“I will, I’ll do that. Thanks, dogman!” He gave a gentle tug on the leash and Butch reluctantly backed away from Stuart. “Hey? How’d you know my name?”

  Stuart did not reply, just waved goodbye. To Butch, not to the boy. Butch let out a quick bark, soft enough so as not to unsettle the still uneasy among the crowd. It was anyway mostly lost in the applause that filled the room. An amazed Cindy looked to Jen for a comment, a clarification, something to explain what she had just seen. All Jen could do was shrug and join in the applause. There was, after all, nothing she could say. Nothing, at least, that would not result in her being hauled off for extensive medical examination.

  It was something of a surprise to encounter Derek and his dog Avery when she stepped outside to get away from the crowd and catch a breath of fresh air.

  “Fancy meeting you here,” she said. Oh Jen, she told herself, your wit is legendary. But as is usually the case it was too late to think of something else to say. She did remember to smile.

  He smiled back. He had a very nice smile, she decided. Open and honest, not fake professional. “I might say the same. I didn’t know you worked here. I thought you sold real estate.”

  “On occasion.” There,” she thought, that was a little better. A little. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked past her and into the store. “A friend called. Said there’s this insanely good dog psychic here today. You know ballplayers. We’re superstitious about everything. So I thought I’d drive over and see what’s going on.” He grinned down at the golden retriever by his side. “I don’t buy into it myself, but who knows? Maybe Avery would like to get his paw read.”

  A glance showed Stuart making his way toward the doorway, politely declining request after request by owners to minister to their dogs. Seeing that the session, or whatever it was, was over for the day, those who had been waiting in line began to disperse. In general, they were more than a little disappointed. The cat was not.

  “Here he comes,” Jen said. “I’ll introduce you.”

  “Excuse me.” Stuart was almost pleading. “I have to get back to Jen.”

  The last disappointed petitioners dropped away as Jen grabbed him. Leaning in, she whispered in his ear. “This is a client. Derek Jones. Be extra nice because….”

  Before she could finish, the retriever had jumped up to plant his tongue on Stuart’s face, causing Jen to stumble slightly. Catching her before she could fall, Jones steadied her, helped her recover her balance.

  “Thanks.” He was, she reflected, in considerably better physical condition than Arthur. Or anyone else she had ever dated.

  There was no need for her to caution Stuart because he was as open and cheery with this new human as he was with everyone.

  “Hi, Derek Jones.”

  “Ha!” The ballplayer eyed the retriever. “Did Avery tell you that?”

  “No.” Stuart looked to his right. “Jen did. Just now.”

  “Of course. What was I thinking? So good to meet you, man. I hear you talk to dogs? We’ve got a couple on our team who need a lot of work.” He chuckled in spite of himself.

  Utterly oblivious to the reference, Stuart replied brightly, “I hear you can throw a ball pretty far. Avery says that’s his favorite thing and he misses the orange one.”

  The ballplayer’s grin vanished. “Avery said that?”

  “He wants to know where it is,” Stuart added before Jen could intervene. Beside him, the retriever began to bark and bounce excitedly. Turning away from the visiting human, Stuart engaged the other dog in play. At least, Jen reflected, he didn’t drop to all fours. They were safe—for the moment.

  Forcing himself back to reality, Derek turned to Jen. “Can we do that lunch meeting today at my place? I know I mentioned that restaurant, but I promise there’ll be actual food and it’ll save my schedule. Which I blew coming down here today. Not that I’m sorry I did.” He looked over to where Stuart and Avery were chasing each other in circles. “Interesting character for sure, your bud.”

  “Noon works,” she replied readily. “Stuart is visiting. He’s an old friend from college.”

  “Not a problem. Bring him. Avery’ll be delighted.”

  “And you?” She eyed him questioningly.

  “I never met a dog I didn’t like, and I think the feeling’s mutual.”

  “Okay.” She turned back toward The Barkery. “Let me finish up here with everyone and we’ll see you at noon.” She started toward the store, beckoning to Stuart. He joined her a bit reluctantly.

