior to this day had been through email. M. Roberts had found Lyssa through one of the tear-off flyers she’d put on the bulletin board at Ralphs’ Grocery, where she shopped. A later email communication shared that the three-month-old Golden Lab pups needed care while the owner was out of town on business.

The emails were always short and to the point. All business.

Just the facts, ma’am.

It was unusual that she would do the pick-up, but their owner had a very early flight out of Asheville and Lyssa had agreed to accommodate, for an additional fee. She was, after all, in this to make money. Right?

She pulled the last email out of her purse, having printed it before leaving the house lest she forget anything. She stood on the porch of the red brick home, glanced about her, and read through it one more time. She didn’t live on this side of town and was not very familiar with the neighborhood. Still, it felt safe here, with tree-lined streets and newer homes. Quiet and cozy.

She didn’t know M. Roberts, either, and wondered about the owner of the pups. She supposed this person was new in town, but it really didn’t matter either way. A new client was a new client and she welcomed new clients.

Laying a hand on the aluminum screen door handle, she opened it to snatch the white envelope off the door, just where the email said it would be. The envelope was heavy with a key taped inside.

Efficient. Taped so it wouldn’t fall out.

The key glided into the lock and the knob turned with ease. The door swung open and within about one-point-two seconds flat, she was attacked by two giant yellow yapping fur balls.

“Whoa…What?”

She managed to close the door.

The pups jumped and nipped at her calves.

Hands on hips, she stared down at the little monsters.

“Y’all are supposed to be in your crates!”

She’d just read that again in M. Robert’s email. I have a very early flight. The dogs are in the crates in the kitchen. Their food is in a paper bag. Don’t forget their blankets. Take the portable crates with you, please. I’m training them to sleep there at night.

Crates. Er, cages. She knew some dogs needed them, and it was highly recommended in some circles, but she was so against caging puppies!

A quick glance to the kitchen and she spied the open crates. Next, she dropped her gaze to the round-eyed fur babies at her feet.

“No wonder you escaped.”

She noted the dog food—not in a paper bag by the door, but in fact, spread out wide across the entry hardwood floors. The bag was ripped to smithereens and the food scattered hither and yon.

Lyssa stared at the twins.

“Bad puppies!”

They paid her no mind. One rolled over on his back, looking up at her, paws extended, eyes wanting, and waited for a belly rub. She grimaced.

“You must be Paws. Your owner said you liked your tummy rubbed.”

And she could quickly see that he was the male of the two, so indeed, that was Paws. The other plopped down on her belly, spread eagle and flat on the floor, and cocked her pretty little head toward Lyssa.

“And of course, you are Buttercup.”

Not able to stand it any longer, she fell to the floor beside them and scooped them both into her arms. They licked and wiggled and again, puppy-attacked her.

She couldn’t help but giggle. What two wonderful bundles of love!

Once the pups settled down, her gaze shifted right and left, taking stock of the puppy damage.

“I’m sure your master is not going to be pleased by this, kids.”

She rose and waddled toward the kitchen, just off the living room. Hands on hips, she looked at the crates.

“Well, there they are, but how in heck did you get out of them?”

She bent to look at the latch and wondered if the owner had simply forgotten to make sure they were secure.

“Oh well, nothing to do now but clean up the mess and get on with the day.”

But before she did that, she let her gaze peruse her surroundings. Whoever lived here was otherwise meticulous. Everything had a place and was in it. The floors shined and the brushed nickel accessories sparkled. No dust. Not a crumb, even around the toaster.

“Oh, hell’s bells,”

she whispered.

“My client is a neatnik and we need to get this mess cleaned up pronto!”

She always had to wonder about women who were neatniks and felt there was something a mite off-kilter in their brains. So, she shoved the golden duo in their crates, er, cages, for a few moments, promising them it was only short-term, found a broom, dustpan, and the garbage can, then set off to cleaning up the dry crumbles.

When she bent over to scoop up the food pellets her gaze rested on a picture of a man and woman perched on a table. The picture was several years old and the couple handsome and happy. She wore a full-length white wedding gown and he sported a stunning black tuxedo. A bouquet of a dozen or so red roses in the bride’s hands completed the portrait.

Rising, she took the photo in her hand and within the instant tears stung the corner of her eyes. This was the picture she longed for… One just like it to sit on a table in her own entryway.

Her own man, her own black-tuxedoed hunk.

For he was a hunk. With a light touch, she thumbed over his face.

And the woman? Well, she was a very lucky woman.

Lucky indeed.

****

Thank goodness, Suzie had a fenced-in backyard. Her little boy, Petey, was taking a nap, so Paws and Buttercup had free rein to run the length of the house and then some. She sat opposite Suzie on a bar stool in her kitchen and was suddenly in awe of her friend who was quickly becoming Harbor Falls’ most up-and-coming celebrity. Her first cookbook, The Best of Harbor Falls’ Sweet Hart Inn, was a bestseller and she’d heard there was even talk of a television show.

Nevertheless, Suzie was still the same old Suzie. This was the second meeting they had had to go over the details of the matchmaking scheme.

“I’ve made a list of potential suitors, Lyssa, and I want to go over it with you.”

Lyssa pushed the list away.

