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  Izzy rolled her eyes. “Even if I had the inclination to have a pet, I couldn’t afford one. Not when Ana goes to college in nine years. I have to be responsible.”

  “Responsible Izzy doesn’t sound very fun. And money isn’t everything.” He hid his face behind the dog’s head and waved the dog’s paw. “I promise I’ll be a good boy,” he said in a McGruff the Crime Dog bass voice. “I’ll bring you your slippers, lick your plate clean, and snuggle up with you anytime you want.” He peeked around the dog’s head and met Izzy’s eye roll. Sighing, he lowered the dog to his chest. “You’re a tough nut to crack.”

  She shrugged, but then a smile spread across her face, lighting her eyes and stealing Brad’s breath. His chest expanded. Maybe she wasn’t that tough. Maybe—

  Something wet and warm spread across his stomach. His chest deflated on a sigh. He had the bad feeling it hadn’t been his charm and wit that had lit Izzy up. Following her gaze, he looked down, and yep, the little guy had peed on him.

  Not a great recommendation for a prospective dog owner. “House training doesn’t come standard.”

  She laughed, a full-throated chuckle that reminded him of sultry nights dancing under the stars. Brad made it his mission right then and there to hear that laugh again.

  “Well, if I can’t interest you in a dog, how about dinner?” He put the little pisser down and pulled his wet shirt from his stomach. “I promise to shower before I pick you up.”

  Strolling for the door to the exam room, Izzy shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  He trailed after her, careful not to close the door on a dog’s inquisitive nose. “You have to eat, don’t you? Your daughter is invited, too, of course.”

  “Still no.” She paused, darted a quick glance at the boxer mix lying in the corner, and then pushed on into the hallway.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to,” she said breezily. “Thanks for the tour and for not calling the police. I appreciate it!” And with a little wave over her shoulder, she sauntered out to the back alley.

  Brad watched the door close behind her.

  “That was quite a crash and burn, man,” Gabe said from the exam room.

  “Bite me,” he replied good-naturedly. Pulling his T-shirt over his head, he walked into his office and found another one in his desk drawer. Yes, Isabelle Lopez had shot him down. But what would be the fun if the chase ended too quickly? As he’d said, she was a tough nut to crack. But one thing Brad’s childhood had taught him was patience. Patience and perseverance. Izzy didn’t know it yet, but she had become a challenge.

  And there was nothing Brad loved more than a challenge.

  Chapter Three

  Izzy held tight to Ana’s hand as her daughter tugged her across the street toward her school.

  “I’m going to be late. Again.” Ana might only be nine, but she could turn on the attitude of a cocktail waitress ten minutes after last call when it suited her. This didn’t bode well for her teenage years.

  “You’re not that late. Besides, I was talking to a client. I couldn’t just hang up on him.” The client hadn’t been happy with Izzy’s recommendation to drop the price on his house by ten thousand, but the small single-family residence wasn’t selling. It was the best option.

  Izzy smiled at the crossing guard and checked her watch. She was going to be late for a meeting with her boss, too, if she wasn’t careful. At the gate to the school, she turned her daughter toward her and leaned in for a kiss. “Have a good day, baby. Mama loves you.” She tugged on her daughter’s ponytail and was rewarded with a faint smile.

  “Love ya, too.” Ana threw her arms around Izzy’s neck.

  Izzy tried to hold on, make the hug last. They were becoming more infrequent, and soon she knew her daughter would feel she was too old for such displays of affection. Ana pulled out of her arms and skipped to her class.

  Izzy stood, watching her go. This move to central Michigan, full of small towns and bucolic landscapes, had been the right decision. Lansing had been getting too expensive and too crowded. It had been a little over a year since their move, and Ana was adjusting nicely to the new way of life. New friends, fresh air, and now Izzy wasn’t afraid to let Ana go home to an empty house after school.

  “Hello, Isabelle.”

  Crap. Izzy shouldn’t have stood mooning about. Now there was no escape.

  Stomach churning, she slowly turned to face one of the women who tried to make her life hell. “Hi, Sandra. How are you doing?”

