“Are there any tiny angels out there packing tiny arrows?” I asked, and he made a show of looking again.

“Not that I can see, but there is a Labrador packing quite a large . . . anyway.”

I patted Sammy one final time and was rewarded with a tiny lick, and then we headed to the ranch.

Since we’d ridden together, Lucas had to drive me home before heading back in to start his shift at the clinic. As he pulled into the driveway, he looked over at me. “I’ll call you later, let you know how he’s doing.”

“Think he can come home tomorrow?”

“I’m sure he can. I just want to make sure he’s good to go,” he assured me. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then didn’t. He started once more, but still said nothing.

“Something on your mind, Lucas?” I asked, wrinkling my brow.

“Yes, actually.” He shut off the ignition and turned toward me.

And just like that, the mood shifted. I was aware of everything. His salty/woodsy scent. The way his eyes were deepening almost to indigo. The way his arm now draped casually across the back of the seats, putting his forearm within licking distance.

Luckily, before any licking could occur, my phone rang. “Hold that thought,” I said, then looked at my phone. Fudge. “It’s my mother.” Shaking my head, I turned back to him. “I gotta take this. Call me later?”

“Deal,” he said, and I jumped out of the car with a wave.

I’d started to answer the phone when he called, “Hey Chloe!”

“Yeah?”

“You did great today.” He grinned, and drove away.

I could hear my mother in the background. “Hello? Hello Chloe, are you there?”

“Hi, Mother,” I said into the phone, grinning as he drove away.

“Who are you smiling at?” she asked.

“You can tell that I’m smiling?” I was astonished.

“The same way I know that you’re slouching.”

“You’re four hundred and fifty miles away. How in the world can you tell I’m slouching?”

“Your voice changes; it always has. Spine straight, please,” my mother said crisply. “Now, who was that young man you were talking to?”

I literally looked all around, expecting her to come out from behind a bush. “How did you—never mind. What’s up, Mother?”

“Can’t I call just to talk to my own daughter?” she asked.

I stifled a groan and looked skyward for support. The only thing that told me was that it looked like rain. Sigh. “Of course you can. How are you?”

“Wonderful. Thank you for asking.”

No one said a word. Usually, I’d try to fill a silence. Not anymore.

“So how are the gang dogs, dear?”

“Not gang dogs, Mom: Our Gang. You know very well what the name of this place is; it wouldn’t kill you to say it right every now and again.”

“Fine. Our Gang. Does anyone have rabies yet?” she asked, her tone icy.

I groaned. “Honestly, Mother.”

“You sound like a hippopotamus, Chloe. Why are you groaning? Have you been eating too much dairy? You know what that does to your system—”

“Mother.”

She just continued, “—and what it does to your insides.”

“Mother. Hey. Mother.”

“No one wants a gassy girlfriend—”

“Mother!” I yelled, finally breaking through. No slouching now, I was fully at attention and pacing. “I wasn’t groaning because of dairy, for God’s sake, I was groaning because . . . Oh, forget it. What did you need?”

“What did I need?” she asked, her tone even cooler now that I’d snapped at her.

“Yes, you called me, remember? I’ve got things to do because we just picked up our first dog today, and—”

“We? Who is we?” she asked, changing to search mode. Now she was out for intel. “Is that that young man I just heard you talking to?”

Damn, she was good. “The young man you’re referring to is Dr. Lucas Campbell. And there is no ‘we’; he was just helping me out.”

“Dr. Lucas Campbell, a doctor? I’m impressed. How did you meet him?”

“He’s a vet, Mother.”

“He was in the army?” she asked.

“Vet as in veterinarian.”

“Oh.”

“His family’s animal hospital is one of the local supporters for Our Gang,” I told her, dashing her hopes of a cardiothoracic surgeon son-in-law. “He went with me to pick up my first rescue dog this morning. A beautiful pit bull named Sammy Davis Jr.—isn’t that a funny name?”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve got a man around to help you, other than that Lou character. But I hope you’re being careful when you’re out crawling the streets, Chloe. You never know who could be out there, just looking for a pretty girl like you to—”

I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the meanest street in Monterey is the one without a Starbucks. Although there’s a strip mall without a Pilates studio that’s looking a little ragged,” I joked.

She sighed. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” I could tell she was shaking her head. “What are you doing up there?” she asked quietly.

“I’m not getting into this again,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. My mother could irritate me faster than anyone on the planet, but a raised voice from me meant she won. When I was Chloe with the Program, I rarely questioned her. Chloe Who Crawls the Mean Streets of Monterey, however, questioned her frequently.