You Dropped a Blonde on Me by Dakota Cassidy Page B

baritone came from somewhere in the back of the dark interior of Mr. Hodge’s ranch. “So anyways, nice to meet ya. C’mon in.” He took her hand in his and gave it a brisk up-and-down motion before curling his stubby fingers around the inside of his suspenders.
    As she stepped into his screened-in porch, the distinct odor of mothballs and spaghetti sauce wafted to her nostrils.
    As did the odor of big dog. Really big dog.
    The dog bounded from the back of the house with the thump of immense paws and snorting gulps for air. He stopped when he reached Joe, standing almost to the top of his thigh. “And this is my Jake.”
    Maxine bent at the waist to reach out and give a scratch to his long, floppy ear. Jake pulled back, showing her his teeth with a low growl. Snatching her hand back, Maxine looked to the elderly man with a question. “He’s not good with strangers?”
    “He’s grumpy sometimes. But I figure, if he’s gotta take a shit, he won’t care who’s holding the other end of the leash.” He held up Jake’s black leash, palming it to her.
    “Uh, does he bite?”
    “Not hard.”
    Money. Think money, Maxine. And the fact that you’re an animal lover. You need to make this work. Besides, it’s not like you don’t have bandages and Neosporin, candy-ass. Taking the leash, she clutched it, lost for what to say next. Details for this gig hadn’t been high on her priority list when she’d fled her mother’s and Campbell.
    “So I suppose you want to talk money?”
    Oh, Jesus Christ and all twelve apostles. Yes! Yes. She wanted to talk money. “I think we better before I take Jake.”
    “So whaddya charge?”
    Duh. Money . “Uh, well . . . Jake’s pretty big . . .”
    “And he shits big, too.” Joe shrugged his burly shoulders, his craggy face sheepish. “I’m just bein’ honest.”
    “How often do you want him walked?”
    “Twice a day. You charge by the walk or the time it takes?”
    Math. She sucked at it. “Um . . .”
    “Suggestion?”
    “Shoot.”
    “I say you charge a flat fee. This way, you’re not obligated to spend any more time with the little bastards than it takes for them to shit, and you don’t have to keep track of minutes. And like I said, Jake—”
    “Shits big,” Maxine finished, grinning at him. “Okay, so what do you think is fair? I mean, seeing as Jake’s not likely going to want to take me out for kibble and candlelight right now, maybe this should be a trial run?”
    Joe gave Jake an affectionate slap on his backside. “Nah. He’ll warm up to ya. I’m on a fixed income, but I figure some money’s better than no money in your case. I’ll give you forty bucks a week to walk him twice a day. Oh, and clean up his—”
    “Shit.”
    Joe grinned, his dentures ultra white in the fading sun. “Yeah. You provide the baggies.”
    “Baggies?”
    “Yep, big ones, too. We got an ordinance around here. No dog crap just left layin’ around. Gotta clean it up. You got one of them shit scoopers?”
    No. But wouldn’t that be helpful in light of the fact that she’d had more than her fair share of shit dumped on her lately. Maybe then she could shovel her way out. “No. I wasn’t thinking that far in advance.”
    Joe reached over her shoulder and yanked a pooper-scooper from behind her. “You’d best invest in one then. You can use mine for now. So we got a deal?”
    Maxine smiled at Joe, then down at Jake.
    Who growled.
    Perfect. But Maxine ignored that in light of the fact that forty bucks was riding on the line here. That was milk money, baby. Maybe a box of granola bars, too. The chocolate-covered ones. “Yes. It’s a deal. What time should I be here every day?”
    “Nine and six. Jake here only shits twice a day.”
    Alrighty. “Okay, then. We’re off.” Kneeling beside Jake, she hooked her finger under his collar, but he growled again, low and rumbly. “Help a girl out, would ya?” she whispered close to Jake’s ear. “I’m not going to let you