The Dalmatian Dilemma

by Cheryl Harper

  Construction suited him. Running the operations at Concord Court suited him. Reading and papers and homework never had.

  “If you don’t believe it, she never will,” Peter said. “Hate to say it, man, but maybe you don’t want it bad enough.”

  When Mira didn’t jump to his defense and he couldn’t even begin to form one, Sean had to wonder whether Peter was right.

  “Fine. I’ll set up a meeting this week. I do want this. There are three dogs at Hometown Rescue that would be perfect for this program. I’ll go in, request approval to set the two of you up as volunteers. And when those three are successfully trained and sent to new homes, I’ll talk to Reyna about presenting a formal program to her father to request start-up funds. I’ll estimate expenses. And timelines. And each one of us will try to find another volunteer.”

  Mira gave a slow nod. “Finally, a plan. It’s like, how many times can I poke a worm until it rolls up in a ball? One more time.” She punched his work boot. “Poke. Poke.”

  Sean closed his eyes. His whole life, he’d wondered if he’d ever figure out his purpose. He’d drifted along until he’d landed here at Concord Court.

  Then he’d understood how he could help.

  Dogs for vets. He loved them both. He could help. And the lack of services here in southern Florida meant the door was open wide.

  Did he want to be the organizer? No. He wanted to be hands-on, doing the work. That was his spot, but getting this up off the ground would take some leadership, a solid plan.

  That was where Reyna could come in and make some magic.

  His military service was over. Sean had grown up knowing his father only through a framed photograph on the mantel and his mother’s and grandmother’s stories of his service. He’d died way too young from a heart attack, but he’d live forever in that photo.

  Sean would never fill the role of American hero, but he could do this small thing that mattered.

  All he had to do was convince Reyna.

  She owed him a favor for taking on her weekend hours. Surely that would be enough to get her to agree to a meeting.

  CHAPTER SIX

  REYNA WAS GLAD she had a couple of days to come up with a strategy to involve her sister in the running of Concord Court while limiting the amount of damage Brisa might do if she decided to drop everything for some other exciting opportunity.

  Models got great offers all the time, even part-time dabblers like Brisa. Concord Court would have to continue to run smoothly if that happened.

  As Reyna unlocked the door to the office on Tuesday morning, she watched Sean, high on a ladder, examining one of the cameras she’d had installed at the four corners of the property. Instead of his usual jeans and T-shirt, he was wearing khakis with a polo that did not have Concord Court embroidered on the chest.

  “Does he have a job interview somewhere?” Reyna muttered to herself as she walked behind the large, expensive desk her father had insisted on for the center of Concord Court’s office. The whole aesthetic of the buildings and grounds was suited to her father’s notion of what was expensive and, therefore, acceptable. The warm Spanish Mission style her father preferred suggested both high end and history. Her father had always believed old was better than new.

  A flash of sunlight caught her attention as her sister opened the door.

  “Morning, Reyna,” Brisa sang as she held up two cups of coffee. “I brought us some energy.” She slid one across the desk and plopped the other down in front of one of the chairs opposite. “Am I meeting the Concord Court dress code?” She indicated her ensemble. “A friend designed it.” She shifted backward and forward as if she perched at the end of a runway in her perfect sundress and huarache sandals.

  “Yes, of course.” Reyna gestured at the seat across from her and tried to ignore the pinch of dissatisfaction at her own khakis and monogrammed polo shirt. Her outfit suited the atmosphere of Concord Court, it was father-approved and it was practical. It wasn’t mandatory, but Reyna was comfortable in uniforms and they served an important purpose.

  But maybe she didn’t have to wear it every day? She could buy a few dresses that might be more...

  “You’ll have to give me the address of her store. I could use a few more options, now that I’m out of uniform,” Reyna said. Her sister had good taste. It would be easy to follow her recommendations as far as clothing went. The freedom to wear whatever she wanted whenever she wanted was something Reyna was still adjusting to. Maybe she’d leaned too hard on the Concord Court polos.

  “Well,” Brisa said with a sigh, “no shop yet. No money yet. Like a bunch of my friends, she pays her models with clothes, so...” She shrugged. “But I could introduce you sometime.”

  That explained a few things. Modeling. For friends. Who paid with clothing.

  While their father covered the expenses. It was no wonder the tension between them was so thick.

  There might be less chance of Brisa jetting off to Fashion Week than Reyna had originally feared.

  And things were going well, so pointing out that being paid in clothes wouldn’t do much to gain any independence from Luis Montero might be a mistake. Brisa had managed to stick it out at home. What if she was completely content with her situation? Was listening to her father complain about credit card payments all that different from taking the job he’d custom-built for her anyway? Reyna’s superior position was shaky.

  “We’ll have to go shopping sometime. I’d love to have some professional guidance. Without uniforms to fall back on, I need to expand my wardrobe.” Reyna cleared her throat. “I have a few thoughts on how this arrangement might work, but you should give me a description of what you want to do. How much time you can give.”

  Instead of taking a seat, Brisa paced. She went from Reyna’s right to her left, made a graceful swing to turn and then returned to her starting point, the skirt of her dress twisting around her legs in a swirl that Reyna admired. Brisa even walked beautifully. Of course she did. While Reyna was...efficient.