  Derek waved as they departed. “Nice meeting you, Stuart. See you guys in a bit!”

  Stuart winked back at him, momentarily throwing the ballplayer off-stride. He shrugged it off. What else could you expect from a dog psychic? At the same time, Avery let out a sharp bark. The guy certainly had something, Derek admitted. Though he chose not to speculate on what that something might be.

  Leaving proved a tad more difficult than arriving. The crowd had grown and now a couple of news trucks were blocking part of the street. Nothing much of interest happened in the L.A. basin that didn’t make it onto the news within half an hour of revelation.

  Not everyone had left and the space outside the store was still packed with customers. They ignored Jen in favor of bombarding Stuart with questions. Is what I’m feeding Trixie really the best choice for her? My Rufus gets filthy but hates baths: what can I do? Savonarola hates his name: is it too late to change it to Savvy?

  Ever polite, Stuart did his best to supply an answer to every query. As long as Jen was nearby he was happy to oblige. Besides, right now she was on the phone. Despite the distance between them he had no trouble overhearing.

  “Hi, this is Arthur. I can’t take this call because I’m either at the Round Table with Galahad and Lancelot or on my yacht. Leave a….”

  For a moment he thought that Jen was going to throw her phone into one of the sample doggie bathtubs stacked behind the main counter. This struck him as uncharacteristic. Apparently, she relented, because she put her phone back in her purse. Jammed it back in, actually. Then she was at his side once more. For some reason she seemed suddenly unhappy.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she muttered as she searched for a path clear of the crowd.

  “But all these people—” he protested.

  “They’ll get over it. Maybe,” she said sarcastically, “we can sign you an advice column. Meanwhile, say goodbye to all your fans. We have a lunch appointment, with Derek.”

  That was all it took. “Lunch! Okay!” Displaying exceptional physical dexterity, he hopped up onto a bench as effortlessly as any gymnast. “It was nice meeting you all today! Remember to brush your teeth before you go to sleep, and remember to brush your dog’s teeth, too. Or at least make sure they get regular dental chews.” Barks and claps punctuated his words. “For a good, tasty brand, I can personally recommend….”

  Grabbing an arm, Jen pulled him off the bench.

  In a hurry to get to her car, she nearly bumped into guitarist Jim. It left her flustered and embarrassed. He was going to think that unyielding physical contact was her preferred method of greeting. Stuart ignored him, having eyes only for the petite terrier leashed at his side.

  “Jen!” he exclaimed.

  “Jim!” she mumbled.

  “Sweetie Peters!” Stuart cried joyfully.

  “Ruff!” the terrier added.

  Formal greetings having been satisfactorily concluded, it was Jim who spoke first. “Everyone is talking about you guys. It’s all over the media. Professional as well as social. What’s going on here?” Distracted, he noticed that a news anchor from CBS was chatting with a figure he recognized. “Look, there’s Derek Jones, from the Angels.” He remembered their earlier conversation. “The lunch date you told me about? It’s with that Derek Jones? That’s a home run, Jen.”

  She smiled. No point in denying it. “Yes, it’s him.”

  With Jen engaged with the guitarist there was no one to counsel Stuart to not get down on his knees in front of the Boston terrier. She took a couple of steps back, closer to Jim’s feet.

  “Don’t embarrass me in front of everyone, Stuart Louis.” Looking around, she saw other dogs at her level staring in their direction. “Little bitches will gossip. You know: yap, yap, yap.”

  Flustered, he sat back on his heels. “I would never do that to you, Sweetie Peters.”

  “Maybe not intentionally, but how do you know what you might do in your present form? Humans have a whole culture devoted to embarrassing one another. When are you getting back on all fours?” She looked him over. “You don’t look too bad this way. For a human. But you’re more bare-skinned than a greyhound and you’ve got no tail. I’ll never understand how humans can really express emotion without a tail.” For emphasis she wagged her own. “The whole park is talking.”

