Page 16 of Armed ’N’ Ready

She let out a disgusted huff.

It’s in the past. Forget it and move on.

There were plenty of problems to deal with in the here and now.

Shaking her head, she gazed out the windshield at the dog run, watching a medium-size Schnauzer cavorting with a large gray Bouvier. Stray’s friends.

She’d temporarily named the dog Stray after the animal had wandered into the DPC about a month ago. The café was turning out to be a magnet for wayward dogs, and thus far she’d been 100 percent successful in finding good homes for all of them. Since Stray was a beautiful female with a sunny temperament, she figured the dog would be adopted any day now, and she was already sad at the prospect of not having her around.

Unable to drag her butt inside, she sat in the truck with the engine running. She frowned, wishing she could call Joe, but that wasn’t possible. Federal agents had seized her personal phone.

Who writes phone numbers down anymore?

The cell at work didn’t have any of her personal contacts, but at least she could borrow it for a bit.

Even sitting in the truck with the AC on, she began to sweat into her blue tank and khaki shorts—the clothes Sgt. Houston had selected for her. Funny how he was so completely not the kind of man she’d be interested in, yet something about him stuck in her mind. Like a burr. No, make that one big-ass burr.

The man was as big and strong as an oak tree. Even his dog was enormous, looking as if it should be housed in a barn, not a kennel. The two of them were made for each other. Although the dog—Saxon—was significantly friendlier than the man. No, she much preferred a warm, affable man who actually knew how to smile. Definitely not one who obviously spent every spare moment pumping iron in a gym.

Ironically, he seemed to have a soft spot for dogs. His concern for Stray’s wellbeing had taken her totally by surprise.

No sooner had she stepped out of the truck than the midmorning heat and oppressive humidity slammed into her. She opened the rear door, and Stray leaped out, charging to the dog run’s fence. Her golden-brown body wriggled as she stood on her hind legs and rested her front paws on the top rail.

Andi readjusted her leather shoulder bag then joined Stray at the fence. She ruffled the hair on the dog’s head and massaged her soft ears. Stray groaned in obvious pleasure, leaning into her hand. She didn’t know who got more out of these moments, her or the dog. There was something so soothing about petting a dog.

Stray barked and pushed her wet nose against Andi’s hand.

“Okay, okay, girl.” She laughed. “Go play with your friends.”

The second she’d opened the inner gate to the run, Stray took off like a shot and bolted after the other dogs.

Back outside the gates, Andi joined two of her customers, Frank Feldman and Meera Devine. Frank owned Penny, the Schnauzer, while Scottie, the Bouvier, belonged to Meera.

Frank was a nice-looking man, around forty-five and with only a touch of gray in his hair. He was absolutely crazy about dogs and the DPC’s broccoli rabe and pulled pork panini with a side of mac ’n’ cheese. Meera was around the same age as Frank and worked part-time as a secretary. Despite the woman being ten years her senior, Andi enjoyed the many chats they’d had since the restaurant opened.

“Morning, Frank. Morning, Meera.”

“Morning, Andi,” they replied in unison.

“Stray is certainly full of energy today.” Meera nodded to where Stray ran circles around the other dogs.

“That she is.” Whereas Andi felt positively drained.

When she glanced at the other woman, she couldn’t miss how close Frank stood to Meera or how their shoulders remained in constant contact.

Hmm, sweet. The possibility that the DPC had brought two of her favorite customers together added a touch of much-needed brightness to what had begun as a depressingly awful morning.

She smiled inwardly. Frank and Meera were perfect for each other. “I’d better get inside before the lunch rush kicks in.” More importantly, she suspected they were still in the “puppy love” stage and would prefer being alone.

After exchanging goodbyes, she headed to the cafe’s rear entrance and pulled open the door that led directly into the kitchen to find Marty Machatto, her head chef, leaning over to inspect something in the panini press.

“’Bout time you showed up.” He lifted the lid of the panini press and slid out an expertly toasted sandwich, complete with perfect golden-brown grill lines. He placed it on a cutting board and made quick work of cutting it into four squares. “It’s my new invention.”

“Ingredients?” She didn’t know which happened first, her mouth watering or her stomach growling.

He grabbed a napkin, then handed her a piece of the sandwich. “Smoked turkey, avocado, homemade mozzarella with a pine-nut pesto spread, on potato-dill bread.”

“Sounds delicious.” She bit into the crusty sandwich, then chewed slowly. The garlicky pesto hit her taste buds first, followed by the mozzarella and all the other fresh ingredients that blended harmoniously on her tongue. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, then sighed her approval. “Chef, you’ve outdone yourself. It’s orgasmic. Start it out as a special, and we’ll see if everyone else loves it as much as I do.”