  “Busy busy. We’re getting ready for that field trip to Binder Park Zoo.” She bent down and gave her son a hug goodbye. He trotted off to class with a smudge of lipstick on his cheek. Sandra straightened. “We’re still looking for volunteers to come along with us to help supervise the kids.”

  “Sorry, but I already told you I have to work.” Izzy kept a pleasant smile on her face even as she ground her back teeth. Sandra was the president of the PTA and an aggressive recruiter of parent volunteers. Well, of the mothers at least. The fathers she left fairly well alone, respecting that they had jobs they couldn’t up and leave.

  Sandra shook her head and shoved her tortoiseshell Gucci sunglasses up onto her crown, the frames holding her hair back. “We haven’t seen much of you this year. You know how important it is to Ana’s development that she have a mother who’s involved and interested in her education.”

  Anger warred with guilt. She wished she had more time to spend with Ana. But she was plenty interested in Ana’s school. She went over her homework with her every night, much to Ana’s annoyance, spent weekends helping with school projects, even bringing Ana along to her showings and letting her work in the houses Izzy was trying to sell. While Sandra might mean well, as a stay-at-home mom she didn’t understand the time pressures Izzy was under.

  “I think it’s more important to Ana’s development that she have a mother with a job so she can get fed and clothed and have a roof over her head.” Izzy grabbed the strap of her purse and squeezed her fist around it. “You know, all that stuff a growing human needs.”

  Sandra shook her head, pity in her eyes. “I know it must be tough for you. All alone. Barely scraping by. And poor Ana only getting the dregs of your time.”

  Izzy cracked her neck. They were a far cry from barely scraping by. She made a good living, but she had to prepare for the future. Ana’s college expenses and her own retirement would all come out of her salary, so she didn’t buy designer sunglasses and vacation in Europe like Sandra. Or trade a paid day at work to herd a bunch of kids around a zoo. “Ana and I are doing fine. But thanks for the concern.”

  She must have sounded as insincere as she felt, because Sandra narrowed her eyes. “If you’re doing so well, then you can take a day off work and help out with the field trip. You don’t want it to be known that you’re the only mother not doing her share.”

  And there it was, the thumbscrews were coming out. Manipulation by guilt and threat of social shaming. The local leaders of the PTA had a nickname around town: the Mothers’ Mafia. They used social media to praise the mothers who fell in line and to drop sly recriminations on those parents they felt weren’t up to snuff. If Don Corleone had had Facebook, he wouldn’t have needed to sever a horse’s head.

  “I can’t take a day off work for a field trip.” Izzy’s shoulders slumped. She knew she was going to regret this offer. “But is there something else I could do to help? Make phone calls, or…” She stopped, realizing she had no idea what all the PTA did besides harass her and make her feel two inches tall.

  Sandra pressed her lips together. “We really need bodies on that field trip.” She blew out a breath. “But we also need help with the fund-raiser for it. We’re planning a bake sale—”

  “Yes! I can make something for the bake sale. Cupcakes.” She liked baking, Ana liked licking the bowl clean, and it would help the kids. All
in all, a tidy solution.

  “That isn’t quite what I had in mind. We’ll need a coordinator, a treasurer, a—”

  “Nope, I’ll bake cupcakes. That’s my best offer. Take it or leave it.” She hadn’t become the number one agent at Goldstar Realty by backing down.

  “Fine,” Sandra gritted out. “I’ll put you on the list. Now, about the field trip—”

  “I’ve got to get to work.” Izzy hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at the bake sale.” And without waiting for the next guilt trip, she hurried across the crosswalk and to her SUV.

  The high of winning that small battle with the Mothers’ Mafia stayed with her until she stepped inside Goldstar’s office. And met a smirking Tariq.

  He leaned against her desk in the large open-concept office. Sunlight streamed down from the skylights and gilded his dark head like a mini crown. He thought he was the prince of Goldstar Realty, so it seemed fitting he’d look like one. “Hey,” he said and cocked his head in fake sympathy. “Sorry again about needing the drone yesterday. It turns out my client wasn’t ready for the aerial footage of his house after all. You could have used the camera for your project.”

