“Because if you don’t do this, Mercedes is going to win it, and honestly, it will pain me to see you come in second place.”
Second place. Wasn’t that the story of her life?
Unless…she changed it.
Chapter Two
Garrett had to face the fact that there was something seriously wrong with this girl. She was pretty, sure, with long runner’s legs and those gorgeous eyes that looked right down to a man’s soul. She moved with grace, obviously had a decent brain and an incredibly lengthy tongue, if she’d just put it to good use.
“Lola, baby,” he whispered. “Just a little more. Please.”
Lola stared at him, not defiant, not scared, still as lost and distant and unreadable as when she’d arrived. It had been a long time since a female of any kind had looked at Garrett Kilcannon quite that way. Especially a rescue. They were usually ravenous for his kind of affection.
He nudged the bowl closer, the scrape on tile an echo of his frustration that he couldn’t fix this girl. “You have to eat, sweetheart.”
But the dog stayed flat on the kennel floor, head on the ground, zero interest in the food for the fifth day in a row. She’d been here for almost two weeks now, and at first, he had seen all kinds of potential in this border collie-Aussie shepherd mix who had been left at a shelter about an hour away.
She’d been at that shelter only one day when Marie Boswell, a volunteer who was constantly on the lookout for dogs to send to Waterford, called to tell him about this special dog who had been left with no identification or explanation.
With her well-known breed intelligence and the fact that she was clearly trained, Lola was an excellent candidate as a therapy or service dog.#p#分页标题#e#
If only he could get her to eat.
She’d started to shut down on her second week here, after the novelty wore off. She slipped into a mopey depression, refusing to walk, rarely going outside and, now, on a hunger strike.
He’d seen it before, but never in a dog who showed no signs of abuse or neglect. Something told him this dog was loved, and Garrett was looking at a classic case of separation depression.
They’d put her on an IV and tried hand-feeding her soft foods on the roof of her mouth. But this dog had no will to live, which caused an ache in his chest as real and strong as if the animal had reached up and taken a bite of his heart.
He’d never failed outright with a dog before, but he was beginning to think he was about to. Neither of his brothers could reach her, either, and they were both gifted dog whisperers. His sister Molly and his dad were talented vets, and they’d run every test, only to find Lola completely healthy. Darcy, his youngest sibling and the groomer, had tried to love the dog to life again, but that had failed, too.
He stood and opened Lola’s oversized kennel door a little wider, inviting her into the hall and off to the exercise area. “Want to hit the grass, Lola?”
No response. Surely her previous owner had had a word.
“Outside? Potty? Pee? Play?”
But Lola stayed frozen in her spot, staring at him, like her soul had been removed and replaced with…nothing. Damn.
“It could be a good day for you, Lola,” he said softly, tuning out the barks of other dogs along this row of the rescue section of the kennels. “We’re starting a training course, and you could be part of it.” He stepped in again and crouched down to get eye to eye with her, reaching for her head, but she turned. Not like she was scared, but sad that he was not whoever it was Lola missed.
“Come on, baby. Look at me. If I can just get your eyes…”
Suddenly, her long floppy ears perked up a bit, and she sniffed, her gaze past Garrett with the first hint of interest he’d seen in a while. Someone must have come into the kennel. Probably Molly, who’d been carefully monitoring Lola’s health and was as worried about the dog as he was.
“Come here, girl,” he coaxed the dog again, reaching for a treat but knowing from experience they didn’t work with her.
Her gaze stayed past him, and she totally ignored him. “Lola.” He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes, willing her to obey. “I’m begging you, baby girl.”
“Oh, excuse me.”
He turned at the female voice, blinking at the sight of a woman’s silhouette, backlit from the windows and skylight.
That was so not Molly. Not with endless legs in tight blue jeans and knee-high black boots that didn’t have a scuff. Molly carried a vet’s bag, not a fancy purse. And she sure didn’t smell like she’d rolled around in cinnamon and clover.
“Can I help you?” he asked.