Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers Book 6)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “So pleased you’ll keep Gloriana House in the family,” Gramma Finnie said.

  “Oh, nothing is set in stone,” she said, purposely vague, since no one really knew what they’d do with the house once that sad day came. “So, how are you? How’s your family?”

  “Everyone is fine.”

  “Declan is really good,” Yiayia said quickly, making Evie blink in surprise.

  “Oh, Agnes.” Gramma Finnie clucked and slid her arm around Evie’s. “I was just telling her on the way over here how you and Declan have the same birthday, only one year apart. Do you think I could see dear Max? Is he up for company today?”

  “He’d love to see you.” She stole a look at the other woman, her brain stuck on that unexpected mention of Declan.

  “Agnes will stay here with the dogs.” She could have sworn Gramma Finnie sent a meaningful look to her friend, which seemed strange. A warning? A message? Some silent communication.

  “Of course. You know where Granddaddy’s room is, right, Gramma Finnie?” Evie asked.

  “Uh…I might need a refresher, lass. Agnes, keep the pups on leashes, but maybe you could look at the museum room with all the family treasures.” Finnie pointed to the double doors of the library entrance, proving she didn’t need that much of a refresher.

  “We’ll wait right in there.” Yiayia gave Evie a tight, almost nervous smile and scooted her purse strap a little higher, giving off a weird vibe that Evie didn’t understand. “They’re good dogs,” she added.

  “They’re adorable dogs,” Evie assured her, giving both doxies a little love before she walked with Gramma Finnie up the stairs, taking the climb slowly for the older woman’s benefit.

  “So tell me about all the Kilcannons and Mahoneys,” Evie said, glancing over the railing to see Yiayia and her dogs hustling to the room where generations of Bushrod and Hewitt antiques and heirlooms were displayed.

  “Oh, there’s a lot of babies,” Gramma Finnie said. “Are ye really here for the whole semester, then? Through the start of the new year?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  Finnie gave Evie a sideways look, her gray brows raised. “Any handsome man on your arm these days?”

  She gave a light laugh, as used to the question as any single forty-year-old woman. “Now and again, but most of the time, I’m busy with work.”

  “Oh, really? Well, then, you must come out to Waterford Farm, then, and see our whole family.”

  Somehow, she doubted that would happen, but she was saved from answering when they reached her grandfather’s room.

  “Granddaddy? I have a wonderful surprise for you.”

  “I hope it’s a good Cuban cigar and a bottle of brandy.”

  “That can be arranged,” Gramma Finnie called out, smiling conspiratorially at Evie. “Though I prefer a fine Irish whiskey.”

  “Finnie Kilcannon!” he called out. “Come in here, you blue-eyed bombshell.”

  Finnie giggled and headed in, but Evie held back, a sixth sense making her want to go check on the stranger in the house.

  “Go chat,” Evie said. “I’ll talk to your friend.”

  A look that could almost be panic crossed Gramma Finnie’s face. “Stay with us a wee bit, lass. She’s fine alone, I promise.”

  “He gets enough of me,” she said, that sixth sense fluttering again. What were these two up to, exactly? “Go.” With a pat on the older woman’s back, she pivoted and headed down the hall, her footsteps soft on the hall runner as she listened to two old friends greet each other.

  She slowed her step at an unexpected punch of memory.

  Two old friends.

  Hadn’t Declan once said he’d wait for her until he was ninety, close to the age her grandfather was right now? An ancient sadness, dulled by decades of nudging it away, pressed on her heart, probably brought on by seeing Gramma Finnie, a woman Declan adored.

  Thoughts of him were always under the surface when Evie was in Bitter Bark, knowing he could be around any corner or in any store. And that encounter would simply leave her aching for more and wondering where her best friend had gone.

  Once, about six years after the fire, Evie had decided to try one last time to reconnect with him. She’d accepted a rotation at Vestal Valley College and lived with her grandparents for a few months, with hopes to rekindle the friendship she desperately missed.

