Summer at Seaside Cove by Jacquie D'Alessandro Page B

thought you threw them away,” Nick said, doing his best to avoid Godiva’s rapturous attempts to rub her sides against his legs.
    â€œI did. But according to the schedule I found in the kitchen drawer, the garbage isn’t collected until tomorrow.” Giving prancing Godiva a large berth, she disappeared around the corner of the house, no doubt to check her garbage bin.
    Nick looked down at Godiva. “Sit,” he commanded, pointing his index finger at the ground.
    Godiva’s butt hit the cement, and she looked up at him with worshipful, excited eyes that clearly said, Don’t I smell great ? Don’t you love it? Isn’t it the best smell in the whole wide world ? I did it just for you ! ’Cause I love you!
    Jamie returned, her entire face scrunched into an expression that indicated the stench on the other side of the carport wasn’t any better.
    â€œTrash can’s been . . . well, trashed,” she reported. “It looks like a clam crime scene over there—dead bodies all over the place.” She looked down at Godiva and shook her head. “You think you smell absolutely fabulous, don’t you, baby?”
    Godiva gave a single bark and pelted Nick’s jeans with her wagging tail.
    Jamie raised her gaze back to Nick. “That is one stinky dog you have there.”
    He made an exaggerated gagging sound. “Yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”
    She laughed, then planted her hands on her hips and shot Godiva a stern look. “You realize the only thing saving you is that you are massively adorable.”
    Godiva licked her chops and Nick nodded. “People say that to me all the time.”
    She raised her gaze and treated Nick to a look that was clearly meant to incinerate him where he stood. “I was talking to Godiva.”
    â€œI know. Doesn’t change the fact that people say that to me, too.”
    â€œI’ll bet. Just so you know, Cupcake would never do something like that .” She indicated the clam crime scene area with a wrinkling of her nose and a vague wave of her hand.
    â€œRight. Listen, we had a cat when I was growing up. He brought dead crap home all the time—birds, frogs, snails. He even left a dead goldfish on the porch once. God only knows where he got it. And then there were the hairballs—yuck. So don’t be casting aspersions on my smelly dog like your cat wears a halo around her head.”
    To prove there was no way Miss Cat Owner was going to think that a little stink (okay, a gargantuan, steal-your-breath stink) would come between him and his dog, he reached down and gave Godiva’s scruff a good rub. His eyes damn near crossed in his head from the stench, but hey, he’d proved his point—whatever the hell it was.
    By the way her lips twitched, it was clear she knew the stench had about knocked him off his feet. “Now you both need a bath.”
    What they needed was a decontamination tank. “You realize this is your fault,” he said, straightening and folding his arms over his chest.
    Her brows shot upward. “How do you figure that?”
    â€œYou obviously didn’t close the lid to your garbage can correctly.”
    â€œAnd you obviously didn’t tie up your dog properly.”
    â€œI didn’t tie her up at all—which has never been a problem until now—when certain people didn’t close their trash cans properly.”
    â€œWell, the dead clams wouldn’t have been in there in the first place if you hadn’t left them in my sink.”
    Damn. She had a point.
    â€œWhich means you’re the one who’s going to have to destink your dog.” She sniffed twice, then shuddered. “Good luck with that.”
    â€œWe can do it—it shouldn’t take more than an hour to give her a good bath.”
    The look she gave him indicated he was a few slices short of a loaf. “ We? Who is this we you speak of?”
    He smiled.