by Stella Quinn
“Well, that’s more of a nickname. It’s not the sort of term we’d use in the general public. I’m curious how you know about it.”
“My friend, Katie—she’s how I know about this place—she’s been working with a dog here, called Prince. She used the term.”
“You are friends with Katie Shields?”
Heck, he hoped so. “Er, yeah.”
“She is a legend out here.”
He grinned. “Ramon, she’s a legend out there, too. In my eyes, anyway.”
“Oho. Like that, is it?”
Whoa. This was not how he’d planned on declaring his heart to Katie—via gossip to a third-party intermediary who looked like a pro wrestler. “It’s not…I mean, I’m not. Shoot. We might be. I’d like to be...man, it’s complicated. Can we leave it at that?”
Ramon clapped him on the shoulder so joyfully he nearly pitched forward into the sheet-metal shed that was Heartbreak Row. “You have made my day, my friend. Want to meet Prince while you’re here?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Step this way.”
He followed Ramon into the dimly lit interior of the last shed. In a pen, curled up in a ball, lay a black ball of fur.
“Prince, my man. We’ve got company.”
Prince lifted his head and his tail made a thwack-thwack-thwack noise on the floor.
Ramon lifted the latch on the gate, and the dog rolled to his feet and barreled over.
“Hey there, buddy,” Anton said, as a warm, wet snout thrust itself into the palm of his hand.
“We’re hoping to foster him now. Katie and Rose have worked their magic, and he’s passed three park tests without lunging at other dogs. With the right owner, Prince could live a long and happy life.”
“He’s gorgeous.”
Ramon was kneeling in the dirt beside him. “You a dog lover, man?”
“Sure.”
“No, I mean are you really a dog lover. Because there’s plenty of people out there who think they are when a dog’s all cute-and-fluff, but the minute it turns out their pup’s not going to be a social media sensation, they abandon it at a refuge like ours.”
“That is terrible.”
“Uh huh. You know what else is terrible?”
Anton eyed the giant kneeling beside him in the dust. As intuitions went, his was pretty darned healthy, and it was currently flashing on high alert. Ramon was in full promotional mode now. “What?”
“Prince here. We don’t have a foster home for him. We’ve tried the usual channels: word of mouth, the local paper, our Reel Life account.”
“Oh, man. I don’t think...” Anton paused. What didn’t he think? He didn’t travel much anymore...like, never. He had a fully fenced garden. There was a ton of room under the desk in his study for a dog to hang out while he bashed away on his keyboard.
“Huh,” he said. “Reckon he can keep up if I take him out running?”
Ramon smiled. “Why don’t you try him and see? Take him for a few days, visit everywhere you might usually go with a dog, see how he copes.”
Wow. This was really happening. He’d lost his heart to a girl and somehow become a foster doggy-dad along the way. “I don’t have any dog food.”
Ramon gave him a look that reminded him of his middle grade teacher’s look when he said he’d forgotten his homework. The get-your-act-together look. “That’s what pet stores are for, man. He’ll need a bed, water, good quality kibble, and a harness. And love. Dogs need love, you up for that?”
Anton pulled one of Prince’s ears through his fingers, and the dog’s eyes went all closed and dreamy looking. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m up for that.”
Chapter 23
Katie’s phone buzzed just as she was finishing a mug of green tea in the break room at the control tower.
“Katie? It’s me.”
“Vee. Hi.”
“Sorry I didn’t call you last night. It was late by the time I got back, and Pete had dinner waiting, then today, work was a madhouse.”
“It’s fine.”
“You sure? Only...there’s an email from my old boss in Redwood Cove on my work computer when I logged in this morning. Says you were worried about me.”
“Worried? Why would I be? I had your letter.” Okay, that was a heck of a lie, and if she was a wooden toy from a fairy tale, her nose would have just skewered the refrigerator two feet in front of her.
“Umm, that’s what I wanted to talk about.”