  But the only friendship she rekindled was with his cousin Molly, then a vet student and a single mother. Molly had invited her to Waterford Farm but, as a true friend would, had warned her Declan was seeing someone, so Evie steered clear of him that semester. All that Molly could tell her was that Declan had grown “serious” since his father’s death, with family responsibility heavy on his broad shoulders.

  After that, she’d seen him a few times, once outside the hardware store, another time passing in the square.

  Then, a few years ago, she’d come to help Dr. Kilcannon with a brain-tumor surgery on his dog Rusty. The setter had healed in a week, but it had taken Evie a full month to get over the impact of seeing Declan in the vet office waiting room that day.

  As she reached the bottom of the steps and headed toward the museum room, she heard the squeak of a hinge.

  Was that…the cover for the piano keys? Did Yiayia play? Evie didn’t want to be rude, but every treasure in the former library was priceless, including the Krakauer, a Victorian upright her great-grandmother had commissioned exclusively for the house.

  Without making a sound, Evie headed to the double doors, her eyes widening when she realized Agnes had closed them to an inch-wide crack.

  Had she done that to keep the dogs from getting out? Walking closer, Evie peered through the slit at the very moment the woman slammed the keyboard lid so fast it clunked with a noisy thud that made the tan dog bark.

  Evie used the distraction to enter.

  “Can I share some of our family history?” Evie asked.

  Yiayia whipped around, her dark eyes flickering with guilt. “Oh. Hello. Didn’t hear you.”

  Obviously. Planting a smile that she doubted reached her eyes, Evie took a few steps closer, her gaze dropping down to Yiayia’s bag, gaping wide open. Snooping was one thing, but had she…taken something?

  “It’s quite the room,” Yiayia said, her voice tight as she gestured toward the many shelves and surfaces filled with knickknacks, photos, ceramic dishes, antique lighters, leather-bound books, and more than a few pieces of jewelry worth thousands.

  “My great-grandmother Evangeline started displaying the heirlooms in here many, many years ago after her older sister, Gloriana, died. That’s Glory Bushrod in the portrait.” She indicated the large watercolor over the piano of a dark-haired beauty of nineteen who could have stepped off the set of Downton Abbey.

  “Is that who the house was named for?” she asked.

  Evie nodded. “And my grandmother Penelope continued the tradition of making this room a museum.” She took a few steps closer, still trying to sniff out this woman’s game. She didn’t seem…innocent.

  Evie gestured to the piano the woman had opened and closed. “Do you play?”

  “No, but I heard you do.”

  Evie drew back, surprised. “My goodness, you’ve heard quite a bit about me.”

  The other woman crossed her arms, her dark eyes narrowing as if she was having some deep mental debate. “I have. I’ve heard you’ve known Finnie’s family for a long time. That you go way back, and your family and hers—which, through marriage, is now mine—have a long…history.”

  Blood drained from Evie’s face as she tried—and failed—to follow the ramblings. Was Yiayia chattering to change the subject from her strange activities in the room, or was she referring to the tragedy of the fire?

  Would this woman be impolite enough to bring that up?

  “It’s a small town,” Evie said, carefully dancing around the conversation. “We all have histories and intertwined pasts.”

  “But you and…” She swallowed and
glanced at the door. “You have more than…”

  Evie held up a hand to stop her. “Would you like something to drink?” She gestured toward the door. “I have some iced tea in the kitchen.”

  “Because you don’t want me alone in this room.”

  Dear God, she was blunt. “I’d like to chat.”

  Her eyes tapered to slits. “You think I stole something, don’t you?”

  “Goodness, I—”

  She huffed out a breath. “I knew I couldn’t do this Finnie’s way. I told her over and over that this was not the way to go about our mission. I’m terrible at subterfuge.”

  “Mission? Subterfuge?” Evie shook her head. “Wow, color me clueless, Yiayia.”

  “Oh, now I’ve gone and stepped in it.”

  “Deeply.” For a long, totally confused moment, Evie stared at her, then perched on the edge of a velvet settee. “So why don’t you step out of it and explain?”