  “Assistant manager. What would you have an assistant manager do?” Brisa asked.

  “Well. I had drawn up a proposal to hire part-time help in the role.” With a view to taking it herself when she went to work for the Miami Fire Department. Facing off against Luis Montero required long-game strategy. “In the beginning, the assistant manager will cover the desk on the weekends, answering calls from prospective veterans and current tenants. Sean covers the weeknights and any emergency calls.”

  “Answering phones. You need a receptionist, not an assistant manager.” Brisa shook her head. “I don’t want to do that again. What else?”

  Since Reyna had experienced her father asking a similar question in the same tone, she already knew how to expand on her goals.

  “Day in and out, I’m reviewing applications, paying bills, updating accounts receivable and signing two-year contracts that require follow-up. Anybody could do that. We’re no different than any other well-run apartment complex there.”

  Reyna tapped her fingers on the desk. “What makes us different is the programs we offer. When I add an assistant manager, that person is going to help me brainstorm new ways to help the men and women who live here. They will also need to do a lot of research, finding the right people and programs to work with. I can do some, but having another dedicated person on hand to help will make all the difference.” This was the part of her plan that bothered her the most. If she stepped down from managing Concord Court, what would happen to all the carefully established relationships she’d built with employers, staff at Sawgrass University, the therapist who was making a difference every day with these vets? Reyna didn’t trust anyone to take that over and run it the way she would.

  And her baby sister? Reyna wasn’t sure she could be trusted with any of it.

  But for now, she mainly needed someone to be here when she couldn’t. Thursday night
, Friday night and all day Saturday. After she’d gotten her certificate and passed the physical aptitude test, she’d need to complete her training with any crew that hired her. That would mean three days where she’d be away from Concord Court every week.

  Reyna wavered back and forth on the proper time to tell her father, but she should be able to figure everything out within a couple of months.

  Surely Brisa could stay in one place for that long.

  “Fundraising to support those programs.” Brisa tilted her head to the side. “You forgot that part?” She resumed pacing.

  “Good point.” Reyna didn’t want to do any fundraising, but it was the key to Concord Court’s true reach. Montero money had done a lot of the heavy lifting, but growth would depend on finding partners. “If we can iron out a plan together, I need to take more of that on.” Dread would have settled into her bones, but Reyna shook it off. It was part of the job.

  When Reyna looked up because Brisa hadn’t responded, her sister was biting her lower lip as if she had something to say but definitely wondered if she should.

  “Spit it out, BB.” Reyna untangled her fingers to loosen up her body language. How many leadership training sessions had she attended over the years? Being open was important.

  “Sure, you could help with fundraising. You’re the veteran, not me,” Brisa said slowly as she perched on the edge of the chair, “but I might have an inspiration for a program.” She clenched both fists. “Or two.”

  Reyna blinked. “Two?”

  “Or more.” Brisa tipped her chin up. “Fashion. You think it’s silly, but we could help people going for interviews to grow some confidence. One session. A loaner suit or two, and if they get the job, we can help with the first month of clothing. Going from an approved military uniform to dressing for today’s workplace could be intimidating.” Her pointed stare at the logo on Reyna’s polo spoke more than a thousand words. “I have connections who can help.”

  Of course she had connections. Reyna had escaped Miami at her first opportunity, but Brisa had settled in. If Luis Montero valued social standing, Brisa had learned how to leverage it for good.

  But clothing?

  “These aren’t homeless people, Brisa.” Some of them might be, but for the most part, no. “And they haven’t arrived from another planet. I’m not sure...”

  Her sister’s shoulders firmed. Instead of deflating, Brisa stood taller. “You just mentioned needing a professional’s opinion for your own wardrobe, Reyna.” Brisa was ready to fight for herself.

  “Fine.” Reyna offered her sister her hand. “Let’s flesh this out. You work here with me for three months, learning the programs and the veterans we’re already working with. If we still think it’s the best plan at the end of that period, we go for it.”

  Brisa reached to take her hand but hesitated. “Why are we waiting?” Then she nodded. “Because you don’t have any faith in me—you don’t think I’ll still be here in three months. I will.”

  Reyna pushed her hand farther forward. “Okay. Do we have an agreement?”

  Reyna could tell that Brisa wanted to argue. She did. But she shook.

  “Great. First thing I want you to do is help me convince one of our current tenants, Jason Ward, to act as a job counselor. He’ll work with the therapist we partner with, but he’ll serve as hands on deck to help with internet searches, résumés, practice interviews, whatever. I’ll set up a meeting. You just...” Reyna shook her head. She was never certain how Brisa got people to cooperate, but she did. Time and time again, she drew people into her web.

  “Fine. Why him?” Brisa sipped her coffee. “I’m sure you have a solid list of reasons.”

  “Military experience. He was a crew leader. People followed him. He’s facing his own confusion on how to enter civilian daily life. Right now, he’s in school, but he’s not sure why.” Reyna pulled open her desk drawer and dug around until she pulled out a file she’d put together on the job program. “People will trust him because he understands where they’re coming from.”

