In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  “Really?”

  “Palmettos and giant trees as far as the eye can see. Spiders as big as your hand. Gators in the watering holes.”

  “Your cows could fend off gators?”

  “Ranch cows aren’t sweet and calm like dairy cows,” Liam explained. “They’re ornery and unpredictable.”

  “Gatorproof cows. Only in Florida.” Jocelyn shook her head. “So what did you and your mom do out on this ranch?”

  “Whatever needed doing.” He sat down next to her, and Carmen wriggled out of Jocelyn’s lap and into his. “The guy who owned the ranch didn’t live there full time. He only came in on the weekends. My mom and I were responsible for the day-to-day stuff. Feeding the cows, making sure the fence posts and barbed wire were in good repair, checking the grass and sending samples in to the university.”

  “What were the grass samples for?”

  “To make sure it was healthy and nutritious. If you’re raising cows, you have to have good grass or you’re going to spend a ton of money on cattle feed.”

  She nodded. “So if I ever have any questions about my lawn, you’re the guy to talk to?”

  “I know more about grass than anyone should.”

  “Hmm.” So he knew a few things about living off the land. So he was a dog lover. So he had a dimple. That didn’t mean he wasn’t the enemy. “How did your mother know how to run a ranch?”

  “My mother could do anything she set her mind to.” A note of pride crept into his voice. “She used to work in a museum doing art restoration. When I was little, she was in a car accident and broke two of her fingers. She could never use the brushes and materials the same way, so she found another way to make a living.”

  Jocelyn noticed he’d glossed right over the details of his parents falling in love, having a baby, and going their separate ways, but she let it slide for now. “She went from fine art to cattle ranching?”

  He nodded. “We lived in a glorified camper and used an outhouse until I was twelve. I loved it.”

  “This should be a movie,” Jocelyn marveled. “Is she still doing it?”

  “Yeah. She loves the cows and the outdoors.”

  “What about the gators?”

  “Gators are part of life. You have to learn how to deal with them.”

  “Sage advice.” Jocelyn rested her chin on the top of Curtis’s head. He responded by licking her chin. “My life story is so boring compared to you. My mom did the single-parent thing, too, but she wasn’t a painter or a cattle rancher. She just helped out with my grandparents’ business here in Black Dog Bay.”

  “What’s their business?”

  “Linen supply and cleaning. We work with the owners of the condos and rental houses. Renters show up on Saturday morning, we drop off clean sheets and towels. Then, at the end of the week, we come back, clean the place up, wash everything, and turn the place over for the next renters.”

  “I didn’t realize people rented towels.”

  “They’re on vacation. They don’t want to spend their vacation tracking down the right size sheets and doing laundry. And the property owners don’t want to deal with the headache of renters walking off with the towels. So we fill in the gap, send them a bill, and everybody’s happy.” She grinned. “I know about laundry like you know about grass.”

  “Impressive.”

  “I know. I’m also a sand removal expert, carpet-cleaning expert, toilet-fixing expert, and forbidden-cigarette-smoke-smell-removal expert. That’s not technically my jurisdiction, but my friend Bree’s family owns a rental unit maintenance business, and I help them out sometimes.”

  He patted Carmen’s flank. “And you’re the dog expert.”

  “Not all dogs; just these. I’ve got to start learning fast, though. They have a show coming up soon in Philadelphia and I have to figure out what the hell I’m doing before then. I’ve never been to a dog show.”

  “I thought you were like their second parent?”

  “No, I just keep them fed, loved, and exercised. They have a whole glam squad for dog shows: groomers, teeth cleaners, professional handlers. A vet on call twenty-four hours.” She frowned, wondering when she was going to hear the crunch of Dr. Moore’s tires turning into the driveway. “Allegedly.”

  He regarded Carmen, who was gnawing on her own paw like it was a chew toy. “How much does all that cost?”

  “A lot. Lois Gunther—she was the tall lady with dark hair at the reading of the will—handles all the dog show stuff. I’m just the nanny and the chauffeur.”

  “With great job perks,” Liam stated.

  “I have to admit, I’ve spent years bitching about how these summer houses are wasteful and materialistic and sucking the local economy dry.”

  He inclined his head. “True on all counts.”

  “But now that I’m actually living in one . . .” She gazed around at the high ceilings, the warm lighting, the abundance of food and drink and space. “I see the appeal.”

  “That’s usually how it goes when you’re rich.” Liam’s mood soured. As quickly as he had opened up, he shut down. “Especially when you didn’t have to earn it.”

  Jocelyn stiffened.

  “All you had to do is be in the right place at the right time.”

  Jocelyn nudged Hester and Curtis aside and stood up. “You should go.”

  He nodded his assent and got to his feet as well.

  She tried to maintain an icy dignity as she walked him to the front door. But her resolve cracked halfway across the foyer. “What is wrong with you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I have no idea what happened between you and your father, but I have been accommodating. I have been sympathetic. I have invited you into Mr.—into my home—and invited you to steal cuff links and take your mother’s wedding ring.”

