She bought a roll of slice-and-bake chocolate chip cookie dough—her favorites—and three new kinds of dog biscuits.
When she got home, a pile of post-and-rail lumber was dumped next to the old fence. She turned around and went back to the supermarket for those other twelve ingredients.
*
Dante felt so guilty for thinking of that Waldon woman in such a salacious way, in such a place, that he stopped by the lumberyard before driving to Teddy’s game. She was a stranger, and no woman deserved to be thought of so…so lasciviously. Well, she deserved it—no, that was a sexist thought, according to his cousin Francine—she merited it, wearing those tight shorts and skimpy tank tops. She earned it? She evoked it? Hell, a man couldn’t help thinking about making love to such a prime package.
Then he stopped at the florist and ordered flowers sent to Susan because he felt so guilty he didn’t think of her that way. In fact, Dante couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever lusted after his own wife, even when they were married. He wrote “Good luck, Mom,” on the card. And meant it.
With all of his work crews busy on other jobs before the summer season really got started, Dante decided to wait a couple of days before going to work on the fence, half to prove to himself that he wasn’t any randy schoolboy anxious to sneak a peek at a pretty girl, and half so the uppity female didn’t get the idea he’d come if she snapped her fingers for the hired help. It wasn’t as if he had nothing else to do, anyway, with eight houses to ready for the tenants, to say nothing of his own house, Susan’s house, and Aunt Vinnie’s, all of which were always needing something fixed or oiled or painted. It looked as if he was going to have to do some work at his cousin Francine’s place now, too, with that bastard she married moving out. And Teddy needed a lot of batting practice. And fishing season was underway.
He stopped by Whaler’s Drive after dinner, just to make sure the lumber had arrived, he told himself. The wood was there, and cripes, so was the woman, standing on her front porch in an old man’s shirt and nothing else that he could see, not even sandals. He almost drove his pickup into the old oak tree himself. Then he noticed what she was doing, not that he could figure out why the crazy female would keep opening and shutting her front door. Letting the dog in or out? No, he could hear the shrill barks coming from the backyard. Such bizarre behavior couldn’t be rational, so maybe she really was a drunk. Dante couldn’t forget the picture-perfect bride sloshing champagne down her wedding gown, the price of which—dress and champagne—could have reduced the property tax for everyone in the village.
She stopped flapping the door when she saw him pull up the driveway. “Flies,” she called out, right after a muttered word Dante never thought to hear from such a classy-looking broad. She was soused, all right. Too bad, but none of his business. He could tell her where the local AA meetings were, but that was as far as he was going. Too bad he’d already bought the wood, too.
“Checking the delivery,” he offered as an excuse for his coming, and his quicker going.
No hello, how are you, nice evening, Louisa thought. The man had the manners of a mole rat. She was glad his lousy cookies burned, except that now her whole house smelled of incompetent cooking. She didn’t even have a fan to direct the smoke outdoors. “Bake in a hot oven until brown at the edges.” Hah! What kind of directions were those, and whoever heard of a house without a smoke detector anyway? Every apartment she’d ever lived in had them, by law.
But he’d sent over the fence wood, just as he’d said he would. Perhaps Dante Rivera really was a man of his word, few though they were, and as hard to believe. Unless, and here the breath caught in Louisa’s throat—no, that was the smoke settling in her lungs—he expected her to pay for the lumber. The way he was frowning at her now, she half thought the man was going to demand the money or her life. He’d have to take her life, because her credit cards were already at their max.
Not even such a dark scowl could ruin the guy’s looks though, she noted, making him resemble a swashbuckling pirate tonight instead of some wealthy English lord or devil-may-care cowboy. He’d shaved recently, too, so the cleft in his square chin was even more noticeable. All he needed was a dagger between his teeth to be the perfect cover model, and he’d make a lot more money that way too.
He wasn’t going to make it off her. No jack-of-all-trades was going to jerk her around. Not after she’d been had by Howard. “I didn’t order this stuff.”
