Worth Fighting For. Judy Duarte

doorbell sounded, and he had half a notion to ignore it—until it rang over and over.

      He cursed under his breath and climbed from bed. As a second thought, he slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Brett always slept in the raw, and there was no need to flash Greg’s neighbors. Or a salesman.

      Damn, he wanted to clobber whoever was leaning on the bell.

      He flung open the door with a little more force than necessary, ready to snap at whoever had rudely awakened him. But when he found Emily and a little brown mutt standing on the porch, he slowly shook his head. A grin tugged at his lips.

      So much for wanting to clobber whoever had been his wake-up call.

      Little Emily, with her eyes glimmering, the sunlight glistening in her hair, held the dog’s leash with both hands and flashed him a bubbly smile. “Hi, Brett.”

      “Hello there,” he told the little cutie dressed in yellow and orange overalls. He scanned the yard, but didn’t see anyone. “Where’s your mom?”

      “She’s on the phone,” the child said. “We’re going for a walk. Do you want to go with us?”

      From behind him, the psycho cat hissed.

      Emily brightened, transferred the leash to her left hand, then lifted the fingers of her right in a wiggly little wave. “Hi, Fred! This is Scruffy. Want to play?”

      The dog barked, and the cat wailed like its tail was on fire.

      Before Brett could think, speak or react, the bushy, brown dog lurched forward, jerked the leash out of Emily’s hand and tore through the house, chasing Fred.

      Brett nearly cheered the dog on, hoping the cranky cat got its comeuppance. But Greg loved the damn critter. And so did Emily.

      As the cat leaped over the sofa, the dog tried to follow, jumping onto the cushions, then balking at the distance. It hopped over the armrest instead.

      The cat continued to wail like a banshee, and the dog barked like the devil was on its tail.

      “No,” Emily shrieked. “Don’t do that!”

      Then she dashed inside the house, hot on the trail of the dog and cat.

      No! Don’t do that!

      Inside the kitchen, Caitlin heard her daughter’s frantic scream. “Oh, my God.” She dropped the telephone receiver on the floor and rushed out the front door. “Emily!”

      “Over here,” Brett yelled from the doorway of Greg’s house. “The damn dog and cat are tearing the place apart.”

      Inside Greg’s condo, Fred flew over chair and table, knocking over a lamp, before heading down the hall. The dog skidded on the hardwood floor, like the head of a demon-possessed dust mop.

      “Stop, Scruffy!” Emily chased after the dog. “Fred is a’scared of you.”

      Caitlin stood on the stoop, her pulse racing, heart pounding, knees wobbling, while she waited for her brain to slow the rush of adrenaline.

      Thank God her daughter wasn’t being abducted. She blew out a sigh, as she joined the melee, hoping to catch the dog before the animals tore Greg’s house apart.

      Emily ran after Scruffy, as Scruffy ran after Fred. Rather than get caught up in a comedy of errors, Caitlin paused near the sofa and watched.

      Brett, who wore only a pair of sweatpants, used strategy in waylaying the flying pooch. And she couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders flex, couldn’t help admiring his male form.

      He was a good-looking man; the kind of man most unmarried women would pursue. But she wasn’t most women—she was a single mom who didn’t want to jeopardize a custody battle by having a relationship at this point in time.

      Moments later, Brett managed to snatch the leash and pull the dog to a halt. But he couldn’t stop Fred from dashing out the front door in a flash of black fur.

      Emily hunkered down on the floor and shook her finger at Scruffy. “That was a naughty thing for you to do. You need to say sorry to Fred.”

      Brett caught Caitlin’s gaze, and something passed between them. A parenting sort of thing. Understanding that the house cat might not be safe outdoors and wanting to spare Emily any worry.

      “Even if dogs could talk to cats, that would be tough,” Brett told Emily. “Fred ran off.”

      Emily gasped. “He went outside all by himself?”

      “I’m afraid so.” Brett raked a hand through his hair, then glanced at Caitlin. “I’d better go look for him.”

      “Emily and I will help. Just let me take Scruffy back to his house.”

      He glanced down at his bare feet. “I’d better get on a pair of shoes and a shirt.”

      She nodded, then took Emily by the hand and walked the dog to Mary and Gerald’s, her steps as fast as Emily’s little legs could match.