Sit, Stay, Love Read online

  HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

  EUGENE, OREGON

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Cover by Harvest House Publishers, Inc.

  Dana Mentink is represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIT, STAY, LOVE

  Copyright © 2016 Dana Mentink

  Published by Harvest House Publishers

  Eugene, Oregon 97402

  www.harvesthousepublishers.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Mentink, Dana, author.

  Sit, stay, love / Dana Mentink.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6607-8 (pbk.)

  ISBN 978-0-7369-6608-5 (eBook)

  I. Title.

  PS3613.E496S55 2016

  813'.6—dc23

  2015021385

  All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.

  Dedication

  To Pat Williams who graciously shared his love for baseball and his passion for God.

  Dogs are better than human beings because they know but do not tell.

  EMILY DICKINSON

  How can you believe since you accept glory from one another but do not seek the glory that comes from the only God?

  JOHN 5:44

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Love Unleashed

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Acknowledgments

  The author would like to thank a special group of volunteers who care for our canine senior citizens. The folks at Muttville make it their mission to rescue elderly dogs from shelters, find loving homes for those dogs that are adoptable, and tenderly care for those who are not. It takes a full measure of compassion to show such love and tireless dedication to God’s noblest and most unselfish creatures. Thank you, Muttville, for reminding us that it is never too late for love. Tippy and I salute you!

  One

  What is that?” Cal Crawford looked in disgust from Pete to the sagging bundle under his pitching coach’s arm.

  “It’s a dog, of course,” Pete said. “Your mother’s dog. What kind of a question is that?”

  The dog stared at Cal with mournful brown eyes. Or maybe it was the hang-down ears or the graying jowls that added to the gloom on the gaze. “I’ve had dogs. Hunting dogs. That’s not in the same line.”

  “She’s a dog all right, a dachshund mixed with something taller and wider.” Pete gave the animal a conciliatory rub between the eyebrows. “I’ve been taking care of her since the funeral.”

  Cal shifted. He’d forgotten. He’d been on the road when his mother passed away and Pete had taken care of the details, Cal flying in just before the funeral and jetting off immediately after. “That’s right,” he said. “It was good of you to do that, Pete.”

  “Yeah, it was, but I’ve got to have my boat rehauled and anyway Tippy’s not a good sailor. I think she’s prone to seasickness.”

  Cal winced as the physical therapist kneaded the sore muscle in his shoulder. Shouldn’t be so tender, not in the off-season. He shoved the thought aside. The dog stared at him. “So why did you bring it here?”

  “Her, not it. Name’s Tippy, like I said, and your mother wouldn’t want her to go to the pound. I’ve asked everyone from the shortstop to the hot dog vendors and no one wants a thirteen-year-old mutt of dubious ancestry.”

  Cal gaped as the facts assembled themselves in his mind. “You’re not thinking that I’m going to take it?”

  “Why not?”

  “Spring training’s coming up.”

  Pete quirked a sarcastic eyebrow. “I’m aware. We work for the same team, you know.”

  “I’m a starter.”

  “I’m aware of that, too, Mr. Big Shot Pitcher. I’ve been watching you since single A ball, sonny boy, when you couldn’t lace your cleats by yourself, so don’t put on airs with me.”

  Cal was adrift at what Pete seemed to be asking him to do. “I don’t like dogs that don’t work for their keep.”

  “You make a seven-figure salary. Hire someone to like her for you.” Pete placed the ungainly dog on the floor and gave her a scratch behind the ears. Her knobby paws slowly slid outward on the slick flooring until she oozed like a puddle, round belly first, onto the tile. “Here’s your new daddy, Tippy. He’s kind of crabby for such a young guy, but don’t let that fool you. He’s still grieving for his mama. Underneath, he’s got a heart of gold.” Pete shot Cal a look. “Somewhere.”

  Cal leapt out of the massage chair. “You can’t leave me with this animal.”

  Pete fished a tattered rectangle from his pocket. “Here’s a card for a dog sitter.”

  “But… ”

  “She’s vetted and trained; she works with celebrity clients exclusively. Takes care of Coach Bruce’s goldens when the missus is out of town.”

  “I can’t… ”

  “Yes, you can. I’ve got a meeting. See you later.”

  Cal clutched the card. “No, Pete. This is not happening. I am not taking this dog.”

  “She eats pretty much anything and she’s already had breakfast,” he said.

  “I’m not doing this.”

  Pete headed down the hallway. “And whatever you do, don’t let her near your car keys.”

  “Why?” Cal yelled down the corridor. “What does it do with car keys?”

  “She,” Pete thundered. “Tippy’s a girl.”

