. . . that he knew of. Oh God—he’d never done anything that he thought might warrant an accusation. Had he done something offensive and hadn’t known it? Wait—could this have something to do with Alanna? She’d seemed so annoyed the morning she left. But surely this was not that. Surely he wasn’t so obtuse that he misread a woman’s intent to sue him. So why was this woman at his door staring at him like that? “Excuse me—I’m not sure what’s going on here, but is there something I can do for you?”
“You bet there is something you can do for me, Mr. Sheffington. You can give—” The woman suddenly gasped and her eyes lit with delight in such a stunning change of pace that it jolted him. “Baxter!” she cried, throwing her arms so wide that one of her sleeves slapped Max in the shoulder.
Max looked back as Dog gallumphed to the front door.
“Oh my God, you’re alive!” she cried, and went down on her knees, wrapping her weird sleeves around the dog’s neck.
Well, then. He would not have guessed she was here for a dog. “I take it he is yours?” he asked dryly as Baxter’s happy tail banged against his leg.
“I have been so worried about you,” the woman said to the dog, and buried her face in his fur. “Are you okay, Baxter?” Dog responded with a sloppy lick of her cheek. She rubbed Baxter’s sides vigorously with both hands, but Baxter wiggled out of her embrace and hurried back inside.
“Well,” Max said as he watched him go. “That’s the most energetic I’ve seen him. He’s been kind of mopey.”
“He has some issues, and of course this little stunt hasn’t helped matters.”
“Okay, for the record, I didn’t do the stunt,” Max said, holding up both hands. She was trying to gain her feet, but she couldn’t find her hands. “Do you need some help?”
“No, thank you. If you can’t do for yourself in high fashion, then you shouldn’t wear high fashion.”
He didn’t know what kind of fashion she was wearing but he could definitely agree with high, because whoever had come up with that costume had been as high as a kite.
She managed to come to her feet, and when she did, she spent a moment trying to do right all that was wrong with those gargantuan sleeves, then said, “I can’t believe I found him!” And she smiled with delight, and the effect was very confusing and very pleasing. For one, Max didn’t fear being punched in the face anymore. And two, she was really pretty. He preferred pretty. He was much more on board with the idea that a pretty woman had shown up to claim her dog, because it was a damn sight better than looking at Brant’s mug.
Max stuck out his hand. “Can we start over? I’m Max.”
“Hi, Max. I’m Carly. Sorry about all that, but it says Tobias on the list, and, honestly, who can you trust these days?” She pushed the sleeve back and took his hand with a surprisingly strong grip and gave him a couple of firm shakes as she looked him in the eye.
“Hello, Carly. I think I speak for both Dog and myself when I say we are very glad you found us. Just how did you find us, anyway?”
“Well that’s a story.” She folded her arms, and those weird sleeves bunched up in the crooks of her arms. “I have spent the last two days tracking down one Mr. Brant Reynolds, with whom I believe you are acquainted?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Guess where he is?”
“If I knew that, I’d have killed him by now.”
“No, seriously—guess.”
“Well, I thought maybe a—”
“Jail!” she shouted, and threw open her arms, hitting him in the shoulder with a sleeve again. “He’s in jail!”
Jail. Huh. That hadn’t actually occurred to Max for some reason. He’d imagined Brant getting himself killed or hospitalized . . . but not jailed. But as Brant didn’t seem like the most upstanding citizen in town, it did not come as much of a surprise. “What did he do? Wait—where is my dog?”
“I’ve got her. What happened to Baxter?” she asked, trying to see past him into his house.
“I think he headed back to the couch.”
Carly with the blue eyes blinked.
“He’s watching a little Dog TV,” Max said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“Yeah,” Max said with a shrug. “He likes it. Have you never had it on?”