  “It sucks, I know,” he told her. “It’s getting easier, but I still feel like I’m going to fall down every time I take a step. As for missing tail-wagging, from what I’ve seen humans are very sparing with it, and when they do it, context is really important or you can get into serious trouble. I’m doing everything I can. I promise.”

  Nearby, the news reporter that had encountered Derek Jones and Avery, had corralled them for an interview. Jones, that is. She would have learned a lot more had she been able to interview Avery. With a cameraman at the ready, the producer standing beside him held up five fingers indicating that they were on air. Immediately the reporter’s expression morphed from thoughtful to that frozen rictus of happiness all television reporters are required to master.

  “I’m Maria Sanchez and we are live at The Barkery in Newport with Angels’ shortstop Derek Jones.” She turned from the camera to her interviewee. “What’s going on, Derek?”

  “Well, we’re off to a good start this season. Won a few games, well-positioned to move up in the standings. Our next seven games are at home, so we’re all looking forward to that. I’d like to kick my average up about ten points, but I’ve hit a few home runs so….”

  She waved him off. “No, no, not that. I don’t mean what’s up with baseball. I mean here, at The Barkery”. She nodded in the direction of the store and the crowd that was still mulling around out front. “I understand there is a dog whisperer inside right now.”

  “Not inside.” He turned toward the store. “I think he’s outside now and….”

  She cut him off again, bloviated with faux excitement. “Did your dog talk to him?”

  Having done dozens of interviews over the years, Derek had learned patience. Instead of chiding the reporter for interrupting, much less electing not to talk baseball, he simply pointed.

  “Yeah, Avery here just talked to him.” The retriever crowded close around his owner’s legs. “He’s right over there with Jen Jensen. You know—the pet friendly realtor?”

  The reporter’s professional smile remained lacquered on her face, but the rest of her expression was blank.

  Jen, however, noticed her new client talking with the reporter. When he pointed in her direction she knew it was time to go. The thought of Stuart being interviewed on live TV conjured up possibilities to which she knew she would not be able to appropriately respond.

  Noticing her stare, Jim looked in the same direction and saw only the ballplayer being interviewed by a reporter. “Everything alright, Jen?”

  “Uh, the park, your guitar, dogs, big real estate deal, we really gotta go, just call me later. I’ll explain, maybe, kinda, if I can, so you don’t think I’m crazy.” Aware that how she was speaking and what she was saying might be perceived as contradicting her last comment, she gave up. “We’ll fix, don’t worry, bye Jim.” Putting a hand on her companion’s shoulder, she gave a gentle squeeze. “C’mon, Stuart. Time to go.”

  He straightened, his attention still on the terrier in front of him but now far below eye level. “Goodbye, Sweetie Peters. See you later.” The response was a polite bark.

  In the process of frantically trying to reposition her camera team, Sanchez brushed off her exasperated interviewee as effortlessly as one of the surfers in the nearby water dropping into a barrel.

  “What?” he reproved her. “Don’t you want to talk about baseball? Did you see the catch I made of that line driver last week against the Marlins? Why are you talking to me, anyway?”

  She wasn’t. Not any longer, anyway. She was gesturing to her producer, who initiated a second five-finger countdown as Jen and Stuart escaped through the far side of the crowd.

  “I’m Maria Sanchez, CBS 2.” Shading her eyes with one hand while she gripped the mic with the other she struggled to see over the crowd. “Where’d they go?”

  Knowing that calling out “where’d they go?” was unsatisfactory content for live TV, the producer signaled to his team in the nearby truck while miming a cutting motion across his throat. The transmission went dead, along with Sanchez’s hopes for a mid-afternoon scoop.

  Looking back and seeing that for the moment at least they were clear of both the crowd and the news crew, Jen broke into a jog. Stuart said nothing but matched her stride for stride. He loved it when they could go for a little run.

