The sting of rejection settled in his gut just like it had years ago.
Dr. Shaw walked in. “Sorry for the delay. I’m swamped today.” He put Bogart’s patient file in a holder on the wall. “Mabel called several days ago to let me know Bogart had been adopted.” He pumped sanitizing gel onto his age-spotted hands and rubbed them together thoroughly. “So, Mom and Dad. What’s wrong with your new baby?”
A thrill hummed through him.
Back in the day, they’d made plans for a future and a family. Of course, they’d been naive teens. Those plans had been shredded, right along with his heart, once the harsh realities of life barreled over him like a freight train. But even after the way she’d ended things, even after confessing she’d be able to walk away from him again, she was still the only woman who’d ever turned his head and caused him to think there might be more to life than work and building a career.
He couldn’t deny it. It was working beside her every day, knowing she was on the resort grounds and back in the Remington fold that blanketed his heart every moment, making him feel full and content for the first time since he was a kid.
Like they belonged together. And like the resort was their home.
“Oh, we’re not . . .” She leaned away from him so they were no longer touching. “Bogart isn’t ours.” She shifted from one foot to another. “We’re working together on the service dog boot camp at the Remington.”
Dr. Shaw glanced from Rebel to Elliott.
He schooled his expression to hide his annoyance at how she’d just dismissed their relationship. Regardless of the hurdles they’d have to clear to have a future, what the hell had they been doing the last few days if not acting like two people who belonged together?
The doc gave Bogart a thorough exam, which included an unfortunately placed thermometer that no doubt left Bogart just as embarrassed as Elliott.
“He’s got a fever.” Dr. Shaw undraped the stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Bogart’s breathing. When he was done, he removed the ear tips and let the scope hang from his neck. “His breathing isn’t normal. It could be a number of things.” He pulled the patient chart from the hanging file on the wall and flipped through it.
“Has Bogart had all his shots?” Rebel asked. “And are you aware of any health issues?”
Dr. Shaw shook his head. “Other than the missing leg and whatever he’s got going on right now, no. Besides being undernourished from living on the streets . . .”
As soon as Dr. Shaw mentioned living on the streets, Rebel seemed to stop breathing.
Elliott wanted to touch her. Mold a hand against her back and administer comforting strokes to help heal the scars she obviously suffered from that awful period in her life. Tell her he’d never let anything like that happen to her again. But she’d been quick to tell Dr. Shaw that she and Elliott weren’t together, so he kept his hands clamped to his sides.
“He was in fine health when Mabel brought him in.” Dr. Shaw flipped to the next page. “I administered the proper vaccinations when he became a patient, so they’re up to date. I’d like to keep him for a few days for blood work and tests.”
Rebel’s head bobbed up and down. “Do whatever it takes. I can’t stand the thought of him being uncomfortable.”
Neither could Elliott.
He also couldn’t stand the thought of her walking away from him again and taking Rem and Bogart with her. Elliott was smart. He was successful. Surely he could find a solution so they could spend time together. So they could see if it might morph into something long-term. Something permanent.
She just didn’t seem to want the same.
Chapter Eighteen
#HOWISTHISMYLIFE
Elliott got up extra early Saturday morning to catch up on work in his office before heading to the camp. He fired up his computer and sat down at his desk with a strong cup of joe.
The campers had been matched for several days. So far, so good. Rebel had their training cranked into overdrive, giving the campers breaks throughout the day to rest, both physically and mentally. Jax was a huge help and never seemed to run out of energy. Ben had proven to be quite the helper too, doing whatever they needed every day after school. He was going to earn that community outreach Scout badge fair and square.
Elliott logged in to their bank’s online bill-pay system and started typing in payments.
His dad had even found a way to contribute in an incredibly helpful way. He mingled with the vets after every training session as they wandered the grounds to practice what they’d learned. He’d organized a few field trips into town via the shuttle when Rebel insisted they needed to start integrating into real-life situations with their dogs.
While Rebel did one-on-one boot camp exercises with the dogs, his dad chatted with veterans. Their powwows had transformed into informal therapy sessions where the vets got to vent and let out pent-up anxiety. She’d even started to reach out to other dog trainers on the mainland who were close to the veterans’ homes so they could continue to reinforce their training once the camp was over.
It was a golden arrangement.
Except that Rebel had refused to talk about a long-term plan with him. Even though he’d approached the subject several times.
Every night, she morphed into the old Rebel once they were alone in her room. When their clothes came off, it was as though they were one. Each an incomplete half without the other.
It was amazing.
Until they put their clothes back on.
And each day that passed, bringing him closer to returning to San Francisco, caused the knot in his stomach to grow bigger. Moving back to Cali wasn’t as appealing as it used to be. And if it didn’t make him happy, would it be fair to expect her to join him in the misery?
He logged the bills he’d just paid into his budget spreadsheet and frowned. He loved numbers because they didn’t lie. He loved spreadsheets because he could easily identify inconsistencies and trends.
One of their major vendors had gradually hiked their prices each month.
An uncomfortable tingle slithered through him. There had been inconsistencies in Rebel’s behavior.
