New Leash on Life (The Dogfather Book 2)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Only if you want your life to change, which I don’t.” Wouldn’t mind having his empty bed change, though.

  “Hey, you two!” They turned to see their father walking across the expansive lawn behind the house where Daniel and Annie Kilcannon had raised six kids and more dogs than anyone could remember. “Have either of you seen Liam?”

  “It’s explosives training today,” Shane told him, which meant the oldest Kilcannon would be far from the facility all day, doing canine bomb-sniffing training with some officers and trainee dogs.

  Dad frowned, shaking his head as he came closer. “New rescue?” he asked, looking at Daisy.

  “She’s Marie’s dog,” Garrett said, giving the dog’s leash a tug. “We’re boarding her for a month or so, and I have to get her checked in and over to Molly. Come on, Daisy.” He started walking, and Daisy followed at a nice, even trot.

  “That’s a good girl,” Shane said, watching them go and appreciating how well trained Daisy was. If only people could see that dog when they thought of a pit bull, they’d change their stupid preconceptions in a hurry.

  “That’s a happy boy,” Dad replied, his gaze on Garrett. “I really couldn’t be more pleased with Garrett’s engagement.”

  Shane eyed his dad, suspecting, as they all did, that the possibility of a romance was the real reason Dad had encouraged his middle son to consent to the in-depth profile that Jessie, a journalist, had wanted to do on him. The whole thing had damn near exploded as badly as one of Liam’s sniff-training devices, though.

  “So, Liam’s out all day?” Dad asked, sounding a little disappointed.

  “They’ll come back for lunch, or you can text him. What’s up?”

  Dad shook his head. “That won’t work. I need him this morning.”

  “For what?” They all had various specialties at the facility, but most of the jobs were interchangeable. And if Dad, who was the de facto boss of all of them, needed something, Shane was always willing to help. “I’m almost done with this training round, and I can give you a hand.”

  His father leaned against the split-rail fence that no longer enclosed much of anything, but it was the original fencing they’d had around the old yard when they were kids, and Dad kept it for sentimental value. He gazed at Shane, considering the offer, a frown making the creases around his eyes deeper. He didn’t look fifty-nine, nor did he act it. He sure wasn’t “an old guy,” as a judgmental stranger had called him the other night.

  “I really wanted Liam,” Dad said.

  “I can do anything Liam can do,” Shane said, adding a grin. “Usually better and with way more personality.”

  “But you’re not the one I want.”

  Shane’s competitive streak shot up his spine. “But I’m the one you got. What do you need?”

  “I really believe Liam would be the right choice for this…situation.”

  “For what situation?” Even in the early morning, summer heat made him sweat. Or maybe that was his frustration with Dad, who was obviously meddling, pulling strings, and being the man they called the Dogfather. He got the nickname for his love of dogs and his desire to get people to do what he wanted, like The Godfather of the Mafia. Only, Irish without the bloodshed and way more fur.

  “It’s that Tourism Advisory Committee I’m on,” Dad said. “I have a conflict and need to back out of today’s meeting and, honestly, I thought it would be a good idea for Liam to take my place.”

  “Liam? Don’t you have to talk in those meetings?”

  Dad shot him a look. “He’s the best for this…task.”

  “If the task is training German shepherds how to kill on command so we can sell them for ten grand a pop, yeah. If you need someone to represent…” Something clicked in his mind. “The tourism committee, you say? What’s this meeting about?”

  Dad waved a hand as if the actual reason for the meeting wasn’t that important. “Mayor Wilkins brought her niece up from Miami, and she’s some kind of tourism expert who’s going to help Bitter Bark get more visitors.”

  Oh, hello, manna from womanly heaven. I thought you’d never fall into my lap.

  “Her niece from Miami?” Shane actually had to stop himself from fist-pumping in victory.

  “Yeah, and she’s supposed to give some presentation at eleven today. Seems she has some ideas to help build tourism.”

  “I’ll go.” Nothing would stop him, in fact.

  “I really want Liam to go.”

