Reviews

"Years after working for him, dog groomer Kara Williams finds herself attracted to restaurant owner Brad Ralston when his Harlequin Dane, George, keeps showing up on her doorstep looking for attention. Brad, in the middle of a divorce, is also attracted to Kara -- and her twin daughters -- and after a storm leaves them homeless, Kara soon finds herself agreeing to keep Brad's teenage son out of trouble in return for a place to live. Debra Salonen's Love, by George (4) is a delightful story about two people finding love once again in their lives. The addition of kids on both sides and various pets makes the story even more realistic. "

—Alexandra Kay, RT

 

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

“Oh, George, what have you done? Are you trying to get me arrested for dognapping?”

The six-year old Harlequin Great Dane dropped to a crouch, his gaze not meeting hers. Kara William’s heart just about broke in half. She loved animals, and this big galoot was one of her favorite regular clients at The Paws Spa, her Pine Harbor, Oregon, pet-grooming business. Or had been one of her regulars until his owners, Brad and Lynette Ralston, split up. Now, Brad, who had custody of George and the couple’s teenage son, rarely managed to make George’s standing appointment.

Apparently, Kara thought, looking around the empty parking lot, George had decided to keep the appointment himself. Even if this was the wrong time and the wrong day.

She looked at his big muddy paws and could guess that his escape from the Ralston’s back yard had included some kind of digging. Stickers and weeds had attached themselves to his smooth black and white coat, and there was a bit of blood on his right ear. “Poor guy, this wasn’t easy for you, was it?”

She went down on one knee and hugged the silly beast. She’d witnessed the aftermath of divorce – in dog terms – too many times. And it was never pleasant. Some animals would worry an open wound to the point where they had to wear an Elizabethan collar. Certain cats she’d met had suddenly turned into domestic demons that shredded curtains and left stinky deposits in their owner’s shoes.

“Maybe I should be thankful Fly took off before he had a chance to put a ring on my finger,” she murmured, gently stroking the big dog’s powerful neck.

Fly had been her youthful folly. Her walk on the wild side. A walk that had resulted in twins.

“Come on in, big boy,” she said, opening the door of the 1960’s era laundry mat. When she moved in four years earlier, the place had been gutted, except for the rows of pipes sticking up where the washing machines had been. Her uncle Kurt, who’d often claimed to be a jack of all trades, master of none, had come to her rescue, teaching her how to cap the useless things. She’d worked her fanny off, but that wasn’t unusual. Everything she had was a result of her hard work. She’d never gotten anything for free, and wouldn’t know what to do with it if the Universe suddenly handed her a winning lotto ticket.

Of course, in order to win, you had to play, and Kara didn’t gamble. Her risk-taking days had ended when Sophie and Sadie were born, five and a half years earlier.

“Who have you got there? Is that George?” her friend and assistant Wilma Donning exclaimed. “Why, George Ralston, does your father know you’re here?”

George dipped his head in a way that looked so guilty both women burst out laughing. Kara and Wilma had a tendency to talk to all the pets in their care as if the animals understood every word. A select few reacted with gestures and mannerisms that made Kara think they were reacting to her words, not her tone. George was one of those expressive types. Maybe it was his eyes – one blue, one brown. There was humor, intelligence, compassion and trust in those eyes.

“Let’s not worry about how he got here,” Kara said, grabbing a lead from the hook by the door. “He is pretty stinky, and we have an opening since Mrs. Fox canceled. I’ll call Mr. Ralston and let him know George is safe.”

“As if he cares,” Wilma grumbled. “Darned people who let their crazy love lives affect their animal’s welfare.”

Wilma was eighty-something. The exact number seemed to depend upon whom she was trying to impress or what point she was trying to make. But she was as feisty and energetic as some people half her age. She didn’t have to work – Wilma and her husband had owned one of the biggest truck farming operations in the Pine Harbor area for as long as Kara could remember, and she’d sold it for a healthy sum after he passed away. Now, she worked for Kara because, as Wilma often said, “Animals have humans beat, paws down.”

Kara once asked why Wilma hadn’t chosen to volunteer at the SPCA since she loved animals so much. Wilma had returned, “Why work for free when you can get paid?”

Kara didn’t pay as well as she would have liked, but frugality was required when you were trying to launch a new idea. In Kara’s dream, the Paws Spa would one day become a nationally franchised operation catering to pet owners who wanted the very best for their animals – specialty grooming, organic snacks, massage, yoga classes and group play dates with “friends” that got along well.

The Pine Harbor Paws Spa was still in its infancy, but already her books were running in the black and each new aspect she’d introduced had been well-received. Kara recorded every success and failure in a log that she hoped to use one day as a blueprint for future franchises.

Wilma was as dedicated an employee as Kara could ever hope for. She came in early and stayed late. She even picked up or delivered animals for clients who were running late. Kara couldn’t wait for the day when she could pay Wilma what she was worth – even though the older woman insisted she was happy the way things were.

“More business means more owners to deal with,” she’d complain whenever Kara waxed enthusiastic about some new idea to expand foot traffic.

Deep down, Kara knew Wilma wanted her to succeed, just as the animals in Wilma’s care sensed how much the older woman loved them. She watched Wilma walk George to the bathing area that had been set up for large animals. Huge dog, tiny woman. George could have knocked Wilma over with his tail, but he was extremely courteous and careful around her.

