Gotcha! by Fern Michaels Page A

York was in turmoil, he consoled himself with the fact that he wasn’t spinning in that turmoil. He was hundreds of miles away, enjoying his temporary new life, which he was loving more and more by the minute. And he had a dog that loved him and two other dogs that thought he was okay. He wondered how much better life could be, considering his present circumstances.
    The throwaway phone tinkled, the sound low enough that it didn’t disturb the dogs. It had to be Oliver, since no one else had this particular number. He powered up and listened. “You did what ? For God’s sake, why? I can’t believe you googled Julie Wyatt. No, Oliver, I don’t want to know her business. Her business is not my business. I’m her tenant. End of story. That lady could have booted my ass out of here, but she didn’t. Do not even think about telling me whatever it is you found out. No! What do you mean maybe I can help her? She doesn’t look to me like she needs my help or anyone else’s help. Julie Wyatt has it going on, I can tell you that. She has a family, children who live nearby. No, I don’t want to know her life story. All right, all right, tell me.”
    Mace listened and didn’t say a word. When Oliver finally wound down, all Mace said was, “Thanks for telling me.”

Chapter 5
    M ace Carlisle bolted upright from the chair on the deck when he heard an earsplitting bark. He looked around in a daze until he remembered where he was. The three dogs clustered around his ankles as if to say, hey, it’s raining, and we’re afraid of thunder and lightning, so let’s go. In a matter of seconds, they were all drenched.
    Go they did, with Mace leading the way. Once inside, the dogs shook off the rain as Mace beelined for the stairs to change out of his wet clothes. When he came back downstairs, he had to turn on all the lights before he wiped the dogs down with the fluffy yellow towels stacked up on the washer. He eyed the wet towels and knew he had to wash them, but the washer was as much an alien entity to him as had been the dishwasher in the main house. He stared at the machine as if it were his worst enemy and suddenly felt incredibly stupid. His face grim, he opened the cabinets and there they were, instructions encased in a plastic bag. Ten minutes later, the machine was humming right along with Mace. Cooper pawed the tile floor, then barked his approval that Mace had mastered this little domestic chore. Mace bowed low to acknowledge the dog’s approval. Gracie pranced off, Lola in her wake, as if to say, a woman wouldn’t have had to read the instructions.
    Outside, it had become totally dark as thunder roared overhead, and lightning danced across the darkened sky. Mace had a bad moment when he thought of all the ancient oak trees on the property. He hadn’t seen any lightning rods anywhere, not that he had looked for them. Maybe people didn’t use lightning rods anymore. He was so far behind the times, he couldn’t believe it.
    The power flickered, then went out. “Crap!” he muttered. The dogs, who were clustered in a tight knot on the deep, nubby sofa, started to howl. Mace made his way in the dark to the couch and sat down. A second later, all three dogs were draped over and around him. He spread his arms as wide as he could and whispered to them. In a million years, he never would have believed dogs could be frightened of thunder and lightning. He was certainly getting an education on the fly here.
    As he was crooning to the dogs, he thought of Julie and wondered if she had gotten home before the storm. Insulated in New York in a high-rise all these years, he hadn’t experienced this kind of storm since he was a child and, even then, all he could recall were rainy days and the need to wear galoshes and carry an umbrella. He was sure that Julie, living here in the South, was used to storms like this one and had sought cover wherever she was.
    The dogs had quieted down as he stroked first one, then another. His