  She dropped her face into her hands. “When am I going to learn to shut my big fat mouth?”

  “Not now, I hope.”

  Yiayia sighed as she slumped in a chair. “I call things as I see them, you know? It’s gotten me in trouble.” She waved a hand like she couldn’t be bothered with all that trouble, drawing Evie’s attention to her long red nails. “But in the end, we Dogmothers usually get what we want.”

  “Dogmothers?”

  “A nickname.” She pointed at the dogs. The heavier one had already crawled under the settee to rest, but the other one inched toward Evie and looked right up at her.

  She couldn’t resist rubbing her little head. “This is Gala?”

  “Galatea. And that’s Pygmalion settling in for a snooze.”

  “Oh, that’s where you get the name Pyggie.”

  “Had no idea he’d get that fat.”

  Evie chuckled at that and offered her palm for Gala to sniff and lick. “They’re precious. And you and Finnie are the Dogmothers.”

  “But we’re also matchmakers.”

  “Excuse me?” She couldn’t have heard that right.

  “We’re quite successful, if I do say so myself.” She gave a broad smile. “It’s Declan’s turn.”

  What?

  “Listen.” The woman pressed those red-tipped nails together in a prayerlike pose. “Please don’t tell Finnie. Please? I promised her I’d do this her way, but her way is…” She shook her head vehemently. “You don’t get two people back together on hope and a prayer, but you know Finola. ‘The Irish say hope makes all things possible.’” She did a spot-on brogue, which would be funny if anything about this confounding conversation could be funny.

  “Get two people back together?” That was all that stuck in Evie’s head.

  “You. And Declan. You belong together.”

  She stared at Yiayia, speechless.

  “Finnie told me everything, and I do mean everything, dear. I know about your friendship and the fire—so unbelievably tragic—and she mentioned how you did surgery on Rusty, and everyone could see how affected Declan was merely to be in the same room with you.”

  She almost couldn’t believe she was hearing this. Almost. Except, deep inside—maybe not so terribly deep—she wanted to roll up in a corner and beg the woman to share every little detail.

  Declan had been affected, too? Had he suffered for weeks afterward like she had? They belonged together?

  “He’s such a wonderful man,” Yiayia crooned.

  No kidding.

  “He’s so handsome and the captain of the fire department, and everyone looks up to him so. He’s set in his single ways, is all, but then Darcy Kilcannon happened to mention that she heard you were in town—”

  “Agnes? Evie?” Finnie called. “Where did you girls go?”

  “Oh my God!” Yiayia shot up, low-grade panic on her face that was instantly reflected on little Gala’s expression. “Please don’t tell her I told you. Please. Go along with her stupid plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “Shhh! She’s coming.”

  “Agnes?”

  “In here, Finola.” Her voice was reed-thin with nerves. “Chatting with this lovely lady.”

  Evie stood on shaky legs when Gramma Finnie came into the museum room, looking sweet and innocent and like she’d never made a “stupid” plan in her life.

  Maybe it was the way Gala panted like she sensed Yiayia’s stress, but something stopped Evie from asking a single question.

  Maybe it was the red-tipped hand that closed over her wrist and squeezed. “So nice to talk to you, Evie,” Yiayia said through gritted teeth. “What a fascinating history this room has.”

  Or maybe it was a bone-deep desire to let Gramma Finnie’s plan…work.

  She shot one quick look to Yiayia, long enough to silently communicate that, for whatever reason, her secret was safe.

  Only then did those fingers relax.

  “And, Agnes, did you, uh, get a good look around?” Gramma Finnie asked pointedly.

  “Oh yes. We can leave now.” She scooted her bag up on her shoulder and tugged the leashes. “Let’s go, you two.”

  “I hate to visit and run, but we must get the dogs out.” Gramma Finnie was almost to the door already. “So nice to see you, lass. And your dear sweet grandfather.”

  Yiayia beamed at her. “Such a beautiful woman you are, Evie. Inside and out. I can see why…” She caught herself. “Why Finnie wanted me to meet you.”

  Except Finnie had said she thought a nurse would be here.