He forced it out of his mind, got a calculator from his desk drawer, and crunched the numbers. Exactly an eight percent increase every month for the past three months.
He picked up the phone and got the account rep on the line. He didn’t mince words, letting Business Elliott come out to play.
Or come out to fight.
“Explain your monthly price hike, or we’ll go to another vendor.” Before Angel Fire Falls had a reliable person delivering their supplies, the mainland vendors had every business on the island by the cajones. Trace’s new cargo delivery business had given local business owners more leverage and negotiating power.
It was an amazing contribution his brother had made to the resort and to the entire island. Elliott, on the other hand, was a wizard with spreadsheets and calculators, which no one seemed to care about. Because, hello. They were spreadsheets and calculators. His skills were utilized to the max at his big-city firm. At the resort, he wasn’t much more than a bookkeeper.
By the time Elliott was done with the vendor, their costs had been returned to the original amount.
The seed of an idea sprang to life in his mind. What if the island businesses formed a coalition? There was definitely power in numbers. They might be able to negotiate better prices if they ordered in bulk from the same vendors.
Problem was, he wouldn’t be around long enough to see it through.
He rubbed his eyes.
Wow. This failure was a record, crashing and burning before he even got it started. Unless he could find someone else to turn his idea into a reality for the good of the island.
His phone rang, and he snatched it up, welcoming the distraction. “Yellooooow,” he said.
“Elliott,” Mick barked into the phone.
“Jesus,” Elliott said. “Did you chase off another assistant? Or did the s
tock market crash, because I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so sour this early in the morning.”
“If you haven’t already checked the stock market yourself, this call isn’t as undeserving as I thought.” Mick’s tone was harsh.
Elliott sat up. “I’m joking.” Actually, it was the cold, hard truth. He hadn’t looked at the stock market in . . . He clicked on the calendar icon at the bottom of his computer screen and counted the days. Shit. He hadn’t bothered keeping up with the outside world at all for several days.
And he hadn’t missed it. Not one bit.
“I’m not in a joking mood,” Mick snapped.
Obviously. Elliott picked up a pen and tapped it against the papers on his desk. Something told him he wasn’t going to like what Mick had to say. “You’ve got my attention, boss.”
“That’s my point,” Mick said. “I won’t be your boss much longer unless you come back to work soon.”
Elliott’s head snapped back. “You gave me a month. I’ve still got a few weeks.”
“I said I’d try to hold off a vote for a month. But some of the partners are getting nervous. We’ve lost a few big clients who don’t feel we’re well staffed enough to handle an investment portfolio their size.”
The exhaustion in Mick’s tone made Elliott recoil. The long hours, the lack of a personal life, the stress. Once, he’d thrived on it. Now it left a bitter taste on his tongue.
And Rebel had been a sweet remedy to the awful aftertaste of his life back in San Francisco.
“Which clients?” Elliott suspected they were his.
Mick rattled off the names, and bingo. Elliott had landed those clients, and they’d been happy with their returns when he was still managing their accounts.
“Who’s been working on those accounts while I’m on leave?” Elliott could guess.
Mick hesitated, the grinding of his teeth confirming Elliott’s fears.
“Lucas Foster,” Elliott said, more to himself than to Mick.
“Yes,” Mick growled.
“So the firm promoted an asshat with substandard financial management skills because of nepotism and turned over my hard-won clients to him.” Elliott swiveled back and forth in his executive chair. “And the firm is ready to fire me.”
That was the most corporate America, every-man-for-himself bullshit he’d ever heard.
“We didn’t have much choice, since we were shorthanded,” Mick groused.
And because Lucas Foster was related to one of the senior partners.
“Really?” Elliott bit off.
If Rebel could manage a service dog camp with no dog handlers and no on-site counselors for the vets, utilizing the inexperienced help she did have to maximize the results and keep a national chain happy, and do it in record time, then his firm could’ve handed off his bigger clients to someone competent during his absence.
“Let me ask you something, Mick.” Elliott’s words were measured and deliberate. “When you went through each of your divorces . . .” Elliott paused to let that sink in. “Who covered your client load and gave you all the credit?” He didn’t give Mick a chance to respond. “And who had your back when you needed to spend a few weeks with your dying father because you hadn’t taken time off from work to visit him in years?”
There must’ve been an infestation of crickets at the firm. It was the first time he remembered Mick being speechless.
“I deserve better from the firm, and you know it,” Elliott said. “But if you can hold the partners off just a little longer, I might be able to deliver a major dog food chain to you on a fucking platter. They’ll be here in a few days.” Just as soon as Elliott got on the horn and invited them. “I’ll seal the deal then.”
Mick let out a gasp, because that was the kind of client that made the firm truckloads of money. “Okay. I’ll do what I can, but you better deliver.”
He left off the or else, but Elliott knew it was implied.
He’d better reel in Down Home Dog Food as a client for the firm, or else he’d be out of a job.
Amazing that the veiled threat of unemployment didn’t bother him all that much. The only thing that did bother him was giving up his life savings to a greedy, ungrateful firm that didn’t deserve it. So he’d have to dial up his kick-ass-and-take-no-prisoners business approach another notch and reel in another big client to show them he was still partner material.
