Chasing Tail
The Dogmothers
Book Four
Roxanne St. Claire
Chasing Tail
THE DOGMOTHERS BOOK FOUR
Copyright © 2020 South Street Publishing
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author, [email protected].
ISBN ebook: 978-1-7339121-9-8
ISBN print book: 978-1-952196-00-3
COVER DESIGN: Keri Knutson
INTERIOR FORMATTING: Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
CHASING TAIL
Copyright
Before The Dogmothers…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
A Dogfather/Dogmothers Family Reference Guide
About the Author
Before
The Dogmothers…
there was
The Dogfather!
Sit…Stay…Beg – book one
New Leash on Life – book two
Leader of the Pack – book three
Santa Paws is Coming to Town – book four (a holiday novella)
Bad to the Bone – book five
Ruff Around the Edges – book six
Double Dog Dare – book seven
Bark! The Herald Angels Sing – book eight (a holiday novella)
Old Dog New Tricks – book nine
The Dogmothers Series
Hot Under the Collar – book one
Three Dog Night – book two
Dachshund Through the Snow – book three
Chasing Tail – book four
And many more to come!
Note to readers: For a complete guide to all of the characters in both The Dogfather and Dogmothers series, see the back of this book. Or visit www.roxannestclaire.com for a printable reference, book lists, buy links, and reading order of all my books. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to find out when the next book is released! And join the private Dogfather Facebook group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/roxannestclairereaders/ for inside info on all the books and characters, sneak peeks, and a place to share the love of tails and tales!
Chapter One
Wait…what? Bitter Bark Bar?
Sadie Hartman slowed her step and frowned at the frosted glass etched with three words and two frothy beer mugs. She glanced up and down Ambrose Avenue to make certain she knew where she was. Bitter Bark hadn’t changed that much in seventeen years, had it?
But…Bitter Bark Bar? Wasn’t this…Bushrod’s?
“You look lost.”
Sadie turned toward the male voice, coming face-to-face—no, face-to-chest, and a solid, broad one at that—with a worn leather jacket barely covering the fire department logo on the T-shirt underneath.
“I’m looking for…” She slid her gaze up and…whoa. She was lost, all right. In indigo eyes that crinkled as he smiled. “I’m looking for…” Words. Which eluded her.
“I’m a local. I can help you find whatever you want in this town.”
What she wanted was… Okay, calm down, Sadie. He’s just a guy.
And to be honest, he wasn’t even a textbook, Hollywood-handsome guy. But there was something about his slightly crooked nose, clean-shaven jaw, and the way those blue eyes reached right into her soul. No, sorry. That wasn’t her soul that sat up and suddenly craved attention.
He laughed softly at the awkward moment while her thoughts ran amok. With a wink, he notched his thumb toward the door. “How about I buy you a drink at Bushrod’s while you figure it out?”
“Yes, Bushrod’s! That’s what I’m looking for. Where is it?”
“Right here.” He glanced at the etched glass. “Oh, they changed the name a while back when the town went through its gentrification years, which followed the lean times but predated the dog period.”
“Sounds like I found the town historian.”
“No, that’s Nellie Shaker, head librarian. I’m just your garden-variety first responder.”
Really. Well, she wouldn’t mind a barefoot stroll through that garden.
His smile widened as his gaze coasted over her face, lingered on her mouth, then settled on her eyes. “But if someone sent you to Bushrod’s, this is where they meant. Everyone still calls it that, but Billy, the owner? He wanted the place to sound cooler, hipper, and not so easy to mock.”
If anyone understood that, it was a woman who left Mercedes behind and recast herself as Sadie when she’d left this town.
“I get it,” she said, trying not to stare at his face. Or shoulders. Or that little chestnut curl that threatened to fall over his forehead and kiss his brow. But who wouldn’t want to kiss that brow? Along with the rest of him.
“So are you meeting someone here?” He gestured toward the door. “Because that drink offer stands.”
“Well, it has been a long day.” A long few weeks, to be honest. A drink was exactly what she needed after a day of licking her wounds and fruitless job hunting on the internet. She’d slipped out for an evening walk in the February air to enjoy the last of winter’s chill fading into that clean comfort of spring in North Carolina. But a glass of wine at the local watering hole with Blue Eyes could offer a completely different kind of comfort.
At her hesitation, he lowered his head a centimeter closer as if a whiff of fresh soap from a shower might seal the deal. “I’m sworn to save lives and protect,” he whispered, his voice low and just seductive enough to coax nature’s finest hormones out of hibernation. “You can trust me. I’m a lieutenant.”