  “Goodbye, then.” Gramma Finnie took Yiayia’s other hand. “We’d best be going.”

  In what felt like an extremely rushed exit, the two women slipped out the front door and toddled down the drive like the two dogs between them.

  The Dogmothers? Matchmakers?

  The minute the car pulled away, she headed back into the museum room to try to figure out their…plan. But nothing appeared to have changed in this room. Then Granddaddy’s bell rang furiously, which usually meant he needed something right away.

  She headed toward the stairs, taking them two at a time, then down the hall to his room, surprised to find him standing by the window seat. “You okay, Granddaddy?”

  “Oh yes. I’m wonderful. Elated. Never felt better.” He turned, his color high for the first time in days. “Finnie and I had the most fascinating conversation.”

  “That’s great. She certainly seems to have lifted your spirits.”

  “She did indeed.”

  “No more talk of a celebration of life?”

  “Pffft! Too much to live for, Evangeline.” He waved a hand, his eyes no longer faded with clouds but sparkling with unexpected vigor. “I’ll take that tea now, if it’s not too much bother. Iced, please. And maybe something to eat?”

  “Of course.” She eyed him carefully. “You are feeling better, Granddaddy.”

  He gave a smile. “Oh, you know what the Irish say. ‘With hope, anything is possible.’”

  Since when did he quote Irish proverbs? Since Finola Kilcannon came over with a stupid plan. But she could still hear the Greek grandmother’s voice.

  You belong together.

  Oh, sweet ladies and dear old gent. Hate to break it to you, but that ship sailed long ago…and sank.

  Chapter Four

  Declan pushed away from his desk three hours after his shift ended, the mountain of paperwork finally conquered. But then his phone dinged with a text, and he almost didn’t want to look at it. Probably another reminder from Chief Winkler that staff evaluations and schedules were due on Monday.

  It was a test, of course. How far could Mahoney be pushed to prove what a great chief he’d be?

  Far, Winkler. Push me right into the chief’s office, where I belong.

  He picked up the phone, but the text was from his grandmother—who rarely resorted to texting to get her messages across—asking him to bring raspberry croissants to Waterford Farm for the Sunday dinner dessert. Seriously? No one else in the entire three-family clan
could do that? Only the future Bitter Bark fire chief?

  “Hey, bro.” Connor, his younger brother and a fellow firefighter, pulled open the glass office door, looking fresh from only three hours on his shift. “Why are you still here?”

  “Better question.” He lifted the phone. “Why does Gramma Finnie want me to stop at Linda May’s before I head over to Waterford this afternoon?”

  “Because you’re the responsible Mahoney who cares if everyone’s needs are met.” He grinned. “Sorry to miss Sunday dinner with the crew, but someone scheduled me to work two weekends in a row. Thanks, pal.”

  “Your schedule is golden for the rest of October.” He stood, and instantly, ninety pounds of black, gold, and cream-colored fur lifted his head from a bed in the corner and stared at Declan, an expression of pure dejection on the poor dog’s face.

  The Alaskan Malamute and Siberian Husky mix had looked that way since the moment Declan had arrived at work earlier this week and found him sleeping outside the station’s back door.

  Surrendered, abandoned, or merely lost, the poor guy they called Lusky, since his breed blend was called an “Alusky,” had attached himself to Declan. When he wasn’t curled in a corner, he lumbered around the station, eating without enthusiasm, and letting out the occasional howl that would be heart-wrenching if it wasn’t such a funny-sounding wail.

  “Lusky’s gonna blow,” Connor said, watching the creature lift his girth and then drop it into a classic downward dog.

  “Any second,” Declan agreed.

  Connor opened the door a little wider. “Sorry, I have to. They live for this.”

  Rolling his eyes and knowing what to expect, Declan closed his laptop and gathered up his papers while his brother pointed to the dog. “Don’t let me down, big man,” Connor whispered. “Three…two…one…”

  His huge mouth opened and out came a yowl that would make a wolf green with envy. Instantly, three jackass firefighters answered the call with howls of their own.