  Like hell Liam was getting near her. “Dad, you are looking at the best possible representative for Waterford Farm. I’ll be there at eleven, no worries.”

  Dad lifted a brow as if he was trying to say something but didn’t want to. “Andi Rivers is on that committee.”

  The architect? “Yeah? So?”

  “Andi Rivers,” he repeated, as if Shane didn’t hear him the first time. “Liam’s Andi Rivers.”

  Oh, so that was Dad’s game. Shane laughed softly. “Subtle, man. Unbelievably subtle.”

  “I know they used to date, and I thought…”

  “I know what you thought. And you need to let it go. Andi had her shot at that big dumb ox and missed it. But I, on the other hand—”

  “You want to go out with Andi Rivers?”

  “No. But I want…” One more shot at Perfect Chloe. If only to let her see what she missed. “I want to help Bitter Bark,” he said.

  “You do?”

  His father wasn’t the only one in this family who could manipulate. “This town’s in trouble, Dad. We need tourists. We need to get on the map like Asheville.”

  “You sound like you were a fly on the wall at our last meeting.”

  “I know what Bitter Bark needs.” He could still see her eyes light up as she grabbed his shoulders when he’d handed her…an absolutely on-the-money freaking fantastic idea. “I’m an idea guy, and you know it.” And she knew it. “I’ll be able to really judge whatever she’s presenting.”

  Just like she judged him and found him…only good enough for one kiss.

  “You’re right, Shane. And we’ll need more if her idea fails.”

  His idea, actually. Whatever it was. “I’ll go. I have to see what she’s presenting.”

  His father’s brows, still much darker than his salt-and-pepper hair, drew together. “I would never have thought you’d be so interested in Bitter Bark’s tourism program.”

  He wasn’t. But he sure was interested in the tourism expert. “Count on me. I got your back.”

  “All right, but…” He looked past Shane to the distant hills where the explosives-sniffing was going on. “But I like that Andi Rivers, and she got a raw deal.”

  When the guy she picked over Liam was killed? “She chose poorly,” he said simply. “I’d say I’d put a good word in for him, but Dad, when are you going to quit trying to fix us all up?”

  His father frowned at him. “Your mother wanted you all to be as happy as we were, and if I can help that along, then I will.”

  Shane puffed out a breath, as if he had to make space in his chest as he always did at the mention of his mother, gone three years now. “Look, what you and Mom had was one in a million. A billion. Nobody else will ever get that.”

  “Not with that attitude,” Dad chided with a sigh. “Okay, you are officially on the Tourism Advisory Committee, Shane. Thank you.”

  He gave his father an easy pat on the shoulder. “No, thank you.”

  He turned to finish the training class, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He had at least one more chance to mess up Perfect Chloe.

  Chapter Three

  Chloe checked her PowerPoint presentation one more time, straightened her notes, and took a deep, slow breath. She’d arrived early for the meeting, and Aunt Blanche’s assistant had ushered her into the same conference room they’d been in a few days earlier.

  But what a difference a few days made. Chloe had nailed this one, working nonstop to put together a presentation that would wow them all. Like noth
ing they’d expect and, if they had a vision, everything they needed.

  Excited to present, she’d dressed to impress with a crisp white suit over a silky black tank top and sky-high heels.

  Now, she just had to do what she did best and deliver a brilliant proposal.

  As she walked around the table, murmuring some of the key messages she wanted to get across, Aunt Blanche came in, her pale skin flushed and her eyes sparkling as she closed the door behind her.

  “I can’t stand the anticipation.” Blanche rubbed her hands together. “Please give me a sneak peek.”

  “Not a chance,” Chloe said. “I want to read your reaction along with everyone else’s.”

  “Oh darn.” She brushed back some hair that had more silver than blond strands these days. “Can you give me a hint?”

  “Not a word,” Chloe teased, counting her business cards and making sure each one was perfectly lined up with the edge of the table. “Eight committee members and you, right?”

  “Yes, but we had a change on the committee this morning.”

  Chloe gave her a sharp look of concern. She’d geared this presentation to really appeal to the businesses that were present. “Who is it?”

