Leashed

  #

  “Someone just walked into her apartment and took it right off the couch.”

  “A pillow?”

  “That’s what I heard. But, her door was unlocked. Her husband had just run downstairs for a paper. Lesson learned. I’d say.”

  “What would a thief want with a pillow?”

  Callie didn’t wait to hear the answer as she ushered Jack toward the door and past two women talking next to the mailboxes. Today Jack was behaving like his old self, instantly obeying her every command.

  They crossed West Broadway at the traffic light and walked until she reached the Union Square Dog Run. Brooke Palmer was already there with her bulldog Roscoe. Waving to Brooke, Callie went through the gate and closed it behind her, latching it securely.

  “Hey,” Brooke said to Callie, and then to Jack, “How’s my big boy?” She rubbed Jack’s head. “When are you bringing him in again for grooming?” Brooke owned Pawlish, a high-end dog spa that catered to the wealthy dog owners of Manhattan. She was presently in the middle of an impressive expansion to her business.

  Roscoe and Jack sniffed each other and then ran off to wrestle around together. “Next week. I don’t think I can fit it in this week. My schedule is too full.” Callie sat, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the park bench.

  “He’s always so well-behaved, not like Kristen Davis-Wright’s fidgety poodle. I wish that woman would take her dog somewhere else,” Brooke said, pushing back her dark hair in exasperation.

  Just then Harper Sinclair and her standard poodle, Blue, entered the park. Harper released her dog and watched her race off to meet up with Roscoe and Jack, but not before Callie noticed the sparkling collar around Blue’s neck.

  Harper’s grandfather owned large parcels of land in the City and had made a large fortune from both selling land and developing it. His moneymaking talents had obviously been inherited by her friend. Case in point her poodle’s undoubtedly diamond-studded collar. The poodle was a best-in-show blue-ribbon moneymaker, but Harper never treated her like anything but a dog. No pampering for Edgewood Sky High Blue.

  Her pedigree was clear in the exquisite lines of the poodle’s solid body, but Blue’s registered name always made Callie smile. It was derived from her sire, Topgun, and the dam’s name of Freefalling – resulting in Sky High Blue. Or Blue for short. And, champion or not, the silver-grey poodle joined right in with the ruckus.

  “What’s going on with the bling?” Callie asked.

  Harper sighed. “Grandmother Sinclair strikes again. She’s staying with me for a few days. She made me put it on Blue before we left.”

  “It’s real? A diamond dog collar?” Brooke asked, an incredulous look on her face. “I thought Davis-Wright was overindulgent.”

  “Yes, fifty thou worth. Can you imagine walking your dog around Manhattan with that thing around her neck? Grandmother Sinclair is a few diamonds short in her tiara. Hopefully people will think it’s fake. But, if I were mugged, I’d give them the damn thing. I don’t think Blue likes it much.”

  “For your safety, you should leave it at home,” Brooke advised.

  “I can only try,” Harper said. “By the way, ladies, whose idea was it to meet at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning?” Harper groused. In her Vuitton coat and designer sunglasses, she looked like a rich snoot, but Harper was as down to earth as dirt.

  “Scoot over, I’m bushed, too much party and not enough sleep,” she said, working her way onto the bench between Callie and Brooke.

  “My heart bleeds for you,” Callie said sarcastically.

  “Social climbing is a full-time job,” Harper said, flashing a wily grin. She shrugged out of her caramel and cream coat, fluffing up her golden locks.

  “Right,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. “And I seem to recall that it was your idea to meet at this hour.”

  She paused in mid-fluff, turning to look at Brooke. “Was I sober at the time?”

  “I think so,” Brooke said, smiling indulgently.

  “Well, damn. I guess I should realize I need my beauty sleep before blurting out ungodly meeting times.”

  “Are you already picking on Harper?” Poe Madigan asked from behind them as she followed her Jack Russell terriers, affectionately known as The Terrible Two or the triple T for short, who came trotting into the park like they owned it. Edgar and Allan were notorious little shits.