  He opened the front door. A gust of wet, cold wind blasted in, accompanied by tiny hailstones that clattered on the steps.

  He had one foot over the threshold, but Jocelyn wasn’t finished with her rant. “I showed up day after day and took care of your dad’s dogs. I’ve worked hard for everything I have. I apologize for nothing.”

  Liam stood tall on the porch, backlit by lightning streaking across the angry dark sky, and seemed almost amused by her tirade.

  “I get the dogs, I get the house, you get nothing,” she continued. “Deal with it.”

  The more incensed she became, the calmer he seemed. “Do you need some help with Hester before I go?”

  “I can handle my dogs just fine,” she assured him.

  “Including the one having puppies in your laundry room right now?”

  “Hester’s not in active labor yet.” She thought. She hoped.

  “Call your vet again.” And with that, he strode into the storm, heedless of the hail pelting down on his head.

  She slammed the door, turned the deadbolt, and rushed back to the laundry room, where she found Hester splayed in the corner, panting and wide-eyed in pain.

  Jocelyn dialed Dr. Moore, who picked up on the second ring.

  “I’m on my way.” The vet’s voice was barely audible through static. “But . . .”

  “But what?! We need you here right now!” Jocelyn described Hester’s condition in as much detail as possible.

  “Sounds like active labor,” the vet replied.

  “I know! Where the hell are you?”

  “I’m on my way . . .” Dr. Moore’s words were engulfed by a burst of static. “. . . the roads are out . . .”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “. . . take an alternate route . . . might take a while.”

  Jocelyn hung up, frozen with panic for a moment. Then she forced herself to get moving. Time for Plan B: the twenty-four-hour emergency vet clinic in Rehoboth. She grabbed some clean towels and tried to decide how best to t
ransfer Hester from the laundry room to the back of her car.

  When she opened the garage door, Jocelyn realized that Plan B wasn’t going to happen. A mixture of hail and rain was pelting down so quickly, she could see water shimmering on the main road beyond the driveway. This was the problem with living down by the shore—the roads flooded much faster than up in town.

  Time for Plan C. Just as soon as she came up with Plan C. Hester whimpered on the floor of the garage. Then she went silent. All Jocelyn could think about was the articles she’d read on canine pregnancy. The inherent risks. The surprisingly high possibility of maternal death. The likelihood that at least one puppy would experience distress upon birth. Mr. Allardyce had trusted her with the beings he loved most in the world, and she was failing him.

  She knelt to stroke Hester’s head. The dog pulled away, straining and yelping.

  Jocelyn clenched her keys in her hand and gazed across the lawn. She could see Liam’s SUV still parked past the end of the drive. Obviously, he’d given up on trying to drive in this downpour, too.

  She didn’t like him. She didn’t trust him. But she had a dog in distress, and she would do what needed to be done. After draping a towel over her head, Jocelyn ran out into the storm, wincing as the icy edges of hailstones nicked her cheeks.

  Liam glanced up and saw her coming but didn’t roll down the window. He waited until she knocked on the glass before he deigned to acknowledge her.

  Slowly, slowly, the tinted glass slid down. “Yes?” he asked coolly.

  “You were right,” she forced herself to say. “The dog is having puppies right now.”

  “Then you better get back in there.”

  “I know, but . . .” She crossed her arms tightly. “It’s not going well.”

  “You don’t really need to do anything. Give her some warm, clean bedding, and leave her alone unless something goes wrong.”

  “I think something’s going wrong. She’s yelping, and there’s some blood, and . . .” She bid adieu to her pride and implored him with her eyes. “You said you grew up on a ranch, right?”

  He was already out of the car and heading down the driveway.

  chapter 14

  “ That was amazing,” Jocelyn marveled two hours later. “A little gross, but amazing.” Her shirt was drenched with sweat and her adrenaline levels had surged to bungee-jumping levels, but she, Hester, and four tiny puppies had all survived.

  “Here.” Liam handed her Hester’s stainless steel water dish. “She needs to stay hydrated.”

  The new mama thumped her tail in gratitude. Curled up in a warm towel fresh out of the dryer, Hester was cleaning and feeding her newborns between power naps. The puppies snuggled up to one another on a heating pad next to Hester.

  “Good girl.” Jocelyn rubbed the dog’s shoulder. “Try not to move before Dr. Moore finally gets here and gives you the all clear.”

  Liam patted Curtis and Carmen, who had been sequestered in the kitchen but were fascinated by the proceedings.

  “Thank you for helping,” Jocelyn said. “Your father would be grateful.”

  “I didn’t do it for him, I did it for the dogs.”

  “Even though they bogarted the house you wanted?”

  “It’s not their fault my father acted like an ass.”

  “It’s not mine, either,” Jocelyn pointed out.

  He just looked at her.

  She gave up trying to reopen that particular topic of conversation and got to her feet. “I better clean myself up before the vet gets here.” She glanced out the window, where the weather was still impassable. “I’d invite you to stay over in one of the guest rooms, but, you know. We’re sworn enemies.”

  “You’re not my enemy.” He seemed surprised by the idea. “You’re just the obstacle.”