  Sure he was sorry. Tariq had been the number one seller for Goldstar until Izzy had been hired. He didn’t take kindly to being relegated to number two. He took every opportunity to sabotage Izzy.

  She put her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk and gave the younger Realtor a bright smile. “No problem. I got some great shots of my own. I know boys like their toys, but I can get the job done the old-fashioned way just fine.”

  His eyes telescoped to pinpricks. Tariq was a good-looking man in his early twenties, but he knew his youth was a disadvantage and hated to be reminded of it. He’d been successful at making clients comfortable with letting someone barely out of college handle their transactions, but he couldn’t beat the trustworthiness of a shrewd single mother.

  “Hey, everyone!” Liz Greenberg, the owner of Goldstar, leaned out of the conference room. “Meeting time. Grab a cup of joe and get your butts in here.”

  Taking her tablet from her purse, Izzy headed for the weekly meeting. She skipped the coffee but zeroed in on the platter of doughnuts sitting in the middle of the conference table. Her boss knew caffeine and sugar were the keys to productivity and kept her real estate agents fully supplied. Along with Tariq and Izzy, three other agents sat around the table, and they all turned to look at their boss, waiting for her to start the meeting.

  “Okay, status updates.” Liz stirred a little tub of creamer into her coffee. “Let’s go around the table.”

  Every week Liz wanted to hear what had sold, what had offers, and what wasn’t moving. If anyone had any tips or help to offer, they did. Aside from her rivalry with Tariq, Izzy had found Goldstar Realty to be a great environment to work in.

  Cindy Perkins started them out. Her latest client hadn’t disclosed a mold problem from five years ago, and she wasn’t having any luck finding a remediation specialist in time for the house to close.

  Tariq spoke up. “I know someone who owes me a favor. I’ll call him for you and he’ll get his company over to your listing tomorrow.”

  Cindy smiled at him gratefully, and Izzy raised an eyebrow. For the agents who weren’t competing with Tariq’s sale numbers, he could be a fairly decent coworker.

  “Well, I have a new client this week,” Tariq said, his turn up next. “They had started working with Izzy but felt that she didn’t have enough time for them, so turned to me.” He lifted one shoulder and tried to look apologetic. “Sorry, Izzy, but I didn’t want Goldstar to lose them.”

  “Who?” Izzy drummed her fingers on the table.

  “The Gilberts.”

  Son of a bitch. That couple had two duplexes they wanted to sell.

  “Thanks for stepping in, Tariq,” Liz said. “We all help each other out when we have to.”

  “Yes, thanks, Tariq.” You lying, scheming snake. Izzy tried to obliterate him with her glare, but his smile only widened.

  “What’s going on with Bob Burker?” Liz asked Izzy. “Have you put together a proposal yet?”

  “The photos I took yesterday are with the printer, and they’ll go in my pitch.” Izzy flipped through the images on her tablet. They really had turned out well, though the drone’s shots would have been better. “Bob is being…well, Bob.”

  Liz nodded sympathetically. She’d known him the longest, after all.

  “I was at his house yesterday morning”—a shiver zipped down Izzy’s spine and she only just stopped herself from making the sign of the cross—“and he’s nervous about whether to list his properties.” More like bat-shit paranoid. She’d known from the first that Bob Burker was a tad quirky. She hadn’t realized until she stepped across his threshold that quirky was just one nut on his crazy-as-crap sundae. His house was so cluttered with stacks and boxes full of paper, she’d worried about being crushed to death if one of the towers toppled over. The man printed out every article he came across that spewed a conspiracy theory and, as far as Izzy could tell, hadn’t thrown a single piece of paper away in over thirty years.

  “He wants to know what he can get for his lots before deciding to sell, and my best guess doesn’t cut it with him. He wants semi-firm offers on the table before signing a listing agreement. He thinks if he makes his intentions public that somehow the government will intervene and take his property.” Izzy blew out a breath. “I’m trying to discreetly come up with a list of potential buyers. I’ll present the proposal to those I think might be interested and see if my asking price is in the ballpark.”

