Selecting a puppy:
Picking the perfect puppy isn't easy. Size, weight and
breed all need to be considered. But the most important
factor is the temperament of your animal.
To evaluate the social tendencies of your choice, watch
how he interacts with others. Does he approach in a stiff-
legged manner? Is his tail tucked beneath his bottom? Is
he confident in his stance? Is he excitable or calm? Does
he bark incessantly or whimper? Does he bite? Or cower?
You don't want a timid animal. But you most certainly
don't want one that is aggressive. Evaluating That Puppy
in the Window, Dr. Louis Kaku
"I give up."
"Hmm?" Julie Jones, owner of the Puppy Love Dog Training
Institute, glanced up from the ledger she'd been comparing
to the accounts on her computer. Brushing a strand of dark
hair out of her eyes, she focused on the woman planted in
front of her desk. "What did you say, Georgia?"
"I said I give up," the gray-haired trainer repeated,
folding her muscular arms across her chest. "Our newest
client is completely untrainable. He snarls, he growls. He
refuses to obey the simplest command without balking. He's
disrupting the whole class. There's no way he's going to
pass basic training."
"Oh, dear." Julie leaned back in her chair, biting her
lower lip. She was so proud of the stellar record of the
institute, which was earning a reputation among dog owners
in the west Los Angeles area as the best place to take
problem pooches. Never once in the two years since she'd
bought the facility had they had a failure.
"He's that bad, huh?"
"Yes!" declared Georgia, with an emphatic nod of her
head. "Completely hopeless — a real son of a bitch." She
considered the matter, then added, "And his dog isn't much
better."
"Aggressive?"
"Not the dog. Just the man. A bit intimidating. He's not
very friendly to the other owners. Tends to snap at them."
Her glasses slid down her pug nose. She pushed them back
up. "He's also expecting instant results, and that's not
going to happen. The dog simply isn't responding."
Julie sighed and set down her pen. "All right. Send them
in. I'll see if I can figure out what the problem is."
While Georgia went to fetch the pair, Julie shut down her
computer, then hunted for their file among the stacks on
her desk. She started with the largest pile — clients who
owed money — but after diligently digging found it in the
thinnest heap — prepaid accounts.
She opened up the manilla folder. Paper-clipped to the top
was a check signed in a dark slashing hand by a Lucien
Tagliano. Glancing at the amount, the tension in her
shoulders eased a bit. He'd paid for a full three months
in advance. Not only would the money help pay the bills,
it also showed Tagliano was committed to training his dog.
Feeling more hopeful, she lifted the check to read the
information sheet below it. Tagliano was listed as the
animal's owner on the form, which also gave his
occupation — business owner — and his home address in an
exclusive part of the city.
But the information on his pet was scanty. Julie was
frowning over the omissions when a brief tap on the open
door heralded Georgia's return. The trainer poked her head
around the jamb. "They're here."
Julie nodded. "Send them in."
Georgia opened the door wider to allow the man and dog to
enter. Julie glanced up to greet her client and —
Whoa!
She leaned back in surprise. He was so...so handsome. Not
classically so, but in a tough, rugged kind of way that
exuded power and confidence. Wide, muscular shoulders. A
deep chest and well-shaped head. Surely Italian, she
thought, as he paced almost arrogantly into the room.
Definitely a male in his prime. His brow and jaw were
wide, his rough-hewn features so clearly defined he would
have appeared almost brutal if it weren't for his eyes.
Dark brown. Intelligent. Something in them tugged at her
heart. Made her —" Miss Jones?"
The deep voice was rough, like a growl, and caused a
warning tingle at her nape. Reluctantly, Julie tore her
gaze from the mastiff's to look at the man and —
Whoa!
Her eyes widened. The man standing just inside her door
certainly didn't look like a businessman. His long-sleeved
white dress shirt and dark slacks might be traditional
business attire, but, like a pink satin bow on a timber
wolf, did nothing to disguise the true nature of the
beast. Well over six feet tall, his broad shoulders and
muscular arms were clearly defined beneath his shirt, and
the leather belt on the slacks encircled a lean waist and
hips. His brow was wide, his cheekbones high and
prominent, his square jaw shadowed. His thick, dark brown
hair was cropped short in a severe style that did nothing
to soften his chiseled features. His masculine nose was
slightly battered, as if he'd broken it.
Probably in a fight, Julie thought, meeting his gaze. He
looked like a man who wouldn't back down from anyone. Like
his dog's, the man's eyes were also brown, also
intelligent. But these dark eyes held a critical,
assessing glint that made her stiffen as he eyed her from
the doorway.
"Yes, I'm Miss Jones," she acknowledged, as he strode
toward her with the easy, powerful grace of a natural-born
aggressor.
He held out his big, tanned hand. "Lucien Tagliano."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Tagliano." She put her hand in his.
His long tanned fingers closed around hers, tightening
just enough to reveal the controlled strength of his
grasp. "Luc," he commanded. "Julie," she replied and
pulled away to gesture at the chair in front of her
desk. "Please. Have a seat. I just want to write down a
few observations before we begin."
His dark eyes narrowed, and his lips tightened. Julie
waited, expecting him to argue, but he didn't. After a
moment, he nodded and sat in the chair she had indicated.
