The Player and the Pixie(52)

We surveyed each other for a long moment. I discovered I was smiling as well, but too late to hide it.

Made bizarrely uncomfortable by my discovery, I decided to change the subject. “Have I dressed appropriately?” I gestured to my shirt.

“Yes. You’re perfect,” she said brightly, then turned and motioned for me to follow her. “You can towel dry and brush in the pen while I wash.”

She led me through a short hallway. The sound of barking dogs grew more distinct. We entered the room where I assumed we’d be working and I swallowed past my nostalgia, schooling my expression.

Cages lined the walls. Some dogs were alone. Some dogs were partnered. Most barked as soon as I entered. A big metal basin sat off to one side, positioned under a faucet. I strolled past Lucy and walked to the first cage, offering the back of my hand to the pit bull mix who was barking the loudest. He immediately sniffed, grew quiet and wagged his tail as I crouched in front of him.

I hadn’t expected being in such close proximity to canines to be so disorienting.

Certainly, I’d been around dogs before. But here I was surrounded on all sides. My desire to play with and pet them all was overwhelming. As was the sadness they didn’t have homes. They lived in a shelter, a temporary place where they didn’t belong. In a cage.

I knew what that was like.

“Meet Hampton.” Lucy placed her hand on my shoulder, grinned down at me, and motioned over to a huge black dog pacing the length of a large pen at the end of the room. “He’s a newfie and he needs his coat brushed.”

“Putting me to work right away?” I straightened, narrowing my eyes at her with mock distrust. “No hello kiss?”

She shook her head and turned my shoulders, pushing me toward Hampton’s pen. “You don’t need lessons in kissing, you do that just fine. And you said you wanted to help.”

I sighed mournfully and opened the chain-link door to the newfie’s cage, closing it behind me. “Slave-driver.”

Lucy laughed lightly. “Call me what you will, but we need to wash all these dogs before noon. Annie is in town and I have to work this afternoon.”

“Fine.” I held my hand out to Hampton the newfie and allowed him to sniff before approaching.

“He’s already mostly dry.” She handed a brush through the cage. Presumably, she expected me to use it on the great brute in front of me, tail wagging, and tongue lolling at the side of his mouth.

Apparently, Hampton liked how I smelled and we were best of friends. I grinned at him, careful not to show my teeth.

“What did you do last night?” Lucy asked, walking to one of the other cages and retrieving a short black and white terrier.

“I went to mass at St. Patrick’s.” Unable to stop myself, I patted his head and knelt at Hampton’s side, brushing the thick hair at his neck, just behind his ears. His tail wagged faster.

Lucy gave me a small, quizzical smile over her shoulder. “Are you practicing?”

By practicing, she meant, Are you a practicing Catholic?

“No. I actually haven’t been to church in years. Not since I’d started playing rugby at secondary school.”

“You didn’t go with your parents? My mam always made us go every Sunday and, since we went to private school, we went every morning during the week. Those nuns used to scare the crap out of me.”

I cleared my throat before responding, keeping my eyes fastened to the panting dog. “No. I didn’t really know my parents. My mother gave me to her brother when I was very young.”

In my peripheral vision I saw Lucy cock her head to the side, her eyebrows pulling low. “What do you mean? She gave you to your uncle?”

“Just that. My mother . . . didn’t make good choices.” A polite way of saying she’d left me abandoned at her flat for days at a time. “My uncle Peter and his wife, my aunt Clara, saw I had athletic potential. So they offered to take me off her hands.”

Though my irresponsible mother had foisted me upon my aunt and uncle, they’d accepted me as their own.

But with a condition.

“As you know, the best families had one or more rugby players in their lineage. Take your own family as an example.” My gaze flickered to hers.

Lucy shook her head, issuing me an odd look. “I don’t consider myself a Fitzpatrick. They want nothing to do with me. If you asked my grandparents, they’d tell you they’ve never heard of either Ronan or me.”

“That’s because they already have the proverbial feather in their cap. Your father was a rugby player, and your great-uncle Brian. I was the first Cassidy to demonstrate any aptitude for it.”