  “Good. I know Bob can be a pain in the ass, but he’s harmless. He ran into some problems with the IRS a couple decades ago and never really got over it.” Liz shrugged. “But he’s used Goldstar for over ten years now. He’s been a good client, so treat him well.” She took a sip of her coffee and checked her phone. “If you can convince him to sell, this will be a huge account for Goldstar. If you need help with anything, ask for it.”

  “I’m more than happy to offer my services.” Tariq jumped in. “We all know how busy you are with your kid’s soccer practices. I can take on some of your caseload.”

  Izzy smiled so sweetly her back teeth hurt. “That’s nice, but completely unnecessary. Even as a single mom, I still manage to get all my work done. But thanks anyway.” She turned her chair away from him and froze. Crap. Ana did have soccer practice that afternoon. And Izzy didn’t have time to go watch. Again. She swallowed down her guilt and concentrated on the rest of the meeting. Ana would understand. She knew her mom had to hustle to make a life for them.

  When the meeting ended, she shot a quick text to her closest friend in town. Lydia was co-owner of Tannert Winery, part of a new breed of wineries cropping up in Michigan. Over a tasting of Tannert’s ice wines, where Lydia poured liberally and Izzy shared the Tcho chocolate bar in her purse, they’d become fast friends. Not only did Izzy now get a lot of free wine, but Lydia had a loose enough schedule to help her out picking up Ana when Izzy couldn’t make it. A very good friend to have.

  She hit send and swallowed, the back of her throat growing thick. Lydia was a dear friend, and she always assured Izzy that she loved spending time with Ana. But Izzy was starting to worry that Lydia was seeing Ana grow up more than her own mother was.

  And no amount of wine in the world could take that worry away.

  * * * *

  Brad’s lungs burned and the back of his throat felt raw. It was his own damn fault. His body couldn’t keep up with Gabe’s, but pride made him run step for step with his friend’s six-minute-mile pace until his legs locked up and his heart felt like it would burst from his chest. He stumbled to a stop along Galt Park’s southern jogging trail and bent over at the waist, heaving for breath.

  The yellow Lab he was exercising licked his chin, and the shepherd mix he
held with the other hand strained at the leash, eager to catch up with his buddies.

  Gabe doubled back and trotted over to him, the two dogs he held tangling their leashes. He stopped jogging in place long enough to sort them out. “You okay?”

  “Just”—heave, heave, gasp—“great.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

  Brad gave his friend the gimlet eye. They’d known each other for three years, ever since Brad had hired Gabe to be the veterinarian at his new shelter. Gabe should accept by now that Brad wouldn’t settle for a diminished lifestyle. He was finally healthy, and he would push his body as much as he damn well wanted.

  “Let’s go.” He straightened and steeled himself for the last mile. “I’ve got my second wind.”

  “Maybe you do, but Stephanie doesn’t.” Gabe pointed at the Lab, who had rolled to her back and exposed her belly, her tongue lolling to the pavement. “I think we walk from here.”

  Thank God for out-of-shape dogs. Brad fell into step next to Gabe, the dogs forming a rotating wall of fur around them. He rubbed his side. “We’re down to our last couple of thousand in the shelter’s back account. We need to fund-raise again.”

  “Shouldn’t that be a constant occupation?” Gabe asked. “I do enjoy being paid, after all.”

  Brad shrugged. “Easy come, easy go. I’m sure I’ll be able to scrounge enough for operating expenses for the next couple months. Besides, you’re just part-time at Forever Friends. Your vet practice keeps you in pizza rolls and beer.” Gabe had a small office in Clarion Township where he spent half his working hours. The rest of the time he spent at Forever Friends. He took whatever pathetic paycheck Brad doled out, but Brad knew his friend would work at the shelter for free if push came to shove.

  Sighing, Gabe stopped and turned to face him. “That’s a hell of a way to run a business.”

  “Forever Friends isn’t a business.” Pulling a plastic bottle from his hydration belt, Brad squirted some water into his mouth and then did the same for the four-legged runners. “It’s a nonprofit shelter. It’s about helping dogs. You can’t put a price on that.”