She laughed softly. “Okay, Lieutenant. I’m Sadie, and I’ll have one drink.”
“Sadie? I don’t think I’ve ever met a Sadie. A name as pretty as you are.” His mouth slid into a smile that made her feel like he’d waited all day, possibly his entire life, for that drink with her.
“Thanks,” she said quickly, not quite sure how to handle a compliment so outright and genuine. But it did make the drink feel like a no-brainer.
In fact, after living in a world where power seemed to be the most effective aphrodisiac, a drink with a sweet, flirtatious Bitter Bark firefighter was just the ticket for her current state of overall disappointment in the human race.
He tugged the door open, and instantly she realized that the name outside might have changed, but inside, Bushrod’s was still Bushrod’s. Not a thing was different from the last time she’d been here for dinner almost eighteen years ago with her dad, sometime in the summer before she left for college
and before he took his poor, broken heart off to Austin. She’d been in Bitter Bark a few times since to visit her grandparents, but she hadn’t come to this…joint.
And it was such a joint. Dark and humming with the din of drinkers and a slightly subpar sound system, Bushrod’s still smelled faintly of beer and fried food, both of which it served in abundance. The tables weren’t full, but peppered with a mix of locals of all ages, from the young Vestal Valley College students using fake IDs to have a drink, to couples grabbing a quick bite on Friday night before hitting the movie theater. The back room echoed with the sound of billiard balls being racked and laughter from a dart game gone south. The place was steeped in a small-town vibe, unpretentious and authentic and as charming as the man who led her to the bar.
He threaded them through tables and past a dance floor that might be packed as it got closer to eleven, but was empty at seven thirty.
The bar was full, though, and her escort seemed to have silent eye contact with the bartender, nodding with familiarity.
“What are you drinking?” he asked Sadie, putting a light hand on her back.
She had skipped the roast dinner her grandmother had made, so she decided to go fairly light. “Just a glass of white wine, please.”
A few college girls in front of her burst into a chorus of noisy giggles about something on one of their phones, so loudly she missed his whole conversation with the bartender. But a moment later, he had a bottle of Bud Light, and she had something from a gallon-sized jug served in an inexpensive thick-rimmed glass, so different from the wafer-thin bistro crystal with three overpriced ounces of sauvignon blanc she was used to. And Bud Light was definitely not the craft brew many of the men in DC drank.
But right this minute, with this man, in this bar, the choices were perfect.
“There’s probably a table free in the back,” he said, angling his head toward a door that led to the game room.
She followed him to a high-top with four stools a few feet from where a couple of guys were finishing a game of pool.
“Welcome to Bitter Bark,” he said after she sat, and he took the seat closest to her, tipping the brown bottle toward her glass. “What brings you to town?”
“How do you know I don’t live here?”
He gave her a get real look, and she expected the I’m a local firefighter, and I know everyone response. But he leaned in, quiet while he watched her sip the wine with the tiniest look of envy, like he was actually jealous of the rim that touched her lips.
“I’d never forget you.”
The unexpected flirt punched and almost made her choke on the wine. “Oh, you’re good, Lieutenant. Yes, I’m from Washington, DC.”
“How long are you here?” he asked, somehow managing to infuse those five words with hope, interest, and the subtext that he actually cared about the answer.
“I don’t know,” she said, sliding into her standard response. “I thought I’d take some time off so I could check in on my grandparents, who live here. They’re elderly.”
“Who are they?” He shimmied out of his jacket and tossed it on the empty stool next to him, getting comfortable.
She stole a surreptitious glance at his biceps, which were just the kind she liked—strong, noticeable, and well-defined. The kind that came from dragging hoses and climbing ladders, not a $75-an-hour personal trainer spotting him on the bench press.
“Your grandparents?” he urged, a hint of a smile that made her wonder if her “surreptitious glance” had been anything but.
“Oh, I had to think of Nana and Boomie’s names for a second,” she said quickly. “Margaret and James Winthrop.”
“Oh, sure. They live on the corner of Jessamine Court, don’t they? The property with the gardens and all those live oak trees?”
She smiled. “Wow, I forgot what life is like in a small town.”
“Jim Winthrop had to have a pacemaker put in about a year ago, and I was the EMT on duty when his wife called for help. I was with him in the ambulance.”
“Aww.” She reached out and touched his forearm, which was strong, thick, and dusted with hair. “That’s so sweet. Thank you. I remember when he had to go to the hospital and Nana was so upset.”