No, nope, nuh uh. She was not ready to have a heart-to-heart with her sister about why she had gone into full panic stations. “Oh, heck.”
“What? Why?”
Oh, double heck, had she said that out loud? She had to get off this phone call and call the Maple Ridge Police Department. She’d tried to list Veronica as a missing person! She had to make sure they didn’t act on her crazy request.
“Nothin...er, listen, Vee. I’m at work, and my break’s over. I’ve got a plane coming in. Gotta go.”
“Call me, okay?”
“Sure,” she said, hitting the end button. She really did have a plane coming, but for once, air traffic was going to have to manage with its star controller turning up two minutes late from break. She had a police department to call and apologize to.
A minute later, she was back at her desk, microphone in hand. Panclan 3407, this is Redwood Cove Tower, when you’re three miles from the coast marker, turn left heading T six zero maintain height approach runway two-three.
Redwood Cove Tower, we’ve got a visual on the marker.
Panclan 3407, it’s going to be a delay, I’m going bring you back around, expect a short hold over the marker. We got a Dash-8 having problems with the localizer, we’re taking a moment to get them sorted.
Understood. Looking to get our wheels down before the sun goes.
Panclan 3704, yes sir, understood, maintain your hold.
Katie rolled her shoulders in her chair as she watched the Dash-8 line up for its landing. She waited until it was clear before she gave the go-ahead. Panclan 3407, Redwood Cove tower here, winds are 260 at 14, you’re cleared to land.
She watched the cheerfully painted Cessna cruise in from its holding pattern above the coast marker, then drop a wing as it found its approach angle. Daisy yellow. Perhaps she should paint her nails that color. She could do with cheering up, especially after that phone call from Vee.
She, Katie Shields, was a world class worrier. No wonder even her older sister had started avoiding her.
She dragged her thoughts away from the big mound of self-reflection she knew she needed to engage in and back to the airplane barreling along runway two-three. Another safe landing. Another happy ending. She logged the time and details on her screen, then pulled the heavy earphones away from her head. That was the final plane for the day, Redwood Cove airport was now officially shut for the night.
“All done, Katie, love?”
Andy had his keys in his hand already. Ready to get home to his pot roast, his pecan pie, and his cuddlesome wife, no doubt.
“All done, Andy.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
She swallowed. “That’s sweet of you to offer.” Darn it, six kind words, and she could feel a sting of tears welling up. She had to do something about the way she was feeling. About the who she was having feelings for.
“I’m going to take a few minutes on the observation deck,” she said after a moment. “Unwind a little. You okay with me locking up?”
He nodded. “Sure. You head on out.”
The heavy doors to the outdoor deck squeaked as she pushed through. The breeze had some chill in it, and rain was coming, too, she was sure of it. There was a barometer in Andy’s office, an old-fashioned one that would have looked more at home on a nineteenth-century sailing ship than above a high-tech bank of computer equipment. She could picture its wide brass arrow swinging around from fair to change.
If only she had an arrow that swung so easily.
The
door squeaked behind her, and she looked up to see Andy, a beer in each hand. She frowned at him. “Shouldn’t you be on your way home to Carmelita?”
“She’s got a late shift at the hospital. Besides, if she knew I’d left my best employee moping alone on the top of this tower like Rapunzel, I’d be toast.”
He handed her a beer, and she lifted it to her lips, felt the bitter ale take away a bit of the day’s sting. “Man, that’s good.”
He grinned. “Rapunzel likes beer, who woulda thought?”
She clinked her bottle to his. “Thanks.”
He took another swig, then turned to the view spread out before them. The airport’s security lights twinkled, and the terminal was still lit as the last of the passengers collected their bags and found their way outside to taxis, loved ones, buses.
“You okay, Katie? Seems like you’ve been a little up and down lately. You were sad, then you were happy a few days back, and now you’re all quiet and down again.”
