Cage (The New Bradfords #2)

Chapter 1

GINA

“Doesn’t the team already have a fundraiser?” My hand is on the back of my award-winning, white standard poodle, and I slide the clippers methodically over his haunch, around the base of his tail, trimming his fur smooth to the skin.

I’m grooming him in the continental style, which is a favorite among judges of the official American Kennel Club dog shows, and I’m at the trickiest part of the process—the matching pom poms on each of his hipbones.

Spanky is an old pro when it comes to all of this. He was bred to be a winner, and so far, he’s unbeatable in the “non-sporting group,” which is totally inaccurate as Poodles were originally bred to retrieve water fowl.

Still, winning this competition will put him on track for the national dog show in Pennsylvania, where he has a strong chance at landing Best in Show for the first time ever. The thought makes me zippy with excitement.

After years of working with breeders, training champion dogs, and even judging local shows, it’s about time I had a Best in Show winner.

I don’t think people think less of Spanky or me because we’ve never won the coveted top prize, but it would strengthen their opinions.

“They have a family skate night, and the welcome back parade…” My cousin Haddy, who’s like a sister to me, leans against the ceramic-tile counter in my grooming studio, counting on her fingers as she watches me work.

We converted the she-shed behind our two-story bungalow in Los Feliz into my workspace after we moved here.

Our third roommate and cousin Maverick didn’t care. He’s a star hockey player with the LA Champions, and once hockey season begins, we’re lucky to see him at all outside the arena.

“None of those are fundraisers,” Haddy continues.

I take a break from concentrating on Spanky’s butt to put my hand on my hip and straighten my back. Being a champion dog groomer is a lot harder than it looks. It’s precise and careful and occasionally back-breaking work.

“Hand me those small scissors, Hads.”

Haddy pushes off the wall and goes to my cabinet of supplies to fetch the sharp, surgical-steel grooming scissors.

“They’re all community outreach, but the owners want something to raise money for the children’s hospital.” She hands me the scissors and returns to her spot. “It’s great publicity, and it dovetails nicely with their hockey clinic for kids.”

Squinting one eye, I look up at her from where I’m bent over, trimming a stray curl. “Sounds like they’re getting a little help from a publicity pro.”

Haddy grew up a pageant girl and along with her wins came appearances at every fundraiser in LA. Big or small, she’d be there smiling and waving in an evening gown and tiara.

She earned a lot of scholarship money doing it, which she used to pay for her master’s degree in aerobiology. People are always so surprised that she can be so pretty and also be a scientist.

Now she’s a mom and engaged to Mav’s teammate Gavin Knight. She left her pageant days behind, and it looks like now she’s get her sights set on team publicist.

By contrast, I am deep in the world of dogs, and the most hockey I do is attending Mav’s games every Thursday they’re in town.

“Gav asked for my help brainstorming ideas.” Her eyes are sparkling, and I can tell she’s already got one. “This is where you come into it.”

“And I thought you were out here because you missed me.”

As an engagement present, Gavin bought the house across the street, and my favorite cousin moved in with him. Still, she’s over here almost all the time.

“I do miss you!” She pretends to be defensive, but the truth is, she’s in heaven playing house with her new baby girl and her hot hockey fiancé.

I’m planning their Halloween wedding, and I’m contemplating an Alice in Wonderland theme, since they’re doing everything backwards.

Haddy has not approved that suggestion.

“I know.” I stand, putting a hand on my hip as I pass the scissors back to her. “Tell me how I come into a hockey team’s fundraiser. I’m dying to know.”

Her smile gets bigger, and she’s practically bouncing on her toes. “Hockey Hunks and Hounds!”

My brows rise, and I tilt my head to the side before returning to Spanky’s butt. “And that means…”

“It’s a calendar featuring members of the team with their dogs… or with foster dogs.”

“That’s really a cute idea.”

“Right?” Her voice hits a note that makes Spanky pull to the side and stamp his feet excitedly.

“Keep it down. I’ve got to shape his pom poms, and I can’t do it if he’s jumping around.”

“Sorry.” She lowers her voice, and I pet Spanky for a few seconds to get him calm again.

“Almost done, buddy.” I thread my fingers through his freshly styled top knot.

Haddy exhales a quiet laugh. “He looks like he’s wearing a fur coat. I mean, of course he is, but it looks like something you’d buy at a store.”

Nodding, I’m pretty proud of my work on this one. “It’s the most popular show clip for Poodles, and we’re going for the gold this year, aren’t we Spanks?”