  “Daniel Kilcannon, the man who owns Waterford Farm, won’t be here.”

  Disappointment thudded. Daniel Kilcannon was the dog guy. “Oh no. I was counting on his support.”

  “I know, he’s one of our exemplary local citizens, having raised six kids right here in Bitter Bark.”

  “Six?”

  “Oh, such a wonderful family, the Kilcannons. Annie, Daniel’s wife, died so tragically about three years ago. Heart attack at fifty-five.”

  “How sad,” she said, barely registering the news as she kicked herself for not going out to Waterford Farm while she was preparing her presentation. She hadn’t wanted to give her hand away.

  “It was, but then the most amazing thing happened. Five of those six kids—one is in the military overseas—rallied round him and moved back to Bitter Bark. That’s when they turned their homestead, which has always been called Waterford Farm, into that dog training facility. You know, people have called Daniel the Dogfather since he’s a veterinarian and had foster dogs forever out there at Waterford.”

  With each bit of local color, Chloe’s heart sank. She had to have this man they called the Dogfather on the committee.

  “I’m so disappointed,” she admitted. “I think he would have loved my idea.”

  “Not to worry, dear,” Blanche assured her. “He’s sending one of his sons in his place. His name is—”

  The door to the conference room popped open, cutting Blanche off, and they both turned to see a man entering the conference room.

  No, not a man.

  The man. That man. The very man who…holy sweet merciful heaven, he cleaned up nice.

  “Shane!” Blanche clasped her hands together. “I was just telling our new tourism expert that you’ll be stepping in for your father.”

  Chloe gripped the back of the chair in front of her, holding on for dear life as the impact hit her. His father?

  “And how’d she take that news?” he asked with a half smile as he inched to the right to see all the way around Blanche and pin Chloe with that mystical, magical, way too dizzying green-gold gaze.

  She opened her mouth, but not a damn word slipped out.

  “I was filling her in on your wonderful family,” Blanche said. “So let me introduce you. Shane Kilcannon, this is Chloe Somerset. Shane is the top trainer at Waterford Farm, but before that, he was a corporate lawyer. He went to Georgetown Law school. Pretty impressive, huh?”

  She literally had to work to speak. “Very…impressive.”

  She tried not to stare at the crisp, expensive white shirt, open at the collar but fitted over shoulders she still remembered holding on to for support when he kissed the daylights out of her. He’d shaved today, which gave him a whole different look. Handsome. Professional. Clean.

  And Clean Shane was as hot as Dirty Shame.

  “I hope your father filled you in on our committee meeting yesterday,” Blanche said, stepping to the door.

  “He told me all about the tourism expert you brought in, Blanche.” He held Chloe’s gaze with enough humor in his that she almost felt herself smiling. Almost. “So of course I jumped on the chance to join the committee.”

  His eyes narrowed in a secret message she heard loud and clear: I’m here because of you.

  And that did some wild and unexpected things to her insides.

  Taking a steadying breath at the thought, she finally held out her hand when he got close. “I believe we’ve met already, Mr. Kilcannon.”

  “You have?” Blanche asked. “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  “Briefly.” Chloe slipped her hand into his, feeling the calluses and strength again and having the same reaction she did the other night. Worse. Because now she knew how he kissed.

  “And please call me Shane. Or, some might say, Shame.” He gave a sly wink that only she could see, and it sent a whole cascade of chills down her entire body. Not fair. So not fair.

  “And you can call me Chloe. Or, some might say, buttercup.” She whispered the last word, and he grinned.

  “Oh, here’s the rest of the committee,” Blanche announced, thankfully not paying attention to their exchange but making Chloe realize she had to let go of that masculine hand before someone noticed. And her knees got wobbly.

  Rooting down to her toes for composure and focus, she forced herself to forget how Shane Kilcannon kissed. Right now, she had a concept to sell, and he was…the very person who gave her the idea.

  Would he try to kill it? Love it? Take credit? Or distract her every time her gaze landed on him?

  Definitely that one.

