Rottweiler Rescue by Ellen O'Connell Page B

dark-haired man with a hard face set in angry lines striding toward us. Dorrie acted as if she hadn’t heard him.
    “That’s my husband, Lee,” she said.
    Better Dorrie than me. He ignored me completely and cursed her, Jack Sheffield, Maida, and Maida’s owner, Myron Feltzer. Dorrie might be bitter about what Jack had done to her, but her husband was still violently angry. The girl who had been playing with the little dogs quietly gathered them up and disappeared into the far kennel corridor.
    How often did the kennel workers witness a scene like this, I wondered. For that matter, how often were they subjected to Lee Stander’s temper? I abandoned any thought of any of my dogs ever staying at Bear Creek Kennels and felt sad for Dorrie.
    There didn’t seem to be the slightest chance that Stander would calm down enough to answer any question of mine on any subject, and definitely not on the subject of Jack Sheffield. Rather than risk making things worse for Dorrie, who stood as if turned to stone, I mouthed a thank you to her and made my escape.
    As I drove back toward the highway I decided to do some research on colored contact lenses. Lee Stander had the dark brown eyes one would expect in a man with his olive complexion, but he was the right height and build to be the man I was looking for. He certainly exuded the kind of violence I expected from the man who had killed Jack and attacked me, and the way he had ignored me.... For Dorrie’s sake I half hoped he was the one. She’d be better off without the jerk.

Chapter 11
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    Shadows were lengthening, but the sun was still a comforting distance above the mountains when I got home. A message from Susan on my voice mail gave early warning that she was so eager to hear about my day she was going to drop by in hopes that I would be home and ready to chat.
    I might have enough time to satisfy my curiosity about contact lenses on the Internet before she arrived if I hurried. Apologizing to the dogs for leaving them home alone all day, I let them out into the yard, and raced upstairs to my office in the spare bedroom to start my search.
    Half an hour later, I let Susan in through the front door and the dogs in through the back. The dogs bounded into the kitchen in a herd, but at least they were willing to wait politely for attention. Susan was not.
    “So?” she said.
    “So I have a salmon fillet ready for the oven that will make dinner for both of us. Salad first, rice with, is that okay?”
    “I’m not inviting myself to dinner. I want to hear how your visits went.”
    “I’ll tell you over dinner. Call home and tell your husband you’re keeping me company. He’ll have to fend for himself.”
    Susan called while I finished the salads and poured iced tea. As soon as she hung up, I started telling her all about my day.
    “So you didn’t get the carry permit,” she said with a frown.
    “No, but I started the process,” I assured her. To my relief, she let the subject drop and didn’t force me to tell her what stood between me and the permit.
    “Do you really think Lee Stander could be the one?” Susan asked.
    “He’s still angry enough about that lawsuit and Jack, and he seemed to be — I don’t know how to describe it — bottled up fury. I can picture him hitting her, and I don’t have to stretch to picture him attacking me, but it’s hard to believe he’s married to her and they have the kennel as a business and he’d be that afraid of the dogs.”
    “You’re putting too much into that. Most people would be afraid of the dogs running at them like that.”
    “In the parking lot, yes, but he was afraid of Robo that day at Jack’s, and Robo was just standing there looking at him.”
    “Mm.” Susan didn’t sound convinced. “What about his eyes?”
    “They’re brown, but I just did some research on colored contact lenses on the Internet. Carl’s eyes made me think of it — they’re too blue to be real. I found a site where you can