He ended the call and dialed up Collins. The camp was going so well; it was a good time to encourage the sponsor to come back with his camera crews and interviewers. Collins and Down Home Dog Food would look like rock stars in the press, and that might create the opportunity Elliott needed to hook a really big fish for his firm and salvage his investment.
Rebel let the campers mingle for a few minutes after leading them through the morning training objectives. Then she stepped outside to call Dr. Shaw’s office to check on Bogart like she had the past four days. Several times a day.
After living in Portland, she’d forgotten island life moved at a slower pace. Dr. Shaw had run blood work and several other tests but still hadn’t gotten results from the lab on the mainland. In the meantime, Bogart’s condition hadn’t improved, and he was still under observation at Dr. Shaw’s office.
The receptionist didn’t answer until the fourth ring.
“Hi, this is Rebel—”
“Tate,” the receptionist finished. “I’ve been expecting your call. Again. Hold for Dr. Shaw, please.”
Rebel was worried about her dog, so sue her. Plus, she was equally worried about Rem because he’d been despondent ever since Bogart had been away.
Dr. Shaw’s kind voice came on the line. “Ms. Tate.”
“Is there any news on Bogart?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” His voice didn’t waver. “Has he been around the other dogs at the camp?”
Worry prickled up her spine. “Um, yes. Why?”
“Are any of the other dogs feeling poorly?” he asked.
“Not that I’m aware.” She spent enough time with the campers that she would’ve noticed symptoms. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Bogart developed a cough last night. He’s got a bad case of Bordetella.”
Oh. Hells. Bells. Kennel cough was highly treatable but extremely contagious. “But you said his vaccinations were up to date.”
“Bordetella isn’t a mandatory vaccine. Owners usually only request it if they’re going to board their pets.”
“The other dogs aren’t showing any symptoms at all.” She tried not to panic. Hopefully, they’d received a Bordetella vaccination before they’d arrived like Rem had and weren’t susceptible to the illness.
“That’s good.” He drew out the last word like he really wasn’t so sure it was a good sign. “But certain strains can incubate for a while before the symptoms surface. We should keep Bogart here until the camp is over and the other dogs are gone.”
They finished up the call, and she covered her face with both hands. How was this her life?
After giving herself a few minutes to regroup, she went inside, pressed the clicker, and everyone stilled. She surveyed the circle of veterans to decide where to start.
She waved over a jittery kid named Kyle with PTSD and a missing arm who didn’t look old enough to vote, much less fight a war. “Bring Elmo to the center of the garage.” Now that they were several days into the boot camp and the veterans were well on their way to being properly trained—because the humans were always harder to train than the dogs—it was time to advance to the next level.
“Elmo is a big, brawny boy,” Rebel said playfully to the whole group of campers while she scratched Elmo behind the ears. “He’s a perfect match for Kyle because he’s strong enough to push and pull heavy objects to help out around the house.” She turned to Jax, who must’ve conned Charley out of a few doughnuts, because he was shoving half of one into his mouth. “Jax, can you find a toy long enough so I can tie it around a handle?”
“A
iya.” He went to search through the boxes, while Rebel dragged a crate to the center of the garage.
When Jax brought her an elongated pink pig that crinkled in the middle, she handed it to Kyle. “Play tug-of-war with Elmo.”
Kyle did, and Elmo clamped his teeth around it and flailed his head back and forth, trying to take it from him.
After a few minutes, Rebel tied the toy around a crate. “Kyle, your profile says you need help with laundry and other chores because you live alone, right?”
Kyle nodded.
“We’re going to teach Elmo to do that for you.” She nodded to the toy anchored to the crate. “Crinkle it and say, ‘Pull.’”
Kyle seemed uncertain, but Rebel encouraged him with a nod. “We don’t have to get it right the first time. It takes practice, dedication, and reinforcement.”
Kyle crinkled the toy and said, “Pull.”
Elmo grabbed the toy, waggled his head, then pulled backward until the crate scooted across the garage.
A flutter of murmurs and aahs came from the watching veterans.
Rebel tapped her fanny pack, reminding Kyle to reward his pup. “The second you get the desired result, reward him. Keep practicing, and eventually the command will transform from a game to a regular part of his life with you.”
She went through more advanced commands and training techniques for each pair, demonstrating them to the whole group. Then she stepped back to watch.
This was what she lived for. Why she did what she did. Watching the dog and human start to depend on each other, trust each other, and the incredible gratitude a matched pair developed for each other when they realized how their bond would impact their future together.
Hopefully, she hadn’t single-handedly ruined it for everyone, including herself, by taking in a three-legged stray that may or may not be a good match for Dan Morgan. At any rate, she’d spent enough time trying to work up the nerve to face the Morgans, and now it was time.
The thought of seeing them made bile rise up and burn her throat.
Maybe Dan wouldn’t have the dedication it took to go through the training. Maybe Dan’s parents wouldn’t want a service dog. Maybe they hated dogs. Maybe he was allergic.
Dare Me Again Page 21
