All of Me by Lori Wilde Read Free Book Online Page A

but he’d had some kind of body.
    Haven’t you had enough of men after what Alex—
    Enough.
    Determined to stop thinking about the dream man, she took peanut butter—the smooth kind—from her pantry. She slathered it
     on a slice of wheat bread, folded it over, and called it breakfast. Balancing the peanut butter sandwich on her coffee cup,
     she opened the back door and walked out onto the stoop of her condo, where she liked to sit and watch the sunrise and eat
     her morning meal on the few days in Houston when the weather allowed such indulgences.
    Jillian had just settled onto the first step and stuck the sandwich in her mouth when she saw him.
    Hunkered in the corner behind the yaupon holly. Watching her like a fugitive. Correction. He wasn’t watching her; he was watching
     the sandwich.
    She took the peanut butter sandwich out of her mouth. “You hungry? You want this?”
    He leapt from the shrubbery and trotted over.
    Up close, she could see his mixed heritage—Lab, Doberman, collie, German shepherd, and with those ears, maybe even a bit of
     basset hound. He possessed big brown melancholy eyes, a sharp nose, and a tail that was too long for his body. He looked like
     a five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle put together by a three-year-old.
    Nothing fit.
    The mutt stopped at the bottom of the steps, nose twitching, oversized tail wagging. Jillian extended the sandwich, and he
     took it from her hand with surprising gentleness.
    It was gone in two quick bites.
    He looked hopeful.
    “You still hungry?”
    Of course he was still hungry. His flanks were so lean that she could count his ribs. His hair was matted, and she feared
     he had fleas and ticks, so she was leery of letting him into the condo.
    “Hang on,” she said. “I think I’ve got a can of chunked white albacore in the pantry.”
    He hung on.
    She got the tuna. He scarfed it down as quickly as he’d disposed of the peanut butter sandwich. When he was done, he sat on
     his haunches and looked at her. She was not a pet person. Had never owned one. Not even a goldfish. Her stepmother wouldn’t
     allow it, and she had no idea what to do with him.
    You need to find his owner
.
    She knocked on her neighbors’ doors. The dog followed. No one claimed him. After an hour of canvassing the neighborhood, she
     ended up back at her condo.
    “Right back where we started.”
    The expression on his doggy face seemed to say,
Story of my life
.
    She took him to the vet. She had nothing else to do, and it helped keep her mind off Blake and Alex and quitting her job and
     her crazy, wedding-veil-induced sex dream with a whiskey-eyed man in a sweat lodge.
    “The dog’s been neglected,” the veterinarian told her. “He needs medicine.”
    “That’s why I’m here.”
    “We’ll give him shots, clean him up, check his blood work, and he needs to be neutered.”
    “I’m not going to keep him. I just want him healthy while I look for his owners.”
    “I seriously doubt he has an owner. If you keep him, look into the neutering thing.”
    “I’m not keeping him. I’m not a pet person. I don’t do pets.”
    The vet prescribed medication. “Give him these pills once a month to prevent heartworms.”
    “Hello, not keeping him.”
    He pressed the prescription into her hand. “In case you change your mind.”
    She wasn’t going to change her mind. She couldn’t change it if she wanted to. Her condo didn’t allow dogs.
    When she got home, she called the
Houston Chronicle
and took out an ad. Then she went on the computer and posted on craigslist.
Lost dog.
She detailed his vital statistics and added her cell phone number.
    “Now we wait,” she told the mutt.
    He gazed at Jillian as if she was the most impressive person on the face of the earth.
    “Remember, Mutt, I’m not a pet person, so don’t get attached. I’ll just break your heart.”
    He looked as if he didn’t believe her.
    “I will. I’m mean that way. Ask anyone.”
    Her cell phone