Tina Wainscott - Driven To Distraction

“Uh, no, it’s me, Barrett.” He angled his face next to Elmo’s as she neared the hedge. “I’ve got your underwear over here.” He blinked, realizing what he’d said. “Dog, I mean.”

“Did you say underwear?”

“No, I didn’t say underwear.”

She gave him a speculative glance and headed over. “I knew the dog wasn’t talking, by the way. And speaking of, what are you doing with my dog? I thought you didn’t like them.”

“It came over to visit. I’m sure it would like to go back now. And it’s not that I dislike them.”

Their hands tangled as they exchanged the dog, who was wriggling like bacteria under a slide. She hoisted him under her arm and peered down. “I know, you’re afraid of them.”

“Uncomfortable.”

“And babies.”

“Pardon?”

“And you’re afraid of babies.”

“I’m slightly more uncomfortable around babies than I am dogs.”

She let out a quick little sigh. “Thanks for returning Elmo.”

They stood there for thirteen seconds before they cleared their throats and said simultaneously, “Well, I’d better get back to work.”

Another five seconds passed until she said, “See you.”

“I see you, too.” He rolled his eyes. Why did this woman have him tongue-tied?

Then she was gone, and that was a good thing, because he really had to get back to work. Before he’d even reached the table, Elmo had returned. It was looking at him in an odd way, with its head tilted. What did it want? Why was it back? Then it jumped up on his lap and continued looking at him with those bug eyes. With a frog-quick tongue, it licked Barrett’s chin.

“Stacy,” he called, avoiding another assault. “Get it off me, please.”

“Coming.” She appeared around the corner of the house with a leash in hand. Today her yellow T-shirt said Madness Takes Its Toll. Please Have Exact Change. “He’s not an it.” She tilted her head and studied Elmo, who was lapping at the air Barrett exhaled. “I’ll be darned. I think he likes you.”

He handed the dog to her. “But he doesn’t even know me.”

She laughed at that, just a quick giggle actually. Still, making her laugh, though he had no idea how he’d done it, sent a flood of warmth through him.

“Don’t you believe in love at first sight?” she asked, rubbing her cheek against the top of Elmo’s head.

“The sensation of falling in love, or romance in all its various forms, can be explained scientifically. I did a report on it in college. Feelings of euphoria are produced by natural stimulants in the brain—dopamine and norepinephrine. It’s all hormone driven, all geared for the sole intent of propagating our species. The euphoric feeling of falling in love is simply a chemical reaction that can be broken down into—”

“Forget it!” She lifted her hand as though to physically stop the words from leaving his mouth. “I don’t want the magic of falling in love to be ruined by technicalities. Wait a minute.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re not afraid of romance, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Uncomfortable with it?”

A loud horn honked three times out front before he could respond. The challenge faded from her face. “Tanya,” she said. “The parade has started.”

“Arlene’s niece?”

“The one and only.” Stacy clipped the leash on Elmo and set him on the ground. The scrawny dog tried to get to Barrett, its little legs flailing when it hit the end of the leash. “She always honks her horn when she comes into Sunset City. This time she’s honking for you.”

“Be still my heart.”

That got an interesting look from Stacy—and a smile. They headed around the side of the house and met up with a pretty woman in jeans so tight, if she sneezed, they’d probably disintegrate. Her thick blond hair was tied back with what looked like a belt that belonged in a car engine. Her blue shirt was smeared with grease.

“Hey, Stacy. You must be Barrett.” She took a moment to survey him, and her voice shifted an octave lower. “Aunt Arlene said you might need a thrust angle alignment. Want to show me where your shimmy is?”

“I need a what?” Barrett said.

“His shimmy is just fine,” Stacy said. “I mean, he doesn’t need to put his car in your garage…if you know what I mean.” She lowered her chin and stared at Tanya meaningfully.

“Oh, I get what you mean. You already have a garage in mind.”

“Exactly.”

Tanya’s eyes narrowed. “Nita’s bagged him, hasn’t she? Dang, she’s fast.” She handed Barrett her business card, letting her fingers linger against his. “If you want me to lube your ball bearings, give me a call sometime.”

Barrett cleared his throat. “My ball bearings will keep that in mind.”

“Cute.” She winked, clucked her tongue and hopped in her tow truck.

“She called me cute. After you called the snails cute, I don’t think that’s much of a compliment. And what did she mean, Nita’s bagged me?” he asked. “Who’s Nita?”

“Oh, you’ll meet her soon enough.” Those words came out from between gritted teeth. “And never mind the bagging. Look, I suggest you lock your doors for the rest of the day. Don’t answer the phone or doorbell.” She tugged on Elmo’s leash. “Come on, boy.”

STACY STALKED back to her house and tried to continue working with the recalcitrant Elmo. For some reason, the little weasel was completely enamored with Barrett. He kept glancing longingly toward the hedges and whimpering. “He doesn’t do dogs,” she said in a low voice. “Or babies. Or even romance!” Perfectly good reasons not to be interested, if she needed more than the disparate intelligence factor. So that swirling feeling inside her at the thought of him must be the ovulation countdown. She had a deadline for her project, too.

It was hard to actually imagine herself as a mother. Particularly a single mother.

Forget that part. Just think about the baby part.

She hadn’t started converting the second bedroom into a nursery yet. She didn’t want to alert the neighbors. But she knew exactly what it was going to look like—bright yellow, the flowers-with-faces theme she’d seen at the department store.

Elmo made the dash to the hedge once again, yanking her out of baby daydreams. She tried to grab the end of the trailing leash, but weasel boy was gone before she could reach it. Then she heard a soft oof from the other side, and then, “You again, huh?”

He probably thought the same thing whenever he saw her. With resignation, she walked around the hedge to the backyard where Barrett sat at the table with all his notes, charts and his laptop computer…and Elmo sitting on his lap, his insanely long tongue flicking toward Barrett’s chin. Barrett was shrunk back as far as the chair would allow.

“I’m officially renaming him Weasel Boy,” she said. “He does look a bit like a weasel, doesn’t he? You know, I haven’t seen that dog take to anyone in the whole time he’s been at the Humane Society.”

Weasel Boy gave up on the licking and curled up on Barrett’s lap, an enviable position to say the least. She only let herself dwell on that particular fantasy for a moment before she realized he’d said something. “What?”

“How long has he been at the shelter?”

“Five months. The problem is, when people come in looking for a dog, they want pretty or cute. Weasel Boy is the cute kind of ugly that baby birds are. And snails. He won’t come to anyone, hardly eats, whines all the time, looks lost…” She tilted her head. “Well, until now.”

Barrett studied the dog. “Why is he in there?”

“God supposedly told his owner to join the Peace Corps. Weasel Boy had been with him since he was a puppy. He took it hard, naturally. Dogs bond with their pack leader, their owner. He does seem to adore you for some odd reason. Not that you’re unadorable, because you’re not. Are. Not that I think you’re adorable. Or that you’re not.” If only she had some mashed potatoes she could stuff into her mouth. “Anyway, that dog obviously adores you.”