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    Collared: Short Stories
    Collared: Short Stories
    Collared: Short Stories
    Ebook60 pages1 hour

    Collared: Short Stories

    By Jacqueline Vick

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    About this ebook

    Bowers and Frankie are about to experience their first St. Valentine's Day as a couple. With her favorite steak awaiting her at La Hacienda Chop House, what could go wrong? When a service dog walks through the door giving off very bad vibes, Frankie's sure the evening isn't going to go as planned.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherClassical Reads
    Release dateJan 18, 2018
    ISBN9781945403217
    Collared: Short Stories
    Author

    Jacqueline Vick

    Jacqueline Vick writes mysteries that include farcical situations and satirical humor. She writes about characters who are reluctant to accept their greatest (and often embarrassing) gifts. She is the author of THE FRANKIE CHANDLER PET PSYCHIC MYSTERIES about a woman who, after faking her psychic abilities for years, discovers animals can communicate with her. The series evolved out of her desperate attempts to train a rescued mutt with fear-based aggression. Two visits with animal communicators inspired the article Calling All Canine Clairvoyants for Fido Friendly Magazine, and, later, Frankie Chandler. Her second series, THE HARLOW BROTHER MYSTERIES, features brothers Edward and Nicholas Harlow. Edward, a former college linebacker, now ghost writes the Aunt Civility etiquette books. Nicholas is his secretary and general dogsbody. Her first mystery, Family Matters, was a semifinalist in the 2009 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Competition. Her short stories have appeared in numerous publications, including Future Mystery Anthology Magazine and The Best of Everyday Fiction Two Anthology. Her Harlow Brothers novella, Lovely As, was a finalist for the Black Orchid Novella Contest.

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      Book preview

      Collared - Jacqueline Vick

      One

      Should I wear my hair up, or down?

      I didn't receive an answer to my question, as the person I had asked wasn't a person at all but my mutt, Chauncey. The interest reflected in the golden-brown eyes of my eighty-pound ginger rescue was solely food-based. As in when are you going to stop fooling around and feed me? Since I fed him ten minutes ago, I ignored him. He squeaked out some gas and jerked his head around to see who made the noise.

      Up it is.

      I secured my shoulder-length, auburn hair on top of my head and let the curls hang loose, hoping it looked stylish rather than messy. I had less fashion sense than my dog, but I did have a fabulous dress my best friend, Penny, had picked out for me. It was ankle length, sapphire blue, and fitted my curves without giving onlookers a detailed map of my anatomy, though there was a slit up one side to provide a flirtatious peek of my calf.

      Once I stepped into the dress, I wiggled and twisted to get the zipper all the way up, and I was halfway there when the doorbell rang. I hopped to the door, slipping on my black high heels as I crossed the room.

      Detective Martin Bowers of the Wolf Creek Police Department stood on my stoop holding a dozen roses, and when he saw me, he put on that expressionless cop face that hides what he's thinking. After almost five months of dating, I'd learned he couldn't control the emotions reflected in his dark blue eyes. They held my gaze with an intensity that made me nervous.

      You look beautiful. He gave me a quick kiss and moved past me to take the flowers to the kitchen table. I bought them in a vase, because I didn't think you'd have one handy.

      You got me there, I said as I followed. I'm not known for my household management skills. I'd be lucky to find matching coffee cups let alone something as exotic as a flower vase. Once in the kitchen, I ran my fingertips along the soft petals of the closest fat red beauty. I couldn't stop staring. Roses. For me. I had a flashback of senior prom because that was the last time anyone who wasn't related to me had given me roses.

      Now that he had put the flowers down, he pulled me close and gave me a proper kiss. When his hands slipped up my back, he encountered the half-done zipper and made a noise against my lips.

      I pulled back. I need help.

      I turned my back to him, and after he pulled the zipper up, he brushed his warm knuckles across my neck. I shivered, and he took my hand and led me toward my bedroom. I stopped walking. After foolishly living with my last boyfriend, I had decided total intimacy was something I'd only share with a man who respected me enough to make a permanent commitment. Marriage. Bowers, who actually lived his Catholic faith, agreed. At least I thought so.

      That's not part of your Valentine's Day present.

      He gave me one of his sardonic smiles. I'm not planning to molest you.

      Curious, I gave in and allowed him to lead on, surprised when he took me into the bathroom and positioned me in front of the mirror.

      Close your eyes.

      I did so, and I felt his warmth when he leaned over my shoulder to make sure I wasn't cheating. He placed something cool around my neck and clasped it.

      Open them.

      I gaped into the mirror. Oh, Bowers.

      A string of irregular, cream-colored pearls hung around my neck. First roses. Now pearls. Both gifts are extremely romantic and so—adult.

      I had trouble thinking of myself as a deserving recipient of a grown man's attention. My last boyfriend had never made it past the toddler stage, and he had gathered up my self-confidence and flushed it down the toilet. It wasn't his fault. He was a toad and therefore limited by his inability

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