Read Online Best Friends by Samantha Glen - Free Book Online Page A

Mountain?”
    â€œMelissa?”
    The woman smiled. “The traffic, and it’s so humid. . . .” she stopped as a glossy, pointed brown head reared up from the floor. Michael and the Doberman eyeballed each other. The dog made up its mind and flung itself across the woman to get at the stranger.
    â€œSun, Sun, it’s okay. Be nice, he’s a friend. He’s going to take you to a wonderful place.” Her words had about as much effect on the dog as telling a New York cabbie not to honk in traffic.
    Michael watched with interest as the woman struggled out of the sports car. She was hanging on for dear life to a leather leash that barely restrained the hyperactive beast.
    What had Francis said? That this was a show dog that wasn’t performing well? A gentle dog, trained, easy to handle? Ha! More likely he tried to eat the judge .
    He noticed the woman had a nervous tic that kept twitching the left side of her cheek. She was trying, with little success, to smooth the folds of her immaculate linen skirt and hold the creature at the same time. Suddenly she shoved the leash into Michael’s hand.
    â€œHe’s really a good dog; has the best pedigree—just a bit overexcited at the moment.” She was jabbering as if terrified the savior would change his mind at the last minute. “He’ll be fine in the airport, you’ll see.” Before Michael could stop her, she jumped into the Porsche and gunned the engine.
    â€œHis kennel . . . his ticket,” he yelled as she sped away. Too late. Michael was left choking on a cloud of exhaust fumes—again. He looked at the straining, whirling animal at the end of the leash. He had not expected such a frenetic dog. What happened to the planned delivery of a nice, well-behaved animal in a crate that he could then simply give over to baggage?
    Michael suddenly realized he had less than forty-five minutes to catch his plane. “Heel,” he urged, pulling the dog toward the elevator. To his surprise the Dobie’s cropped ears stiffened, his head lifted in haughty obedience, and he pranced alongside Michael—the perfect Westminster show dog.
    This was better. But Michael was still stuck. Obviously he couldn’t just leave the Doberman, and no way was he going to put such a hyper animal in a crate for five hours. Well, he’d just have to figure something out when he got into the airport.
    Michael and the dog had barely made it through the automatic doors when Sun suddenly stopped. The dark, wet nostrils twitched. Food! In a nanosecond a ravening, overwrought monster was dragging a helpless Michael through the airport.
    Michael didn’t pump iron, but he was no weakling. Still, he could hardly restrain the Doberman. He was aware of openmouthed stares as they tore by. He yelled a quick “sorry” as three people tripped over themselves trying to get out of their way.
    Maybe if he fed the creature he’d calm down. Michael jerked the leash and accomplished a momentary halt in the dog’s headlong rush. He pulled two sandwiches he was saving for his own snack out of his carry-on. “Hope you like veggies,” he grimaced. Sun took both sandwiches in one gulp. “Guess you do.”
    Out of the corner of his eye Michael saw a newsstand. But it wasn’t a magazine that excited him. Stacked in three pretty rows in the window were the biggest, baddest, black sunglasses. A terrible idea dawned.
    â€œHeel,” he ordered again, and steered Sun into the shop. “I’ll take those,” he said pointing to a square-framed pair. Michael walked out of the shop holding his arm stiffly ahead of him, allowing the Doberman to lead. Sun twirled in circles the entire way to the check-in counter, then plopped his haunches on the cool tile floor and looked around curiously.
    â€œOne fifteen to Las Vegas,” Michael said staring ahead unseeingly as he deliberately handed his ticket into thin air. An