The Search Read Online Free Page A

she thought, as his—hard, calloused—took hers. Then the name clicked. “Sure, wood artist.”
    “Mostly I build furniture.”
    “Great stuff. I bought one of your bowls a few weeks ago. I can’t seem to resist a nice bowl. My stepmother carries your work in her shop. Island Arts.”
    “Sylvia, yeah. She’s great.” He brushed off the compliment, the sale, the small talk. A man on a mission. “She’s the one who told me to come talk to you. So how much of the million do you need up front?”
    “Where’s the dog?”
    “In the truck.”
    She looked past him, cocked her head. She saw the pup through the window now. A Lab-retriever mix, she judged—and currently very busy.
    “Your dog’s eating your truck.”
    “What?” He spun around. “Fuck!”
    As he made the dash, Fiona signaled her newly alerted dogs to stay and sauntered after him. The best way to get a gauge on the man, the dog and their current dynamic was to watch how he handled the situation.
    “For God’s sake.” He wrenched open the door. “Goddamn it, what’s wrong with you?”
    The puppy, obviously unafraid, unrepentant, leaped into the man’s arms and slathered his face with eager kisses.
    “Cut it out. Just stop !” He held the puppy out at arm’s length, where it wagged and wriggled and yipped in delight.
    “I just bought this truck. He ate the headrest. How could he eat the headrest in under five minutes?”
    “It takes about ten seconds for a puppy to get bored. Bored puppies chew. Happy puppies chew. Sad puppies chew.”
    “Tell me about it,” Simon said bitterly. “I bought him a mountain of chew deals, but he goes for shoes, furniture, freaking rocks and everything else—including my new truck. Here.” He shoved the puppy at Fiona. “Do something.”
    She cradled the pup, who immediately bathed her face as if they were reunited lovers. She caught the faintest whiff of leather on his warm puppy breath.
    “Aren’t you cute? Are you a pretty boy?”
    “He’s a monster.” Simon snarled it. “An escape artist who doesn’t sleep. If I take my eye off him for two minutes, he eats something or breaks something or finds the most inappropriate place to relieve himself. I haven’t had a minute’s peace in three weeks.”
    “Um-hmm.” She snuggled the pup. “What’s his name?”
    Simon shot a look at the dog that didn’t speak of returning sloppy kisses. “Jaws.”
    “Very appropriate. Well, let’s see what he’s made of.” She crouched down with him, then signaled her dogs to release. As they trotted over, she set the puppy on the ground.
    Some puppies would cower, some would hide or run away. But others, like Jaws, were made of sterner stuff. He leaped at the dogs, yipping and wagging. He sniffed as they sniffed, quivered with glee, nipped at legs and tails.
    “Brave little soldier,” Fiona murmured.
    “He has no fear. Make him afraid.”
    She sighed, shook her head. “Why did you get a dog?”
    “Because my mother gave him to me. Now I’m stuck with him. I like dogs, okay? I’ll trade him for one of yours right now. You pick.”
    She studied Simon’s sharp-boned, stubbled face. “Not getting much sleep, are you?”
    “The only way I get so much as an hour at a time is if I put him in the bed. He’s already ripped every pillow I own to shreds. And he’s started on the mattress.”
    “You should try crate-training him.”
    “I got a crate. He ate the crate. Or enough of it to get out. I think he must be able to flatten himself like a snake. I can’t get any work done. I think maybe he’s brain-damaged, or just psychotic.”
    “What he is, is a baby who needs a lot of playtime, love, patience and discipline,” she corrected as Jaws merrily humped Newman’s leg.
    “Why does he do that? He’ll hump anything. If he’s a baby, why does he think about humping everything?”
    “It’s instinct—and an attempt to show dominance. He wants to be the big dog. Bogart! Get the rope!”
    “Jesus, I