Julie frowned at him thoughtfully. He should have appeared
relaxed with his long legs stretched out and his hands
tucked into the front pockets of his slacks, but a sense
of coiled energy still emanated from his big frame, and
his intense, assessing gaze continued to study her in a
way that made her feel oddly wary. Despite the temptation
to keep a cautious eye on him, she forced herself to look
away, to concentrate on the dog sitting so quietly nearby.
Definitely a magnificent animal, she thought again, with
his beautiful eyes, cropped ears and short, gleaming brown
coat. To the uninitiated, the dog might appear to be a
half-breed. Tougher looking than an English mastiff. More
reminiscent of a cross between a bull dog and a
rottweiller — a very big rottweiller. He had to weigh one
hundred forty pounds at the least, and was superbly
muscled with the large head, broad shoulders and slim
haunches prized in his breed.
But something about the dog troubled her. Julie absently
tapped her pen against the edge of her desk as she tried
to figure out what the problem could be. Maybe it was the
way he sat — with quiet dignity but as far away from his
owner as the leash would allow. Not as if the animal were
afraid — there were no indications of cowering or
mistrust — but rather as if he were...indifferent. She
jotted the word down. And although he'd glanced around the
room, looked at her, when he'd first entered, there were
none of the signs of eager interest she would have
expected of an animal entering unknown territory. Instead,
the mastiff simply sat there, and, even as she watched, he
lay down, placing his big head on his paws.
She added Appears surprisingly passive to her notes, along
with observations about his weight, demeanor and physical
condition. Then she started filling in the spaces Tagliano
had left blank on the form, becoming increasingly absorbed
as she wrote.
And while Julie studied the dog, Luc Tagliano studied her.
At first, he thought her remark about taking notes was
simply a ploy — a way to impress him. After all, the dog
was just lying there. What was there to take notes on? But
after watching the woman for about a minute or so, Luc
realized she was truly engrossed in studying the animal —
and completely oblivious to him.
That surprised him; she surprised him.
If he'd thought about it — which he hadn't — he would have
expected the owner of this facility to resemble the stern-
faced instructor who'd led him to this office. But the
only resemblance between the two women that he could see
were the bright blue shirts both wore with the Puppy Love
Institute logo discreetly stamped above their right
breasts.
In fact, Julie Jones didn't match his inner vision of a
dog trainer in the least. To begin with, she looked too
young to own this place. Twenty-five — twenty-eight max.
And everything about the woman appeared...soft. Soft, wide
mouth. Soft brown hair tumbling gently to her shoulders.
Soft, slender curves under her blue blouse and dark pants.
Soft, slender hands — surprisingly bare of rings. Even her
gray eyes looked soft. When she was looking at the dog,
anyway.
When she'd looked at him, it was a different matter. Then
her eyes turned cool, guarded, only warming again when she
looked at the mastiff. Which she'd done unceasingly now
for the past five minutes. Still totally ignoring Luc.
Which was fine — great. Luc shifted in his chair. Didn't
bother him at all. Just not the usual female reaction to
his presence, by any means. Still, all that mattered to
him was getting the damn dog straightened out as quickly
as possible. He'd chosen the Puppy Love Institute on the
recommendation of one of the general contractors he often
worked with and had been pleased with the appearance of
the place when he'd first arrived. The main building
appeared to be well-maintained, the expansive lawns of the
training grounds surrounding it neatly trimmed. A wide
track with an obstacle course nearby was part of the
setup, and even came equipped with huge overhead lights
for night classes.
Yeah, he'd been satisfied with the overall look of the
place, but less so with the class to which he and the dog
had been assigned. And he'd been much less approving of
its instructor, the prototype of a female prison guard.
Good lord, the woman could make most dogs — not to mention
humans — cower with the frown on her face alone.
Definitely unlike Julie Jones, who was still scribbling
furiously, small white teeth absently gnawing on her lower
lip as she concentrated. Too bad he'd left his cell phone
in his truck. He could have made a couple of calls while
waiting.
He thought about retrieving it, then decided not to
bother. This shouldn't take long. Curbing his impatience,
he glanced around the office. A dog calendar hung on a far
wall next to a couple of puppy posters and several framed
certificates. The most prominent informed those interested
that Julie Ann Jones had received a bachelor's degree in
psychology, with an emphasis on animal behavior. The rest
appeared to be awards for various dog obedience
competitions.
Luc glanced back at Julie. Light streamed through the
large window behind her, haloing her brown hair and
slender shoulders as she wrote and spilling across her
desk. A small plastic bowl of cookies adorned one corner
of the oak surface. A nameplate stating Miss Julie Jones —
so she wasn't married — was centered at the front of the
desk, and paperwork covered the rest.
Not very efficient, Luc thought, eyeing the mounds of
folders. A well-chewed rubber bone adorned one pile, a
bright yellow rubber duck another. A worn, dog-eared
manual of an outdated accounting program sat next to her
computer. The machine itself was downright antiquated. She
obviously wasn't reinvesting her money in technology, but
rather, it appeared, in the vast array of books she owned.
He looked at the bookshelves flanking the window. Both of
the cases were tightly packed from floor to ceiling.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the titles. When Lassie
Won't Come Home. Controlling Canine Capers. Dealing with
Doggy Disobedience. Most appeared to be books on dog
behavior. But a good number were also about individual
breeds. Poodles. Terriers. Dachshunds. Rottweillers.
Dobermans. German shepherds. Sporting dogs. Working dogs.
Show dogs. The list was endless.