  Gina sat in her cousin’s car, fingers clenched on the wheel, staring at the gate which separated her from a house she would never be able to afford in six lifetimes. Maybe seven. Sea Cliff, San Francisco, was not the natural habitat of a girl of Gina’s financial circumstances. Her hand hovered over the gear, eager to slam the Volvo into reverse and flee. God will equip you for anything, remember? Her insides quivered as she recalled that she hadn’t exactly made a spectacular success out of her last endeavor. She whispered another prayer, hoping the equipping would commence immediately, in great quantity, and inched the car up to the guard whose nametag identified him as Ed. She smiled, he smiled, and she admired the little crayon sketch taped on the wall next to his phone with a name scrawled in crooked capital lette
rs underneath. Addie Jo. The guard’s granddaughter, he told her with a proud smile. They chatted about Addie Jo, the artistic four-year-old who was learning ballet and had a bowl full of guppies that would not stop reproducing.

  After looking her over and consulting a clipboard, miraculously, he let her pass. Maybe it really had been a good idea to put on the blue blazer and skirt, though it seemed pretty ridiculous for pet sitter garb. She’d never met a dog who seemed at all impressed by stylish clothing.

  “These are celebrity clients,” her cousin Lexi had said. “Humor them; treat them with kid gloves.”

  Gina would rather be at school with her kindergartners, wrist-deep in finger paints, fat pencils, and safety scissors, than trying to impress celebrities. They aren’t your kindergartners anymore, remember? Pain pricked at her heart. She’d served her three months as a long-term sub, long enough to fall in love with the ornery, boisterous five-year olds. There might have even been a full-time position in the works if she hadn’t accidentally misplaced a child during the class field trip to the bakery. One minute she had twenty-six students, and the next, Rodney Wang was missing, only to be discovered sleeping atop a massive stack of flour an hour and a half later after a frantic search that included the police. The end of her dream.

  Goodbye, Teacher Palmer. Hello unemployment, which had lasted five interminable weeks until her cousin had to deal with the hernia that would not be ignored. Goodbye, kindergarten. Hello, celebrity pet concierge. Don’t worry, cuz. I won’t mess things up. She intended to prove herself this time, like she’d been trying to do since the moment of her birth, it seemed. She read her notes again. Cal Crawford. Cal like California and Crawford like… Joan? Just a helpful little memory game, like those she’d used to stagger through college algebra.

  Parking on the wide sweep of drive, she was admitted past a breathtaking marble foyer and into an even fancier living room by a man in a suit. The color palette of blues and grays was soothing, the perfect backdrop to the sleek furniture.

  “Mr. Crawford will be here in a moment,” said the man in the suit.

  Before she could strike up a conversation, he excused himself with a, “Please make yourself at home.”

  Home? Her home was a rented room above a pierogi shop with an old fruit crate serving as a coffee table and a view of a parking lot. This place was all shining wood floors, rich oil paintings, and manly leather furniture. Should she sit? No, too familiar. She stayed standing, hands in her pockets. No, that wasn’t professional. She tried clasping them behind her back. Too schoolgirl. Folding her arms across her chest? Confrontational. She was just going for one hand on her hip and the other resting on the pristine oak sideboard when a dog skidded into the room, nails scrabbling for purchase on the wood floor.

  She was clearly an old dog, her coat a soft butterscotch color and her muzzle graying. Two droopy ears framed a set of eyes filmed with cataracts, mournful and expectant at the same time. The animal slipped and slid, finally coming to a stop at Gina’s feet.

  Forgetting her professional demeanor, Gina dropped to her knees and caressed the dog. “Aren’t you a sweetie?” she crooned in baby talk. It was something that happened every time she spoke to a dog. Her vocabulary regressed some twenty-seven years, much to her cousin’s dismay. “What’s the matter, little pumpkin pie? Is this horrible floor too slippery for you?”

  “The horrible floor happens to be mahogany, and its nails are leaving scratches.”

  She leapt to her feet so fast her head spun, finding herself face to face with a man a good six inches taller. He was lean and muscular with a stubble of brown on his tanned chin, chocolate eyes regarding her from under thick brows. Handsome, but handsome was way overrated, as she’d recently learned.

  She pulled up his last name from her ragged short-term memory files. Crawford like Joan. “You must be Mr. Crawford.”

  “Cal, and you are Lexi?” He eyed her skeptically. A lazy drawl added unexpected softness to the words.

  The moment of truth. Time to sell it, Gina. “Actually, I’m her cousin Gina. Lexi had to have some minor surgery done, so I’m filling in.”

  One brow wriggled upward. “And you’re a dog expert?”

  She tugged on her jacket. “Of course. Don’t I look like one?”

  His mouth quirked. “I guess. You just sounded funny when you were talking to it.”

  “You mean the dog?” She hoped her cheeks weren’t too badly flushed, but there was no hope, really. A strawberry blonde with skin a shade lighter than a fish belly ensured that the slightest embarrassment lit up her face like a neon sign. Always had. She went for dignified. “I was informed the dog is a female, Mr. Crawford. Is that correct?”

