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eBook Category: Mainstream
eBook Description: A kennel products salesman falls for a sexy Tex-Mex dog breeder, and to prove his love, he must endure the vindictive wrath of her favorite chihuahua.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Killing Me Softly, ed. Gardner Dozois, 1995
Fictionwise Release Date: April 2001

37 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: eReader (PDB) [31 KB] , ePub (EPUB) [28 KB] , Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [17 KB] , Portable Document Format (PDF) [191 KB] , Palm Doc (PDB) [18 KB] , Microsoft Reader (LIT) [53 KB] , Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [92 KB] , hiebook (KML) [69 KB] , Sony Reader (LRF) [45 KB] , iSilo (PDB) [15 KB] , Mobipocket (PRC) [19 KB] , Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [47 KB] , OEBFF Format (IMP) [29 KB]
Words: 4959
Reading time: 14-19 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Portable Document Format (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

I'm Millie Chalverus, said the woman at the gate. Who are you? Whaddaya want? N why should I care?

She had green eyes bracketed by hard-to-see laugh lines, skin like coffee-colored suede, and, shoehorned into a pair of ebony-and-gold-embroidered pedal pushers, a haunch like a ripening matador's. A velvety black haltertop crossed her upper torso. Her toenails peered up at Dougan from her scuffed huaraches like lacquered violets. Ankles, midriff, shoulders, arms: continents of glistening suede.

Talk to me, lover. I got stuff to do.

Dougan said, Vernester Dougan, Kennel Supplier.

Zatso?

Yes, Miss. Outta Lubbock. Specializin in high-protein, super-vitaminized bugproof feed. Not to mention assordid n sundree groomin, trainin, n recreational products.

How you do talk. What you got beyond a downpat spiel?

Miss? Dougan's eyes bounced. A bowel south of his navel went slack and took on a windy cargo of doubt. So much skin. Such lakegreen eyes. A mouth you could press a kiss on thout ever quite reachin her teeth.

By the way, Dougan. It's mam, not miss. I got a little too much age on me to truckle to miss.

Sorry, Dougan said.

Yeah. Well. Don't sweat it.

Beneath him, a quick yip and a helium-high growl. A dog no bigger than a heifer's stool had reared up against the chainlink gate. It had raised its paltry brindle hackles, and the fudge pools of its eyes stuck out like a mantis's. Dougan could have snapped off those eyes and sent the dog on a looping fieldgoal arc by slamming his boot against the gate. Except for Millie Chalverus, he would have surrendered to the idea and launched the mutt.

Instead he said, Nice dog.