  She turned her attention away as the room filled with the Tourism Advisory Committee members. She now knew every name and job…except for the new arrival.

  The lawyer named Shane. Not a back-bar fixer, and he sure looked like he was getting a kick out of her surprise.

  “Nice to see you again, Chloe, and so soon after we last met.” Ned Chandler, the editor of the Bitter Bark Banner, came up to her first to shake her hand. “I respect a person who rises to a challenge.”

  She shook the man’s hand, sizing up how he’d react to her idea. This guy was early forties, and not a local, having moved here from Upstate New York to take over when the last editor of the local paper retired. He seemed to really like the town and relish his role, and she was definitely counting on his support.

  Right behind him was a young woman Chloe had immediately connected with in the last meeting. Andrea Rivers was in her mid-thirties, a smart, quick-witted, and easy-to-talk-to architect who’d been involved with the gentrification of the Bushrod Square area. They gave each other a warm hello, and then Chloe turned to the one she thought of as the undertaker.

  Mitchell Easterbrook, owner of Easterbrook Funeral Home, the fifth generation of Easterbrooks to bury the dead, was conservative and staid, which probably served him well in the funeral business, but might not win him over to her plans. He’d take a little wooing.

  And speaking of wooing…Chloe felt the burning heat of someone watching her as she worked her way through her greetings. She didn’t need to turn and look to know that Shane had her right on his radar.

  Would anyone else pick that up? Had anyone seen her with him that night? The thought was sobering, and she squelched it, fast. She couldn’t get distracted.

  She said hello to Jane Gruen, who, along with her husband, owned Bitter Bark Bed & Breakfast, and Jeannie Slattery, with her violent red hair. For the owner of Bitter Bark Body and Mind Spa, Jeannie seemed wound pretty tight. And Jeannie once again had a hard time resisting eye contact with big Mitch the Undertaker. Definitely something going on there.

  She greeted Nellie, the librarian, who was as quiet as her workplace and a little mousy, probably a red flag that she was anything but. Finally, Dave Ashland,
the large, slightly overweight Realtor who already had his phone out.

  And that was nine total, including Aunt Blanche and…Shane. She stole a glance at him, and they locked eyes, his sparking with humor and interest as he took a seat right next to where her laptop was. Of course.

  Blanche started things off with some small talk and chitchat. During that, Chloe opened up her computer and checked behind her to see that the connection was still working and her first slide was on the screen.

  “You nervous?” Shane whispered under his breath so that only she could hear.

  “Should I be?” she replied in the same sotto voce.

  “Could be a tough crowd.”

  “At least I know who they are.” She slid him an accusatory side-eye.

  “You never asked who I was.” He tipped his head. “You merely assumed I was in the back…”

  “Fixing beer taps,” she finished for him. “And I kissed you.”

  “Imagine what you would have done if you’d known the truth.”

  She eyed him. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Blanche cleared her throat, bringing their whisper volley to a halt. “And without further ado,” Blanche said, “I’m turning this meeting over to our expert, who assures me she has come up with a strategy and idea that will change our image so that we can compete with the very best tourist towns in North Carolina. Chloe?”

  She took a deep breath and pushed her chair back, vaguely aware that her leg brushed Shane’s expensive trousers. She smoothed her skirt and tapped the remote she held in a hand that was surprisingly damp.

  “I know you all would very much like to be ‘the next Asheville,’” she started, clicking to her screen that displayed those very words. “But I have a better idea.” Another click showed a big red X over the word Asheville, making someone—she thought it might be the librarian—gasp softly at the heresy of it all.

  Baby, just wait.

  “There already is an Asheville,” Chloe reminded them. “And it’s arguably one of the most beautiful places in this state.” She let her gaze move from person to person, comfortable in this role that she’d learned at her first marketing agency job right out of college and had perfected during the years she’d been on her own. “But what we need in Bitter Bark is something to differentiate us from all the other sweet little tourist towns tucked into these lovely foothills. All the precious towns in the state. On the entire East Coast. In fact, something that will set us apart from every other tourist destination in the whole country.”