  “You can call me Cal. Yeah. Name’s Tippy.”

  They both looked at the sprawled creature that had flopped over on her side, stubby legs twitching.

  “She wants a tummy scratch,” Gina said.

  Cal looked at her like she was suggesting he swallow a live toad.

  “Like this,” she said. Kneeling again, she scratched Tippy’s stomach. The dog let out a snuffle of pure contentment and closed her eyes. “See?”

  Cal shifted. “Listen, Gina. I have to make something clear. I’m busy. I’m a pitcher for the Falcons and we’re just heading into spring training.”

  She kept on scratching and looked up at Cal. “Uh huh.”

  “It’s a rigorous schedule. Conditioning, strategy work, studying film, lots of press time.”

  She resisted an eye roll. If you think playing a game is rigorous, try teaching kindergarten.

  “And I’m on the road a lot. When the season starts, I’m traveling all the time.”

  Yep, hard life. Four-star hotels. Private planes. Catered meals. Gina tried to recall what she’d had for breakfast. A two-day-old egg roll.

  “Are you listening to me?” Cal demanded.

  Lexi’s admonishment resurfaced. Kid gloves. She stood. Tippy cracked an eyelid but did not move.

  “Yes, Mr. Crawford. On the road. Traveling. Rigorous. I was listening.”

  He shoved his hands in the pockets of his expensive jeans which, she noticed, fit him extremely well.

  “Anyway, I don’t have the time to care for it.”

  “Her.”

  “Yes, her,” he snapped. “I want you to take her.”

  “Take her?”

  “Can you do that?” A sheen of hope washed over his face. “Take Tippy to live at your house? I’d pay whatever you want.”

  “I’m sorry, but my landlady doesn’t allow dogs.”

  His mouth tightened. “I’ll rent you another place. A house, or a condo. One that takes pets. I’ll pay for it all. And living expenses.”

  She gaped. Blood rushed to her cheeks, no doubt broadcasting her emotions, notably the anger that fizzed up in her belly. “Listen, Mr. Crawford. I realize you’re a big shot athlete and all that, but I’m not some desperate girl who’s going to let men rent living spaces and pay my expenses. I’m a pet sitter. That’s it, and you can find yourself another one, by the way.” She stalked to the door. Not waiting for the suited man to appear and open it, she wrenched the handle herself.

  “Wait,” Cal called, stepping over the still sprawled dog. “Wait, I… I apologize. I didn’t meant to insult you. I’m just sort of desperate.”

  She turned, searching for sincerity in his expression and finding a gleam that might qualify, but her man judgment was not the greatest, as recent history bore out. “Why do you own this dog when you clearly don’t want her?”

  He paused. “Inheritance.”

  “From whom?”

  He looked down, suddenly morphing into a little boy. “My mom.”

  His mother. Lexi told her his mother had passed away of cancer some six months before, but she’d forgotten. “I’m sorry.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, which she now noticed was lined with fatigue. “She loved the dog. Told me all kinds of stuff about it.”

  Stuff? Cal clearly
had not spent much time with his mother, yet for some reason he was making an effort to hold onto her beloved dog. Minimal effort, but it was a point in his favor. A very small one. Gina allowed herself to relax a tiny bit. She removed the list from her pocket and reviewed. “I’m happy to help you care for Tippy according to the terms of the contract you signed with my cousin. Grooming and feeding, vet care when needed, a daily walk schedule, and training where appropriate.”

  “You wrote that all down?”

  “It helps me remember. If you want something else, you’ll have to hire a different service.” She held her breath. With her cousin laid up and her other employee scrambling to cover their current jobs, this one would be Gina’s alone until Lexi recovered.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Okay. When can you start?”

  She tried to hide her grin. “Right now. I’ve got a leash in the car.”

  “Fine,” he said, exhaling in relief. “That’s great.”

  Gina checked her watch. “When was the last time she ate?”

  “Dunno. Think the cook gave her some oatmeal for breakfast.”

  “Oatmeal? You don’t have dog food?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know I was getting a dog until yesterday. We just gave our working dogs whatever meat was leftover from meals.”

  “All right. If it’s okay to take Tippy for a drive, we’ll go by the pet store and pick up some supplies.”

  “Take her anywhere you want.” After a relieved exhale, Cal patted his pockets. “Oh, sorry. My wallet is upstairs. I’ll be right back.”

  “Never mind,” Gina said. “I’ll bill you.”

  He nodded. They both looked at Tippy who had not moved, short legs still frozen in the air.

  “How long can she stay like that?”

  Gina laughed. “Until someone scratches her tummy again.”

  “Huh.” Cal did not laugh as he said goodbye and headed toward the back of the house, but his grimace was not quite as bad, she thought. And why wouldn’t he be more cheerful? He’d just offloaded the well-being of his mother’s beloved pet to a stranger. Tippy’s sad gaze followed Cal as he left the room.