  He panted as they ran, but only out of habit.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jen felt certain that Derek Jones’ house was going to be an easy sell. The asking price was fair, it was in a great neighborhood, and it was in like-new condition—probably because the owner hadn’t utilized half the rooms. Its internal layout made it suitable for an executive’s home or a sizable family. She felt fortunate to have the listing. As if that weren’t enough, the owner was…

  Charming, she told herself. Just charming. Leave it at that. Don’t go down that road. Not now. There were other issues that had to be dealt with first. Her mother. Arthur. She glanced sideways at the good-looking chap striding along beside her. Her—dog. Brother, did she have issues.

  As they approached the main entrance Stuart made admiring sounds.

  “I told you it was huge.” Even as she was monitoring him her professional eye was making fresh mental notes of every section of fence, every stalk of landscaping. “I think he’s decided it’s much bigger than anything he needs. And he’s got two birds. I don’t know why. Maybe they remind him of the roar of the crowd. Or maybe he just likes birds.”

  “Birds?” Stuart’s expression was child-like. “Real birds?”

  Having come out to greet them, Derek had overheard. “Holly and Molly. I put them upstairs. They were in a very loud mood today.”

  “’Today’?” Jen eyed him archly. “What were they doing the last time I was here? Whispering secrets?”

  “You’d have to ask them.” His gaze shifted to her companion. “Or maybe Stuart here could ask them. Or does he only do dogs?”

  Jen tensed slightly. Thankfully, Stuart didn’t respond. He was too busy sniffing the air emanating from the house. Interesting aromas arose from within. Derek noticed, and the distraction was enough for him to change the subject.

  “I made us a Niçoise salad for lunch. I hope you like tuna.”

  “You made?” Don’t go there, Jen reminded herself. Still, the fact that he had fixed lunch by himself instead of ordering in checked another box on her list of desirable male qualities. He might not have actually cooked anything, but it was still a step in the right direction. Not to mention the fact that he could correctly pronounce “Niçoise”.

  “Sounds delicious,” she told him.

  Stuart felt rather different about the midday meal prospects. Plainly grossed out, he leaned over to whisper to Jen as Derek led them into the house. He had learned enough to know not to say out loud what he was thinking. Most of the time, anyway.

  “I thought I smelled tuna. That’s cat food. Cat food on top of rabbit food. I can’t eat that.”

  She nudged him in the ribs. “Shhh, be quiet.”

  Though doubtful, where an instruction from Jen was concerned he always complied. Feeling of his side where she had tapped him, he followed her in.

  Bounding past Derek, Avery all but leaped into Stuart’s arms. His owner might have seen the retriever lick his visitor’s face enthusiastically. He likely did not see Stuart return the licking.

  “Hey buddy.” Letting the retriever down easily, Stuart stroked the top of his head. “Nice place you got here!”

  “It’s okay,” Avery replied. “Gets lonely when Derek is playing in away games. Come play outside, Stuart!”

  As Derek led them to the table where lunch would be served, Jen was unpacking a sheaf of papers from her oversized purse. “I have the paperwork with me. Just take a couple of minutes to go over the last details and add signatures.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t worry about that right now. There’s plenty of time. Let’s eat first. Just take a second to set the table.” Observing that his dog was trying to be everywhere at once he added, “Let me take Avery outside. He has a bad habit of begging at the table, especially when I’ve got company.”

  Taking hold of the retriever’s collar, Derek led him toward a back door. Avery complied, following the lead, but whining softly as he looked back. Moving to a rear window, Stuart stared as Derek released the retriever into the ample yard. He was as anxious to play as was his longer-haired counterpart.

  Coming up beside him, Jen whispered anxiously. “I have to get this done, Stuart.” She gestured back toward the table. “I need to get those papers signed. Please control your instincts.”

  “Oh, all right.” He turned away from the window. “Humans and their papers.”

  Returning after releasing Avery, their host proceeded to set the table and make a second trip to the nearby kitchen, returning with a large glass bowl mounded high with greens and speckled with flakes of yellowtail. Jen took a seat while Stuart carefully imitated her movements.

  “Help yourselves.” Derek sat down at the other side of the table. “My mother taught me how to make this salad. God bless her soul.”