doorway and growled low in his throat.
She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had stood up for her like that. The unexpected support brought tears to her eyes, which was completely insane. She swallowed and petted both of them before clearing her throat.
For a second, she wondered if she could somehow buy the supplies cheaper. Maybe on eBay. No, she told herself. There was no time to search them out.
“I’m sorry, Cathy. That’s my price.”
“Then goodbye.”
The other woman hung up. Harper did her best to ignore the knot in her stomach. She drew in a breath. “I might have just lost a client. No problem for you, Thor. Your owner has plenty of money.”
She wasn’t exactly sure how Lucas had so much cash to throw around. He drove a very expensive two-seater Mercedes convertible and she didn’t think detectives made that much. Still, she wasn’t going to ask too many questions. He paid his monthly bill the same day he received it—she knew because she paid his bills for him and why, yes, she did pay herself first. It was one of the very few perks of her work.
She returned her attention to the boutique website and continued to add pictures and text until she was happy with the layout. She saved everything, then sent a note and the link to the owner, asking for feedback.
“That’s done,” she told the dogs, who were still watching her. She swiveled in her chair to face them. “This would be a lot easier if you’d just tell me what you need.”
Before they could answer, her phone rang again.
“This is Harper.”
“It’s Cathy. You’re being ridiculous, so you know, but you do good work and I want to see if we can find a point of compromise. How about ten dollars a bag and I’ll need them in three days?”
Harper held in a groan. There were forty bags, at about thirty minutes each, plus she had to go to three different stores to buy the supplies. That was twenty hours of work plus all the running around, for a grand total of four hundred dollars.
She didn’t dare do the math to figure out the pitiful sum she would be making by the hour, but if she stayed up most of tonight and tomorrow night, she could meet the deadline.
“Harper?”
“Fine. Ten dollars a bag.”
“Great. I’ll let them know and I’ll be by Thursday morning to pick them up. You’re the best, Harper. Thanks.”
Cathy hung up before Harper could say anything. Harper returned her attention to the dogs.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she muttered. “I’m letting her take advantage of me. That I’m probably making two dollars an hour on this job. Well, it’s not this job, is it? It’s all the other work she brings me.”
Jazz’s steady gaze never wavered. Harper sighed.
“You’re right. I let her take advantage of me and that doesn’t make any sense. I should be firm. I should tell her my price and stick to it. I’m training her to always undercut me. I get that.”
She was sure the dog had more to say, but before they could continue the conversation, the doorbell rang. Thor and Jazz immediately rose. Jazz looked at Thor, who gave a low warning bark.
“Yes,” Harper said, pushing past them. “I heard it, too, but thanks for mentioning it.”
The dogs kept pace with her, but didn’t walk ahead of her or run. When they reached the front door, they both sat and waited.
“I really need to read that instruction book Becca got,” Harper told them as she opened the door. “Yes? Can I help you?”
A tall, gangly twentysomething guy stood on her porch. He was blond and wore board shorts, a T-shirt and athletic shoes. The T-shirt had a drawing of a cartoon version of him on it, along with the phrase Leader of the Pack.
“Harper Szymanski?” the guy asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Dwayne. I’m here to walk your dogs.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and glanced at it. “Thor and Jazz. It’s a daily service, which means Monday through Friday. I drive them to the beach and we walk along the boardwalk. It’ll take about ninety minutes.” Dwayne flashed her a smile. “Your husband paid for the top dog package. He must really like your dogs.”
Harper didn’t know what to say beyond, “He’s not my husband.” Because there was only one person who would have thought to arrange a dog-walking service. She would guess Lucas had done it for Thor, then added on Jazz. Damn the man for being thoughtful, good-looking and only interested in gorgeous bubbleheads in their twenties.
She held open the door for Dwayne to come inside. He saw Thor and Jazz and grinned.
“Oh, wow. Dobies. You guys are beautiful.” He held out his hand so they could sniff his fingers, then he squatted in front of them and said, “Shake.”
They both obliged.
“Lucas said you two were the bomb. He’s right. Super great manners.” He stood and looked at her. “I need their leashes.”
Harper got them from the bottom drawer in the table by the front door. She handed over a new roll of poop bags, hoping the dogs would do their thing somewhere other than her backyard.
“Thanks,” Dwayne said, snapping on the leashes. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half. Do you want me to run them?”
“That would be great.”
“Right? A tired dog is a happy dog. See ya.” He looked at the dogs. “Thor, Jazz, heel.”
The dogs stood and moved to his left side, Jazz taking the inside position. Dwayne walked them down the steps and out to his battered pickup. It was only after he’d driven away that Harper realized she probably should have checked with Lucas first. Just in case.
She quickly texted him, not sure when she would hear a response. Sometimes he was available, but a lot of the time, his phone was off. She supposed that came from being on the job catching bad guys or whatever it was he did in his day.
This time he answered her in a matter of seconds.
Are you concerned that someone cooked up an elaborate scheme to steal the dogs by pretending to be a dog walker?
Her lips twitched as she realized he kind of had a point.
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Thank you for including Jazz on the walk. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. I know I do.
Happy to help. You can deal with your guilt by baking me something.
You know I will.
That I do.
She was still smiling as she walked into her pantry and studied the shelf that held her baking supplies. Not cookies, she thought. They were too ordinary. Tarts. She would bake Lucas chocolate tarts. But first she would go get the supplies she needed for the gift bags, then drop off the T-shirts she was shipping to her comedian client, Misty, then swing by the post office to mail Lucas’s bills. Then she would bake tarts and tonight, while the world slept, she would make gift bags and curse her inability to stand up for herself when she knew she absolutely should.
* * *
Becca sat on the front porch step, her arm around Jazz. The dog was leaning heavily on her, her body providing comforting warmth.
“Are you still confused?” Becca asked the dog. “It’s been a few days now and we have a routine. I’m sorry I have to be gone for school, but you have Thor, right? I could talk to Aunt Stacey about Bay. Maybe you three could have a playdate.”
Jazz stretched out on the porch and rested her head on her paws, but even as she shifted positions, she still stayed close. Becca kept her arm around the dog, figuring they both needed