No hello, how are you, thanks for the fence posts. Aunt Vinnie must be loonier than Dante thought, because there wasn’t an ounce of sweetness in this woman. Hands on her hips, pointed little chin jutting forward, she looked like she was ready to get in the ring with Cora Alice. Except for the pink nail polish on her bare toes. “I had it at another job.”
“Oh. In that case I can pay you to put it up.”
“I don’t want your money.”
Then what did he want? Louisa had to wonder. If this stud thought she’d trade services, he was missing a couple of hinges on his toolbox. If she were still in the office, she’d have him up on sexual harassment charges so fast his head would—
“The fence goes between the two properties so it’s just as much my responsibility as yours. You can plant the flowers around it, make both yards look better.”
There had to be a catch somewhere. She bit her lip, trying to find his self-serving motive.
God, there was no pleasing some women, Dante thought. He’d been divorced too long to remember. “So do you want the fence fixed or not?”
“I think so. That is, yes. Yes, thank you. If you don’t think the renters will just wreck it.”
He looked even fiercer. “They won’t.” Not after he threatened to cancel their lease. There was no way they could find another house for the summer, not in June. Louisa wasn’t so sure the party crowd would be intimidated by a handyman.
“And what about the noise?” Dante cocked his head, listening to the dog’s yammering.
“We’re working on that. But they don’t help, slamming car doors all night, shouting to one another outside. They were at it ’til three in the morning this past weekend.” Annie and her brood had slept through it all, the merry-making and the barking, but Louisa’d lain in bed half the night, wide-awake with her dismal thoughts and strangers’ laughter.
“It was a holiday.”
“It was Memorial Day. Do you mean to tell me those people were honoring the war dead by drinking German beer?”
Who was she to criticize what a bunch of rich kids drank? As a matter of fact, and a matter of fact-finding, so he could tell Aunt Vinnie once and for all that her swan was nothing but an ugly duckling under her fine feathers, Dante took a step closer, to smell Louisa’s breath.
No drink he ever heard of smelled like that. All right, he conceded, the female wasn’t three sheets to the wind, but she sure was nuttier than Aunt Vinnie’s Christmas fruit cake. He could have kicked himself for not following his own instincts. He’d known what a headache Louisa Waldon was going to be the minute he’d spotted her here in the Harbor, but he’d gone and gotten involved. The woman was trouble with a capital T, and he could usually smell trouble a mile off. He just never knew it smelled like a burned cookie.
Chapter Eight
The handyman did not return to dig the holes. The renters did not come out for the weekend. Howard did not call.
Louisa took three romance novels out of the paperback exchange at the library, where no one could see what she was reading. None of the half-naked heroes on the covers could hold a candle to the blue-eyed, fence-building stud. Of course, that was just an objective, disinterested observation. She stayed up reading all night Friday, Saturday and Sunday, weeping at the happy endings, because she didn’t have one.
And she ate all the perfectly baked chocolate chips for dummies cookies.
The man who did arrive on Monday morning wasn’t a flowing-maned Viking, a knight come to carry her off on a white horse, or a Scottish laird getting down o
n kilt-clad knee, damn it. The guy who pulled his fancy black car into the driveway at ten o’clock was bald, middle-aged, wore a lot of gold jewelry, and had come to steal her dog!
“Ms. Louisa Waldon?” he read off a scrap of paper.
“Yes.” Louisa put down her trowel and wiped her hands on her jeans.
“My name is Avery, Carl Avery, and I got your name from”—he consulted the paper again—“Jeanette at the animal shelter.”
“Yes?”
“According to her, you adopted a dog from the shelter a few weeks ago.” The dog was barking from the backyard, so Louisa could hardly deny it. “That’s right.”
“Actually, it was wrong. You see, it’s my dog.”
“No, that can’t be. My dog wasn’t a stray. He was put up for adoption by a neighbor of the previous owner.”
“Kerry blue terrier, about this high?” Avery held his hand out, heavy gold ring flashing.
