Читать книгу Out Of Nowhere - Beverly Bird - Страница 9

It’s not easy being an angel.

Of course, Belle’s particular angel problems were always compounded by the fact that she was a dog and her charges were human. They didn’t speak her language. But in Belle’s estimation, that didn’t matter. No one could ever tell humans anything anyway. They were born with agendas. They had as many preconceived notions about each other as she’d once had fleas on a rather ignominious assignment in Mexico.

The problem with humans was that they never followed their instincts—which just went to show what superior intelligence could do for a species. Pheromones, Belle thought. Now there was the answer. Humans always overlooked the pure power of scents, but dogs caught them, cats sniffed them and—voila. Magic—a pal for life.

Which was why humans occasionally needed an angel to nudge them together—and when that failed, to cause a total ruckus to get their attention. This was Belle’s specialty. Well, the nudging part was in her job description. The ruckus business was something she’d thought up purely on her own.

She waited in front of the Cathedral Basilica on Eighteenth Street in Philadelphia’s first snowfall of the season for the humans she’d been assigned to this time. Then she saw him rounding the corner from Race Street, the man she’d been sent to find.

C. Fox Whittington wore a black leather bomber jacket and his hands were deep in his pockets. Black jeans topped his cowboy boots. Belle hoped the boots were for effect. Nowhere in Fox Whittington’s bio had it said anything about horses. She did not like horses, having been kicked soundly by one a hundred years or so ago.

Snowflakes landed on Whittington’s dark hair and promptly melted. As Belle watched, he grinned at some private thought. His white teeth flashed. He probably didn’t need pheromones, she decided. The females of his species would no doubt take one look at that handsome face and fall right at his feet.

Belle hoped this might make her job a little easier. Human males were rarely captivated by the females at their feet. They always wanted the ones they couldn’t quite catch—and Tara Cole would be hard to catch.

Belle wagged her tail once, sharply, as the woman appeared farther down on Eighteenth Street with a cell phone pressed to her ear. Tara had places to go and lots of things to do when she got there, Belle thought. Her hair was a shade darker than Whittington’s. Belle couldn’t tell exactly how long it was because it was tucked into her collar, but it seemed like there might be a lot of it. Her eyes were dark. She was very beautiful. She wouldn’t have much use for pheromones either, Belle decided. This was definitely the type of female that men chased for miles.

She took the phone from her ear and dropped it smartly into her pocket as though glad to be rid of it. This was going to be interesting, Belle thought as Tara drew closer to Whittington. She wasn’t watching where she was going, was still looking down at her pocket where the cell phone was. Maybe they’d walk right into each other. Then some sparks would fly.

But Tara turned left onto Race Street without even looking at Whittington. And Whittington began heading the other way, toward Logan Circle. Stop! Wait! Didn’t they smell each other? Didn’t they sense anything?

Within moments, they were ten, fifteen, twenty feet apart, still moving in opposite directions. Belle sighed. Stupid agendas, she thought. Humans always thought they knew exactly what kind of mate they needed. Disgusted, she left the Cathedral, trotting north now.

Any decent angel had more than one arrow in her quiver.