“Whoever is on that list doesn’t matter. Just find me someone I can be with for a while then then move on. Find someone with some sort of deficiency, you know? So, when we do break up it won’t look like it’s my fault. Maybe someone who drinks too much or has a history of hitting his girlfriends. Something like that. Of course, I will have no clue and will discover it right before the wedding, giving me just cause to get rid of the guy. I’ll get all the pity and the guy will get his freedom back.”

Suzie’s lip twitched. Lyssa watched it. Once. And then again.

“What?”

After a deep breath and an even longer exhale, Suzie leaned forward.

“Do you realize how shallow that sounds? What in the world is going on in that head of yours?”

Her shoulders dropped.

“Hell, Suzie, yes it probably does. I suppose I’m desperate.”

“Feeling desperate does not mean you do desperate and unsafe things. We’re going to do this the classy way, Lyssa Larkin.”

“So, you won’t find me a man with a deficiency?”

“No. I won’t do anything of the kind. I will find you respectable men and I won’t put you in any sort of danger. So, you can forget about men with deficiencies.”

She leaned back and they met eye-to-eye for a frozen moment.

“In fact,”

she continued.

“I will find you the best quality men I can find, set you up for a lunch date here every day for the next week, or two, or forty if it takes it, and you will like it. You will be nice to them and you will be appreciative of my efforts. Whomever you choose, it will be your doing, not mine, if you break his heart. I’m going to find you someone who is a keeper. Not someone you can fling away at your whim because of some silly notion that you are not experienced enough in the couple department.”

She crossed her arms and rocked back on her stool.

“Now, do you want to look at this, or what?”

Lyssa was a bit miffed that Suzie would speak to her so. However, she did have a point or two.

“Oh, all right. Let me see the list.”

Suzie shoved it her way and Lyssa gave it the once-over. Her head jerked up.

“Oh. My. God. Suzie! You can’t be serious. Chad Helringer? He never graduated from high school! And he’s got to be like, fifty or older.”

“Then mark him off. Go on. Read the rest.”

Lyssa’s stomach turned.

“Bart? Who works behind the meat counter at Ralph’s? My God, he’s got hands as big as boulders!”

“Good hand muscles from cutting up all that meat.”

“No, Suzie.”

“All right. Keep reading.”

She did. George Bloomer, gardener. No. Howard Pickles, ham radio operator. Oh hell no. Peter Walker, grease monkey. No freakin’ way!

She crumpled the list.

“You can’t be serious.”

Grinning, Suzie replied.

“No. I’m not serious. That was the fake list.”

“What?”

“You can do better than any of those men, Lyssa, and I intend to find you your husband. So, tell me what you like in a man. Let’s make that list. And I’ll do the rest.”

“I hate when you jerk with me.”

“Hey, what are friends for? I want to set you on the right path.”

Lyssa drew in a cleansing breath.

“So how are you going to do this? I’m confused.”

Suzie smiled wide and leaned closer.

“Here is my plan. A speed-dating lunch a day. All you have to give him is thirty minutes. He gets a free lunch, and you get to decide when he leaves. We’ll have a signal. If you want him gone, all you have to do is give me the high sign, we’ll get him out of there, and it’s done. When you go past thirty minutes, then we’ll know that one has potential. Perhaps, the one you will marry.”

Suzie sat back, satisfied.

“What do you think?”

Lyssa suddenly felt all warm and giddy inside.

“I think it’s brilliant. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow. Be here at noon.”

“Let’s do it.”

****

Lyssa sat cuddled on her sofa with Paws and Buttercup flanking her, rubbing the tummy of one and the scalp of the other. Now she wasn’t sure who was who and it really didn’t matter. Glad for their company, they snuggled close while she stared glaze-eyed at a late-night news broadcast.

One of the pups breathed in and sighed.

“Know the feeling, darlin’. Been a long day.”

The one on the right snored softly.

Laying her head back, she closed her eyes. Flashes of her day rolled by. Picking up the pups, cleaning up the dog food mess, meeting with Suzie and making plans.

“Shit.”

She uttered the word on a breath.

“I’m doing this.”

Beside her, her cell phone binged. Incoming email.

She reached without disturbing her furry blankets of warmth and snatched the phone from the coffee table. With a flick of her wrist and a couple of thumb moves, she located her email and opened it.

There were four email messages from M. Roberts.

“Damn.”

She’d been so busy she’d forgotten to check in. She imagined M. was wondering about Pup 1 and Pup 2 and how their day had gone. She read the last one first.

From: M. Roberts

To: Alyssa Larkin

Subject: Paws and Buttercup

Ms. Larkin:

I assume you have retrieved the babies. Hope they are doing well. Please advise. Remember to tuck them into their crates with their blankies.

M. Roberts

She quickly scanned the remaining emails and realized that M. had been trying to get in touch with her since this morning. Crap! Not the way to win clients and influence people. Quickly, she replied into her cell phone.

To: M. Roberts

From: Alyssa Larkin

Subject: Paws and Buttercup

M. Pups are fine, cuddled on the couch, blankies at the ready. No worries. Sorry not to get back with you. Very busy day!

Lyssa

She pushed send and heaved out a sigh. Glancing at the cages, er, crates, she made a split-second decision and roused the babies.

“C’mon you golden beauties. Let’s take you out for one last tinkle then grab your blankies and go to bed. You’re sleeping with Mama tonight.”

M. Roberts would never know. Besides, the babies didn’t need a cage, they needed cuddle time. They’re just babies!

Truth be told, Mama needed a little cuddle time, too.