“Is he okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned. “I could have sworn I saw him at the hardware store last weekend.”
“He’s fine,” she said, taking a deep drink of the wine to cover how much she just wanted to stare at this real-life hero who took Boomie to the hospital and went to hardware stores on the weekend.
“But you’re in Bitter Bark to take care of him?” he urged.
She was in Bitter Bark to take care of herself. But that would beg questions she didn’t want to answer, so she went with the same line she’d told her grandparents, which was honest—and purposely vague. “I needed a break from the grind of politics.”
He lifted his brows. “You’re a politician?”
“A former…aide.” She took a sip, keeping the full title to herself. She didn’t need to impress him with the fact that she’d been the deputy chief of staff for a congresswoman. It would just invite questions she didn’t want to answer about that congresswoman. And what did Nana always say? If you can’t say anything nice, say nothing at all. And she sure couldn’t say anything nice about Congresswoman Jane Sutherland at the moment.
“My job was not nearly as heroic as yours,” she said. “Tell me about life as a firefighter. It can’t be all shirtless-calendar photo shoots and kittens stuck in trees.”
He gave a slow smile and eased the tiniest bit closer. “It’s hours of boring broken up by moments of adrenaline rushes.”
“How often do you get to save someone’s life?”
“When I get those kittens out of trees,” he teased. The joke, or the way he said it, reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t imagine who. It certainly wasn’t any of the power players in DC who flung their Armani suit jackets over their shoulders, loosened their ties, and expected women to swoon.
“What else do you do?” she asked, magnetically drawn to his mouth. Was she staring at it too openly? Probably, but come on. That thing was a work of art.
“Well, occasionally I help stray out-of-town knockouts find their way up and down Ambrose Avenue.”
“Knockout?” Smiling, she drank again, surprised she’d nearly downed the entire contents of her glass. “Whoa, there wasn’t much in there.”
“That’s how Billy makes money,” he said, maybe not kidding. “Another?”
“No, I shouldn’t.”
“But you are walking back to the Winthrops’ house? You’re staying with them?”
“I’m staying in the garden shed Boomie converted into a little bitty guesthouse, where I am currently sleeping on a pullout sofa with a beautiful girl named Demi.”
His eyes widened. “That sounds terribly…interesting. And kinda hot.”
She laughed as the very first tingling effects of the wine danced along the edges of her nerve endings, brushing away a few inhibitions and making her want to be terribly interesting and kinda hot to this delicious firefighter. “Demi’s my cat.”
“Is she named after that famous actress married to Bruce Willis?”
“They split up a million years ago,” she said, kind of liking that the personal lives of celebrities obviously held no interest for him. “Are you a cat person, Lieutenant?”
“Only when I have to save them from those treetops,” he quipped. “But I guess I’m a little more of a dog guy. Right now, I don’t have either one, but there are a gazillion dogs in my family. My uncle literally owns a dog farm.”
“A dog farm? That’s a new one on me. Demi hates dogs,” she said. “Well, she hates everything, to be fair. She has…issues. But then, she had a rough start.”
“Tell me.” He put his elbow on the table and dropped his chin in his palm, staring at her like she was without a doubt the most fascinating person he’d ever met, and he was hanging on her every word about her cat. Once again,
she had that flash of familiarity, but then, he was sort of the quintessential small-town guy she’d known growing up—uncomplicated and free of an agenda.
Oh, sure, he probably wanted to get her into bed, but in some weird way, she respected that level of pure honesty. In DC, at least in Sadie’s experience, sex frequently fell a distant fourth after power, status, and access.
“How did you find this little Demi?” he prodded, tapping her knuckles lightly so little sparks of contact crackled between them.
“Well, I found her in an alley, soaking wet, behind a dumpster.” She looked down, not wanting her expression to show how the memory of that night hurt her—gutted her, actually.
“I can’t imagine you in an alley.”
She couldn’t have imagined being there, either. One minute, she’d been getting in Nathan’s Buick SUV to head off to yet another DC function…and the next, she’d made him pull over and drop her off and get out of her life forever.
“Okay, you’re in an alley. Were you…dumpster diving?” he prodded.
She smiled at the joke, but not the memory of standing in the rain, finally knowing the truth, facing the inevitable loss of both her job and her man, broken by betrayal and as soaking wet as the cat she heard crying in the night.
But there was no way she was ruining this lovely exchange by telling this man how she had discovered her boyfriend was sleeping with her boss, crumbling not only her well-crafted life, but her already shaky faith in people she’d thought she loved.
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