Kara’s heart did a familiar flip-flop thing and tears welled up in her eyes. Sometimes she thought her sappy emotions were the source of all her problems. “You’re an old softy,” her uncle used to say. “Just like your dad.”

Kara didn’t remember much about her father, who died in a storm when she was eight. His twin brother, Kurt, had been a substitute dad for most of her life. But he was gone now, too, just over a year. Congestive heart failure. And she still missed the dear, sweet man. The deed to this building had been his parting gift to her and Kara was determined to make him proud of her.

She shook her head to return her focus to the present and walked to her desk for the phone. She quickly checked her client list, found the phone number for Willowby’s, the upscale restaurant that Brad Ralston owned, and then returned to the open box that had just been delivered. The queen of multi-tasking – as any mother of twins needed to be – she slipped the microphone attachment over her ear, pocketed the phone and went back to unpacking the new line of specialty collars and leashes she’d just received.

As an avid student of millionaire entrepreneurs-cum-authors Robert Kiyosaki and Donald Trump, Kara knew she needed to be focused, more business-minded and fearless in the face of risk if she wanted to make her dream become a reality. Successful franchises didn’t just appear by magic. They took work, dedication and determination.

“Willowby’s,” a smooth, throaty voice said. A woman’s voice that Kara remembered all too well. “Your first choice in dining pleasure. To make a reservation—”

Kara hung up. She hadn’t eaten at the place since she quit working there ten or so years ago. She’d been a waitress then. Staff had been able to eat at a discounted price, but often Brad would give leftovers to his wait-staff after the kitchen was closed for the night. Brad Ralston was a decent guy to work for, as Kara remembered. His wife…not so much.

“He’s not picking up at the restaurant,” she told Wilma, who was scrubbing George with such vigor the dog looked ready to melt into a puddle of bliss. “I’ll try his house. I don’t think we have his cell number.” She returned to her desk and consulted the client card. “Nope. Just Lynette’s, but there’s a line through it.”

Funny. She didn’t remember doing that, but she probably had. Everyone in town had heard about Lynette’s decision to run off with Brad’s partner.

She punched in the home number. Another answering machine. Brad’s voice this time. She’d always liked his voice. As she waited for the beep, she wondered why Brad hadn’t changed the message at the restaurant. Lynette had practically ruined the place, if local gossip was to be believed. Wouldn’t you hate the person who embezzled from your business then left town with your ex-partner?

“Um, hi, um, Brad…er, Mr. Ralston. This is Kara Williams calling from The Paws Spa. I just wanted to let you know that George showed up today. By himself. I don’t know exactly how or why, but since he…um…you…um…missed his last appointment, I’m going to go ahead and bathe him and trim his nails. He’ll be fine here until you show up to get him. Thanks.” She almost hung up then remembered she needed to leave her number. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. That was the silliest, most unprofessional message she’d ever left.

“What is wrong with me?”

She knew the answer, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. “I do not still have a crush on Brad Ralston. I was a dumb kid back then and he was a married man. I wanted something I couldn’t have. I’m soooo over that kind of adolescent thrill-seeking behavior,” she said with verve.

“Are you talking to yourself again?” Wilma called over the sound of water spraying.

“No. Just leaving a message. He didn’t answer at either number.”

“Probably had to go to the school to pick up his kid,” Wilma said, her thin voice barely audible above the discussion two dogs in separate holding pens were having.

Kara walked to the comfortably appointed wire kennels and gave each animal a treat. “Good boy, Hunter. Your Mom will be here soon.” A mix-breed with beagle ears and an excitable personality, Hunter took his chew bone and paced around, no doubt looking for a spot to bury it.

“Here you go, Pansy. Chew your bone like a good girl.” Pansy was twelve. An over-weight, highly pampered cocker spaniel with a silky golden coat.

After making sure the two were going to be quiet, Kara looked past the empty grooming stands that stood in the middle of the room, and asked, “Why do you say that?”

“Margaret Mieda’s daughter is a school bus driver. Margaret’s in my bridge group. She says Brad’s boy has got a real attitude problem.”

Kara removed her ear phone and dropped the unit on her desk, pausing to pet Whitey and Tiger, her two resident “guard” cats. The neutered males tended to duck out of sight when large dogs appeared, but they’d never seemed intimidated by George, and with Pansy and Hunter safely behind bars, they obviously felt brave enough to nap on her keyboard.

“That’s too bad. Maybe that explains why George has missed so many appointments,” she said, walking toward the shower stall.

Wilma’s bridge group met every Tuesday morning, and she always returned to work with an earful of gossip. “It’s not surprising that the boy has problems. Dogs aren’t the only ones that take it to heart when a family falls apart.”

Kara agreed. That was partly why she didn’t plan to get involved seriously with any man until after her children were through school. Maybe even collage. Why take the risk? Her mother’s impulsive marriage after Kara’s father’s death to a man who promised to take care of Nan and her little girl but wound up doing just the opposite had shaped Kara’s opinion of matrimony for the worse. And her own experience with Fly had confirmed that love was like stepping off the edge of the world. The freefall might be exciting but the landing could kill you.

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