Andy was the sweetest guy alive, but he was still her boss, which made him the last person she’d be opening her heart up to. “I’m fine, really.”
“Fine doesn’t get weepy when an old man offers to walk her to her car.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I can’t talk about it, Andy. I’m sorry. It’s… I’m a bit…well, shoot.” Now she had to go home to a much-needed bout of self-reflection and a cryfest. Her life sucked.
He stood there next to her, shoulder to shoulder, ignoring her valiant attempts to stay the flood of tears. “Pretty ain’t she, this town of ours.”
“She sure is.”
“I never wanted to leave. My Carmelita, she would have lit out for L.A. or San Francisco in a heartbeat when we were young, but she stayed here for me. Busy is good and fine for those that like it. Me? I like the peaceful life.”
“Me too, Andy.”
He turned to her then. “You sure? Because you don’t seem like you’re liking anything much of late. I get it,” he said when she started to speak. “You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong. That’s your business, and I respect that. But maybe it’s time you started telling yourself what’s wrong. Because until you know, you can’t fix it.”
She’d barely made it in the front door from her long Monday shift, Rose capering around her like an overgrown pup, when her phone rang.
“Ramon?” she said. “What’s up?”
“Good news.”
“Fantastic. I need some good news. What is it?”
“Prince was picked up by a foster carer yesterday. He’s not back yet, so I’m getting a good feeling. All goes well, could turn out to be a permanent placement.”
“Oh, wow, that is amazing! Did you hear that, Rose?” she said, resting her hand on her dog’s head. Finally, something was going right. “Your protégé is getting a second chance!”
She turned her attention back to Ramon. “Did you check out the foster carer’s premises? Who were they? Do they understand that Prince needs to be on the lead out in public?”
Ramon snorted. “Girl, you think this is my first rodeo? I’ve had the talk with the new owner about the lead thing. Only thing left to do is inspect the premises, but I thought I’d leave you to do that, seeing as how the new foster carer came here on your recommendation.”
“On my recom—” Who on earth?
“Big guy, looks like a Hollywood stuntman. Drives a black Jeep so fine I mighta wept a little when I saw Prince sitting up there on the front seat being driven out.”
Katie took a breath. How many big Hollywood-looking guys did she know, for heaven’s sake, besides Ramon?
Just the one.
“Anton?” she said weakly.
“Uh huh. Anton. And girl, he is getting the Ramon seal of approval. Get on over there first chance you get and check out that man’s...um, premises.”
Man. She was starting to lose count of the ways she had messed up. If only she knew how to make any of it right.
Chapter 24
It took Anton about an hour to work out that Prince was more than a thirty-pound bundle of cute black fluff.
The first clue came at the pet store, when he discovered his new dog had a sharp and high-pitched dislike to being left alone on the front seat of a convertible Jeep.
The next day, Monday, brought new lessons for him to learn: don’t leave his favorite sneakers at the bottom of the stairs, don’t leave the door to his bedroom ajar unless he wanted to spend a fun few hours repacking feathers into his pillows.
The real blow—the blow that almost had him on the internet searching, by fair means or foul, for Ramon’s mobile number—was the discovery of his vintage Mother Jones Cookbook on the floor, the recipes H through V shredded into confetti across his hand-knotted rug.
“What in blazes am I to do with you?” he asked a very happy Prince. “Two days. Two! I shudder to think what havoc you could wreak in a week.”
The dog flopped to the floor, rested his muzzle on Anton’s foot, and sighed happily.
“How are you going to become house trained, I wonder? Didn’t think of that when I roared out of that refuge like a knight in shining armor, did I?”
Prince let a delicate burp escape his lips.
Anton chuckled. “Yeah. No way are you sleeping in my room tonight, pal. It’s the laundry room for you. If that burp is the precursor to anything more colorful, you are going into the smallest room with the easiest to clean floor.”