  Brisa pointed at the drawer. Reyna glanced down to guess what the problem might be. From her vantage point, her files were a pretty rainbow of order and organization. Color-coded according to function, labeled in a perfect stair-step that had taken some work.

  “Your files.” Brisa widened her eyes. “They’re so...scary.”

  “Scary.” They stared at each other while Reyna puzzled that out. “Organized. That’s what you mean. I have a system.”

  Unfortunately, this was not the first time she’d listened to criticism of her system.

  “Color-coded. Alphabetized. Cross-referenced by date. I also have digital files to track leases and spending and... We can get to all that as we go.” Reyna handed Brisa a folder. “Here’s an outline of the job counseling program. I’ll put together a meeting with all the players. You just...help.”

  Brisa flipped open the file and scanned the first page. “The problem with being truly excellent at everything you do, Reyna, is that it’s awfully difficult for the rest of us mere mortals to follow.”

  Reyna tipped her head to the side. “Mere mortal?” This wasn’t the first time someone had made a dig like that, like she wasn’t human. She hadn’t appreciated it. Ever.

  Coming from her beautiful baby sister, though, it burned.

  Brisa shook her head as if she was waving off the argument. “Never mind. Organization is fine, but I can show you great things happen when you’re open to them.”

  Reyna wanted to argue. This was her project, her place—she’d given up more time flying because her father had hammered over and over how much she was needed at home, how much good she could do here. Her system was more than up to the low-key demands of running a comfortable town house complex and a few programs.

  What she needed was a bigger challenge. More excitement. Burning-building or chemical-spill levels of adrenaline, please.

  She had two options: she could let her sister think whatever she wanted for as long as she could cover the front desk, or she could set her straight while risking that assistance. Before Reyna could make a decision, the door opened and Sean Wakefield entered, carrying a laptop.

  It was unusual to see technology under his arm. He used the computer in his office for email and researching contractors, but he was mainly a hands-on fix-it guy.

  But that surprise was nothing compared with the way her baby sister lit up when she saw him. Her shoes clattered across the tile floor as she hurried to throw her arms around his neck in a hug. Reyna blinked slowly when Sean lifted Brisa off her feet. Neither one of them hesitated. This was something they’d done before.

  Why did that sit like a hard knot in her stomach?

  “I take it you two have met?” Reyna drawled, determined not to let the weird emotion that tangled and shifted in her stomach show. Some people might call it jealousy. She would not.

  “Yeah, Brisa was a huge help on getting this place up and running.” Sean draped an arm over her sister’s shoulders.

  In a very familiar way.

  “It’s been a while, Breezy. What you been up to?” Sean asked as they approached Reyna’s desk. “What happened to your plans?”

  Breezy? A nickname? Reyna leaned back in her chair. Brisa had had plans that she’d discussed with Sean. Plans for Concord Court?

  “Oh, you know.” Brisa fidgeted with her dress. “Life happened, but I’m here to help run the place now. Got myself a trial period of three months to prove I’ll stick around.” Reyna met Brisa’s stare, and Sean cleared his throat.

  He nodded once and tapped his laptop.

  “Great. Somebody else to help cover the front desk and phone calls on the weekends would be nice. I’ve been able to do it for the past month or so, but my grandmother will murder me if I miss her birthday party this weekend.” He studied them both and then pointed at the chairs
in front of the desk. “While you’re both here, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  Reyna nodded, and Sean and Brisa sat down across from her.

  “What is it?” she asked. She was glad for the change in topic—she didn’t want to keep talking about Saturdays and risk their asking why she needed them covered.

  Sean held up a finger and then opened his laptop. The silence stretched in the room for the eternity it took him to load his slideshow, but it finally opened on a picture of his dog, Bo, wearing the vest that marked him a service companion.

  “Service animals for veterans. I want to formalize a training program where volunteers foster and train shelter dogs to receive certification.” He straightened his shoulders. “I want to do it here, at Concord Court.”

  “We have a no-pet policy, Sean, which I stretch beyond the bounds of good business by letting you bring in the dogs you’re training.” Reyna shook her head. “No way can we allow more dogs.”

  “Yeah, Dad would never go for that.” Brisa rolled her eyes. “The cost of repairs and upkeep. The liability of dogs on the grounds. I’ve already listened to it all.”

  “Not even adorable four-year-old Brisa was able to convince Luis Montero to allow a dog at the Montero home. Too much mess.” Reyna was still unhappy about that. If they’d managed to win the argument over having a dog, it might have changed the whole family dynamic. She and Brisa both had fallen hard for Mort Fields’s station dog, and Brisa had asked for a puppy for months after their family photo op.

  Neither of them had forgotten the hard, firm rejection that had ended the conversation on Christmas Eve that year.

  “But you’d allow service animals, support dogs, after they have the certification they need.” Sean tapped his fingers on his knee, the one covered in khaki instead of denim. Was this meeting the reason he’d dressed up for the day? Reyna hoped so. She’d hate to lose him.

  “I would.” She’d have to. Her father would never argue over allowing service animals.