I’m using my soothing doggy-voice, and he starts stamping again, doing his best to lick my face. His harness is secured to the side of the grooming tub by a short leash.

“Let’s finish up now, boy!” I kiss his shaved nose, and he settles down quickly.

I’ve had Spanky since he was a puppy, and he’s well trained. Except for being a notorious towel thief, which I blame on us. We always laughed when he did it as a puppy, so now he thinks it’s a game.

He’s still a good boy.

“He looks amazing,” Haddy says softly. “You’re so good at this.”

“Years of practice.” I lift the clippers off the shelf, inhaling a calming breath before I start on the most important part. “Give me a minute so I can finish.”

She hesitates as I begin. Once I’ve made the initial pass, she quietly asks, “Do you think you can help us find some good dogs for the calendar?”

“They’re all good dogs.” My voice is level as I concentrate on the length of the hip pom.

“We can debate that later.” She laughs, and I know she’s thinking about the foster dog who barfed on her bed anytime she left her door open.

Mav later told me the dog also furiously humped my favorite throw pillow whenever he got the chance. Naturally, I punched his shoulder for not telling me sooner and bought a replacement cover on the spot.

“That poor dog had a nervous condition… and possibly a UTI. It didn’t make him bad.”

Haddy makes a snorting noise of dissent before continuing. “Anyway, Gav is putting together a list of players. We just need dogs to go with them.”

“I’m sure I can help you.” Straightening again, I inspect my work. “How does that look?”

Haddy walks around to where I’m standing to study Spanky’s behind. She knows all about competitions and judges, and I trust her opinion as much as my own.

She tilts her head to the side, squinting. “I think that one’s a little high on the outside. See there?”

Sure enough, the left side extends a bit too far into Spanky’s flank. “Yep. Thanks, Hads.”

“No problem!” She returns to her spot, and I step forward, ready to fix the line.

“How many do you need?” I’m leaning closer, laser focused.

“Well, Mav is with Spanky and Gav has Patsy…”

Patsy is her cinnamon teacup poodle, whose real name is Princess Petunia. She was our foster dog after the unfortunate one, and my cousin fell instantly in love with her—so much that she sat on the floor in her bedroom and cried when we had to give her back.

Then, after a few weeks, the owner returned the pup to us. She said Princess Petunia was as depressed about leaving my cousin as Haddy was about giving her back.

“So they don’t have to be hounds?” I pause to glance up at her. “I mean, it’s hilarious to think of six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound Gavin Knight holding the smallest dog on the planet, but Peepee is not a hound.”

Everyone but Haddy calls Princess Petunia “Peepee.”

“Is that a deal breaker?” Her brow furrows. “The only player so far with a hound is Owen.”

My insides squeeze at the mention of his name.

Owen Stone is the newest member of the Champions, a forward who moved up from the minor leagues at the end of last season.

He’s older than most of the other guys, but he still has that killer, hockey-player bod. He also has shaggy dark hair, a square jaw, and blue eyes that make my stomach dip…

Not that I’m looking for a love connection at all.

I learned the hard way that Frenchie from the classic, blockbuster movie-musical Grease is right: “The only man a girl can depend on is her daddy.”

My dad, Garrett Bradford, happens to be the best dad in the whole wide world, and it’ll take a lot for me to get back on the romance merry-go-round after Baxter the love-bomber ghosted me and broke my heart. Talk about amoebas on fleas on rats.

Owen Stone might make my insides ignite, but I am not getting involved with a hockey player, not even a soft-spoken single dad from small-town South Carolina… who has a gorgeous bloodhound and a killer smile.

He’s our temporary roommate while he looks for his own place to live, which means he’s occupying Gavin’s old room. It’s down the hall from mine, and I am keeping things strictly platonic during what I expect will be a very brief stay.

“I’m sure only professional dog people will notice they’re not all hounds, but I can probably find actual hounds for the rest of the players if you want to stay true to the name.”

Stepping forward, I do my calming breaths before getting ready to start on Spanky’s last pom pom. Once this is done, he’ll be ready to win the show.

“That would be perfect!” Haddy’s voice rises a bit, but Spanky doesn’t dance in place.

I only pause a moment before starting the final puff ball.

I’m lost in thought, distracted by intrusive thoughts of Owen Stone’s take-no-prisoners blue eyes, the way his full lips press together over straight white teeth when he smiles, that ridiculously cute dimple in his cheek…

I don’t even notice our surroundings have changed.