Later, he struggled to fall asleep. The first reason was a good one: his manuscript had just passed the thirty-thousand word mark, and thoughts on how to rescue his criminal mastermind from the snake-infested jungle he’d just parachuted down into to escape a British assassin on a dilapidated cargo plane were too fun to sleep through.
The other reasons? Katie, of course. She’d not turned up to collect the agony aunt letter he’d found, and he hadn’t yet apologized for laughing at her. He’d spent hours regretting allowing Danny and Jules to coax him into taking over that column on Page Seventeen.
The other reason was almost as worrisome. Two howls from the laundry room just before midnight had his blood curdling before he remembered he had a new house guest, and he struggled to settle after that, wondering if Prince was going to howl for hours. The dog didn’t make another peep, but when the familiarly irritating buzz of his alarm sounded at six a.m., Anton felt like he’d only just closed his eyes.
“Man,” he said to the empty room. “What idiot set that alarm clock?"
Oh, right. Him.
He rolled out of bed. Time to find out if Ramon had been joking when he said Prince would be up for a five-mile run.
Downstairs, he opened the laundry room door, expecting to see a re-imagining of the apocalypse, and was flummoxed to see a sleepy dog sitting up on the plush bed he’d been bought, a white tiled floor empty of accidents. No scratched doors, no carnage, no shredded clothes pins or laundry baskets or anything.
“Prince,” he said. “My man! Good job!”
The dog took the opportunity of an open door to dart past and head for the garden, where he spent a long and apparently happy minute lifting his leg against the hydrangeas.
“Fancy a jog, Prince?”
Woof.
And a few minutes later there was a mile under their belt, and man and dog were flying along the track to the beach.
Maybe he didn’t need to search for Ramon’s mobile number quite yet.
A battered green hatchback was parked in his driveway when he and the dog huffed their way up the last quarter mile from town.
Two sets of eyes turned to face him from through its windows. Brown ones—Rose—happy as could be. And greenish ones—Katie’s—with an expression he couldn’t read.
Let it be happy, he thought. Happy, like he was to see her. He jogged to a standstill and rested a sweaty palm on the roof of her car, ignoring the capering madness of Prince, who had spotted Rose and was attempting to leap in through a car window to join her.
“Katie,” he s
aid. “You’re just in time for waffles.”
She looked pale, and there were shadows beneath her eyes that he’d have brushed away if he could.
“I’m here on refuge business,” she said.
Huh. So, all, whatever all was, was not forgotten.
“About that,” he said. “I’m a little worried about my new refuge dog, Prince. He doesn’t seem quite...”
“Quite what?” she said, looking concerned and pushing the car door open, resulting in a stampede of furry feet as Prince tried to rocket into the hatchback just as Rose tried to rocket out.
“Dogs!” she said sharply as she fought her way through the chaos. “Sit.”
A second later, two statue-like beasts were seated before her, looking as though they were ready to compete in an obedience show. She held out a hand, which the dogs must have interpreted as stay, because they both remained frozen even when she moved a few steps from the car. His Katie had skills.
“He looks settled, that’s a good sign. What’s worrying you?”
He had his leverage, and now he was going to use it. “It’d be easier to show you inside than to explain.”
“Hmm,” she sniffed.
“Over waffles.”
“I’m not here for breakfast, Anton.”
He tried for a mournful look. It had certainly worked for his new house guest the night before, when he was standing over the ruins of a once-unchewed cookbook. “For Prince,” he said, adding a heavy sigh.
Her eyes narrowed. “I guess Rose and I have a bit of time. For Prince.”
He followed her into the house, then dropped a wink to his new dog. “Sausages. Tonight, on the grill, buddy. My treat.”
An hour later, Katie was on her third waffle, and she seemed to have forgotten she was here to talk about his fictitious Prince problems. He rested a hand on the remnants of his now-battered copy of Mother Jones Cookbook. Perhaps the unexpected jump to W was working in his favor.
“Another?” he said, the jug of batter poised in his hand.