  Poe settled on the bench next to Callie as her dogs raced off. Poe was aptly named, with her blue-streaked hair, raven tattoo and the whole Goth vibe. She planned to open a veterinary practice when her hospital internship was completed in the spring, and Callie was sure Poe’s Cornell DVM would guarantee plenty of patients.

  “Harper brings it on herself,” Brooke said, picking up the interrupted thread.

  “I need to get a second job. New York is so much more expensive than Ithaca,” Poe announced, her face showing that she was already stressed about it.

  “Oh, sweetie, I can help.”

  “No, Harper, it’s not up to you to support me. I can make my own way. I didn’t bring it up to get sympathy. I just wanted to let you all know that I might not make it some Saturdays for our play date.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Callie said. “We’ll miss you and the triple T’s.” Callie slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezed, giving her a reassuring smile.

  “I don’t know what kind of schedule I’ll have, so don’t worry yet. Thanks, though.” Poe returned the smile and squeezed Callie’s hand, then wrapped her arm around Harper’s shoulders to give her a quick hug.

  “Not to change the subject, Poe, but how did your first laser surgery go?” Brooke asked.

  “Great. It was fascinating, and Dr. Martin let me do everything while he supervised. I can’t wait to do another one.”

  “Would that be the cute Dr. Martin?”

  Poe blushed and looked away. “He’s pretty cute.”

  “Ask him out,” Harper urged.

  “No. That’s not my thing. A guy should ask a woman out. Besides, I’m afraid I’ll just make some obscure reference. He’ll stare at me and not know what to say. Then, I’ll say something even worse. Then we’ll find it awkward whenever we’re together at work. Or he’ll just look at me and realize I’m a geek.”

  “My date last night almost put me to sleep,” Callie said.

  “How disappointing. But I can top that. I got a text from Sam, the guy I’ve been dating for a week. He said, and I quote, ‘Can I reserve u for our next date?’ Reserve me? What am I? A restaurant?” Brooke asked.

  “Did he spell out you?” Poe asked.

  “Nope. Used ‘u’ like we’re still in high school. What is it with guys who can’t spell out you? It’s not like the phone company charges you per letter,” Brooke said.

  “It’s just plain lazy,” Poe chimed in.

  “The boring date was something I could handle, but I had a close encounter with The Stud.”

  “Owen McKay. He’s bad news. A love ’em and leave ’em bad boy,” Brooke said. “You’ve read the New York Scoop.”

  “I know, but every time I get near him, I lose it. He has a fawn-colored Great Dane that Jack lusted after to the point where he completely ignored me and yanked his leash out of my hand. That dog of his could really benefit from some training.”

  “Callie, you’re getting off topic,” Brooke pointed out.

  “Sorry. His dog tripped us, and we ended up on the floor and Mr. Gorgeous landed on top of me with his thigh right between my legs.”

  “Owen is great in bed,” Harper said.

  All conversation stopped while the group turned in unison to look at her. Harper laughed. “Oh! No! Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t get naked with him. I just heard that.”

  “That’s a relief,” Callie said. “Wait. What am I saying? I got myself hurt constantly in college by all the bad boys I dated. It wouldn’t be smart to get involved with Owen. It would have been better if you ha
d been intimate with him.”

  Even though Callie acknowledged that Owen probably was a bad bet, she was secretly very glad Harper hadn’t done the deed with him. It would make him off limits, and part of her wasn’t against that, but another naughtier and less reasonable part of her was giddy.

  “I don’t want to sleep with him, but you do,” Harper said smugly.

  “He makes me melt.” All three women groaned. “I know, but it’s true.”

  “You’re smart to steer clear. Emotionally unavailable men don’t change,” Brooke said. “Now don’t give me that sad face. It’s for your own good.”

  “But we all wish they would change,” Poe said wistfully.

  Callie couldn’t agree more.

  Just then Edgar ran up to a little girl who was holding an ice cream cone. Just as she bent down to pet him, Allan swooped in and stole the treat.

  “Edgar and Allan,” Poe scolded. “I’ve told you no team tagging children!”

  The Terrible Two ran off to enjoy the spoils and all four women broke out into laughter. Poe made amends by buying the little girl another cone and warned her to keep away from the little varmints.