“Yes, but Galahad belonged to an old lady.”
“Silver Crown’s Mental Image belonged to me. I left him with my aunt while I was abroad. I did not give him to her.”
“You named a dog Silver Crown’s Mental Image?”
“His official name. We called him Midge.”
“I like Galahad better.”
Mr. Avery consulted his watch. “I really have to be back in Riverdale this afternoon for an important meeting, Ms. Waldon.”
“Don’t let me keep you, then, Mr. Avery. I assure you the dog is in good hands. He gets to run on the beach, sleep on the bed, and visit with the Yorkie on the next block. He couldn’t be happier.”
“You misunderstand, miss. I did not sit in traffic for four hours to inquire into Midge’s well-being. I came to take him back.”
Take back her dog? He might as well take back her left lung. “I am afraid you do not understand, mister. I adopted the dog from the pound, where he was in a cage because he’d been abandoned. His owner died. No one wanted him. He is mine.”
“He was not abandoned, I tell you. I was in Cannes. That’s in France, you know,” he said with a sneer.
Louisa was tempted to plant her trowel somewhere other than in the dirt. “I am aware of Cannes’s location. I just wasn’t aware that they had no phones there. Didn’t you ever call your aunt to find out how the dog was—or how she was?”
“Of course I did. When I got no answer I figured she was out at mah-jongg or bingo. When I did not hear anything from her, I assumed all was well.”
“For a month? That’s how long Jeanette said she was in the nursing home, for Pete’s sake!”
“My secretary’s home phone number was right in her address book. She should have had someone call me.”
“She was dying! How could she find your secretary’s name?” By now Louisa was shouting. “And the neighbor said she left messages on your machine.”
“Which I didn’t receive, naturally, until I got home,” he snapped back at her. “That’s how I found out where my dog had been taken. Now could we get on with it?”
“Get on with it? Get on with what? You’re not going to steal my dog, and that’s the end of it.”
“I have papers that prove he’s mine.” He took a step closer to Louisa, a threatening step.
She would not back away. “And I have a license that proves he’s mine.”
“Listen, lady, I’ll go to the police if I have to. I’ll call my lawyer and sue you for all you’re worth.” He looked around at the sagging porch and missing roof shingles. “Though it’ll hardly be worth the effort.”
“And I’ll go to the Humane Society and charge you with cruelty to animals. Neglect and…and neglect. You couldn’t even take care of your old aunt. How could anyone trust you with a dog?”
Mr. Avery’s face was all red by now, and his hands were clenched in fists. “Why, you—”
“Is there a problem here, folks?” Dante Rivera asked in a pleasant enough voice, but his eyes were narrowed, and he held a heavy shovel crosswise, loosely, as though ready for action. He needed a shave again, and his denim shirt had rips and stains and sweat on it—and Louisa had never seen a more welcome sight. Now that the cavalry had arrived, she felt her knees go weak as she took a step toward his side, away from the blustering, belligerent baldy…with bad taste in jewelry.
Dante hadn’t meant to get involved. In fact, he swore to himself that he wouldn’t. When he first drove up and saw Louisa with a man, he figured it was the missing bridegroom. There was no way in hell he was going to get in the middle of that confrontation, so he went around the side to the garage for the shovel and a sledgehammer. When he came back, the pair was still too intent on their argument to notice his presence, so he started moving some of the wood around to make sure he couldn’t hear the conversation. Bad enough he had to witness the showdown. Frankly, he thought a looker like Louisa Waldon could do a lot better than a middle-aged clown.
As the voices grew louder, though, the words he could pick out made less sense. Something about nursing homes and old ladies and dogs. And the old guy kept crowding Louisa. The girl had grit, Dante had to concede her that, standing up to a man at least twice her weight. Too bad she didn’t have brains to go with that stiff backbone. The man was getting more ticked off with every word she shouted, and he looked like he was going to explode soon.
Ex-fiancé or not, this was none of Dante’s business. No way, no how. That’s why he picked up the shovel instead of the sledgehammer when the scumbag raised his fist.
