Baby for the Billionaire(74)
“What kind of dog is she?” Annalise asked. “Other than big?”
No one was listening to him, or, at least, they’d developed selective hearing. Caving to the inevitable, he examined the animal with a critical eye. “Definitely Great Dane. And judging by the breadth and shape of her, not to mention the droopy ears, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some mastiff mixed in there somewhere.”
“Well, whatever she is, she’s a beauty,” Annalise replied, rocking back onto her heels.
He bent down and retrieved his cell phone from Annalise and punched in the number to the main house. Mrs. Westcott answered on the first ring. “We have a visitor,” he explained after they’d exchanged pleasantries. “She’s four-legged, about the size of a Humvee. And half-starved.”
“You’ve seen her? Well, thank goodness for that. Animal Control has been trying to catch her for the past week. She’s a clever minx, that one is.”
He eyed the ecstatic dog who’d rolled onto her back, enjoying a tummy rub, dinner-plate-sized paws pinwheeling in the air. “Well, your clever minx is currently splayed out in the middle of Taye’s bungalow living room floor.”
“Oh, Mr. Mason. Aren’t you sweet to take her in.”
“No! No, I’m not—”
“I’ve been so worried about her. I was just coming to work when I saw her get dumped. A bunch of college kids tossed her out of the car like so much garbage, poor critter. Thank goodness she’ll have a good home.”
He gritted his teeth. “Only if someone is insane enough to adopt her. Can you call Animal Control for us?” At the question, three pairs of outraged eyes pinned him to the wall. Mrs. Westcott weighed in with a disapproving tsking sound. “What?” he asked, a shade defensively.
In response, Isabella threw herself on top of the dog as though to prevent anyone from dragging the animal away. He didn’t bother to explain that it would take a crane and bulldozer to move the beast if she turned uncooperative.
Annalise moistened her lips, lips he’d taken great delight in kissing only the night before. If she hadn’t chosen such an underhanded distraction, his brain cells would have stayed where they belonged instead of draining out of his ears and puddling on the floor.
“Maybe we should discuss this first, before you make any rash decisions.” She didn’t phrase it like a suggestion. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like a demand. “I don’t see why we can’t keep her until you track down the owners.”
“Is that your new nanny?” Mrs. Westcott asked. “She sounds like a sensible woman.”
With the female-to-male ratio running three-to-one against him—he eyed the dog—no, make that four-to-one—the odds were definitely not in his favor. “I never make rash decisions,” he announced in a no-nonsense tone of voice. “And considering I’m the one in charge around here, I believe that makes me best qualified to decide whether or not it’s appropriate to call Animal Control.”
Mrs. Westcott snorted.
“It would only be for a day,” Annalise stated, sounding far too authoritative for an employee. “Two, at most.”
“There’s a simple way to resolve this,” Jack said.
He thanked the housekeeper for her assistance and snapped the phone closed with a decisive click before approaching the dog and examining the rabies tag. Sure enough, it listed the address and phone number of the clinic where the shot had been administered. He placed the call and within minutes was handed off to the veterinarian.
“I know the dog you mean. Dane/mastiff mix,” the vet said, confirming Jack’s guess. “That’s Madam. She is—or perhaps more accurately based on what you’re telling me—was the mascot for a college fraternity. They weren’t supposed to have her and were told not to bring her back. Apparently, they played several rounds of beer pong in order to determine who’d be the one taking her home. The boy who lost is the one who brought her in. I gather his parents insisted before she moved in.”
“I don’t suppose you have a name or phone number?”
“I do, for all the good it’ll do you. How does the last name ‘Zur,’ first name ‘Lou,’ strike you?”
“Lou Zur?” Jack groaned. “Loser?”
“Hmm. Clever lads, these college boys. It gives me such hope for the future of our country. You can check the home number he gave, but it’s probably a local bar or strip joint. My guess is that when the boy showed up at home with Madam his parents changed their mind about keeping her. Dumping the dog must have been his brilliant solution to the problem. I wish I could claim his behavior was the exception, but if you visited an animal shelter, you’d see it isn’t.”