Carl Avery was obviously glad to see another male. A rational being at last, his half-smile seemed to say, one who could clear up the matter in a second, and shut this dumb blonde up. He held out his manicured hand. Dante ignored it, him, and the urge to commit mayhem on anyone who threatened this woman. Who threatened any woman, he amended to himself.
“He wants to take my dog,” Louisa blurted before Avery could say a word. “He left Galahad for months, letting him practically starve in the streets, and now he wants him back.”
“All this is about a mutt? He’s not your fiancé?”
“Howard? Of course not,” Louisa replied at the same time Avery said, “Heaven forbid.” Avery then gave a fake cough. “The animal in question is not quite a mutt, either. Silver Crown’s Mental Image is one win away from grand champion. Here’s the pedigree, the bill of sale, and the AKC registration, in my name, Carl Avery.”
“I have the dog license, in mine,” Louisa countered.
Dante glanced at the papers the windbag handed him. “I’m no legal expert, but it looks like you both have a good claim to the dog. Why don’t you ask him?” He nodded for Louisa to go get the mongrel.
She came back with Galahad on a leash, but at Dante’s nod, she let go of the lead. The dog immediately flew to Dante’s side, barking joyously. “Not a fair test,” Dante admitted. “I just gave him some of my buttered roll. He most likely wants the rest. You both call him.”
Louisa called out first: “Here, Gally, come, lovey. There’s my sweet doggie. Good boy.”
Mr. Avery scowled at the sappy endearments and the dog’s immediate lunge for Louisa’s side, where Galahad cavorted at her feet, yipping and carrying on as if he hadn’t seen her in ages, instead of minutes. “Enough of this bull.” He made a clucking sound, then said, “Midge, here. Stand.” Galahad was at his side in a flash, posing there as if he were cast in bronze. Avery looked over at Dante, not Louisa, flashing a smug grin, besides a heavy gold link necklace.
“So?” Louisa asked. “So what if you’ve got him trained to be a bookend? Where’s the love and affection? He’s not even wagging his tail.”
“Of course not. He’s a show dog. Midge lives for the adulation of the crowds, the excitement of the ring, the approval of the judges.”
“That’s what he has to live for, not your company? What about when he’s too old for blue ribbons, do you put him out to pasture, or just trade him in, like an old car?”
Avery started to get red in the face again, with sweat beading on h
is forehead. “I assure you, once Midge has all his championship points, he will have a long and rewarding future outside of the show ring.”
“He’s not in the ring now, mister, so let him sit down, for heaven’s sake.”
Galahad bounded over to Louisa as soon as the man raised his hand, pointed and said, “Off.” She scratched behind his ears, the spot he liked best. “He’s mine.”
Avery was making loud, grunting noises about lawyers and courts. Louisa turned to Dante.
“Look, I don’t know what’s legal in this situation,” he said. “The guy’s owned the dog longer than you have, certainly paid more for him than you did—”
“I should have known you’d take his side. Men always stick together, don’t they?”
“—But possession is ninth-tenths of the law,” Dante continued, as if she hadn’t interrupted. “And you did adopt him in good faith.”
“That’s crap,” Avery yelled. “If you buy stolen property you’re not allowed to keep it, no matter how much you paid, or how good your intentions.”
“But the dog wasn’t stolen merchandise.”
“And I didn’t steal him!” Louisa was getting more and more upset, seeing the only good thing she had slipping out of her hands.
What a damnable situation, Dante was thinking, figuring he could run the guy off for now, but Avery looked just mean enough to take Louisa and her dog to court, if he didn’t come back some night and kidnap the mutt. For all Dante knew, he’d be within his rights. “I think we should call my friend Richie, the lawyer, and find out if there are statutes for these things. Unless you want to call yours, Louisa.”
Call Howard or one of the partners at her former job? About a dog? She’d rather jump off the roof, which she might anyway, if they took her dog away.
Love, Louisa Page 6