  “That’s nice.”

  He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  “You can go sleep in your car, then, because this ‘obstacle’ has things to do.”

  He left without another word, but not before heating up another towel in the dryer and swapping it out for the one in Hester’s bed.

  “Good night,” he said softly to the dog. He leaned over, gave Hester a gentle kiss on her head, and left Jocelyn wondering (due only to extreme stress and sleep deprivation, obviously) what it might feel like to be on the receiving end of a good night kiss herself.

  * * *

  • • •

  “It was beyond messed up,” Jocelyn reported to Bree the next day as they sat on the front porch of the house Bree shared with her parents and grandmother. “One minute he’s a dog midwife, the next minute he’s calling me an obstacle.”

  “Well.” Bree paused in the middle of painting her fingernails to shoot a disparaging look. “Rich men are crazy and callous. When will you learn?”

  “I don’t think he’s rich.”

  “He’s an Allardyce,” Bree decreed. “He wears boat shoes, Joss. That should tell you all you need to know. Speaking of which, what are you going to do with those blue-blooded puppies? I didn’t want to mention this earlier, with you under so much stress, but we have a puppy overpopulation in this country. Have you thought about spaying and neutering everybody?”

  “It’s different with show dogs.”

  Bree looked unimpressed. “Really.”

  “Yes! They’re ineligible for conformation shows if they’re spayed or neutered,” Jocelyn explained.

  “What are conformation shows?”

  “Dog beauty pageants, basically. These are responsibly bred, show-quality puppies. And it’s not my choice to make. They already have buyers lined up, plus there’s a waiting list.”

  Bree snorted. “A waiting list. Are these dogs or Birkin bags?”

  “The dad is some world-famous champion from Brussels.”

  “Then how did he and Hester get together?”

  “They didn’t. She was artificially inseminated. Mr. Allardyce had the sperm FedExed all the way from Europe.”

  Bree’s jaw dropped. “You lie.”

  Both women stopped talking as a voice from inside the house called, “Girls!”

  Bree and Jocelyn jumped to their feet. “Coming, Grandma!” Bree called back.

  They hurried into the small, darkened front room, where Bree’s paternal grandmother, Veronika, held court in the recliner with the shades drawn against the hot afternoon sun. She was a tiny slip of a woman with wispy hair and skin so papery thin it was nearly translucent, but she ruled with an iron fist. “What nonsense are you two talking about out there?”

  Jocelyn glanced at Bree. Bree glanced at Jocelyn.

  “Belgian-imported dog sperm,” Bree said.

  “You have too much time on your hands. Find some chores to do.” Veronika glared at her granddaughter, but her gaze softened when she turned her attention to Jocelyn. “How’s your mother?”

  “Better every day.” Jocelyn smiled. “She actually volunteered to come over and puppy-sit while I did the laundry this morning.”

  “But she hates dogs,” Bree pointed out.

  “I think she just wanted an excuse to sit on Mr. Allardyce’s patio and enjoy the view, but she’ll never admit it.”

  “That’s a mother’s right.” Veronika folded her hands in her lap. She was impeccably turned out in full hair and makeup to watch game shows on basic cable.

  “Maybe, but you know what’s not a mother’s right?” Jocelyn glanced at Bree. “Conspiring with my best friend to railroad me into a relationship with a, quote, ‘nice local guy.’”

  Veronika readjusted her earrings. “Give the local boy a chance.”

  “Why is no one on my side about this?” Jocelyn demanded. Then she noticed that Bree and her grandmother were exchanging conspiratorial looks between glancing at Jocelyn’s hands.

  “What?” Jocelyn leaned in. “Is this
about what my palm says?” For years, she’d been begging Veronika to tell her fortune, and for years, Veronika had refused, citing platitudes about not mixing personal relationships with business.

  “Your palm doesn’t say anything,” Bree said. “Palm reading is a parlor trick.”

  Veronika ignored this and addressed Jocelyn. “She’s saying that to rile me up. She knows the truth.”

  Bree was getting more indignant by the moment. “The truth is—”

  “The truth is, you’re going to put your God-given gift to good use tomorrow afternoon and earn some money. You’re booked for a bridal shower.”

  Bree went from indignant to panicked. “What? No!”

  Veronika continued to address Jocelyn. “It’s time she started earning her keep.”

  “I spent all morning snaking a sink at the rental property on Seagull,” Bree sputtered. “Last night, I was scrubbing carpet stains until ten p.m. I am busting my ass for the family business.”

  Veronika pinned her granddaughter with a glare. “That’s not the family business I’m talking about.”

  “I’m not a palm reader. Never have been, never will be. And to say that I am is gross and offensive. It’s a stereotype.”

  “Don’t you yell at me about stereotypes.” Veronika started to get out of her chair. Bree backed up a few steps. “You’re part Hungarian. The part that I gave you.”

  “Don’t you guys get tired of having this same fight over and over?” Jocelyn touched Veronika’s shoulder to urge her to sit back down.

  “You’re going to the bridal shower tomorrow, and you’re going to read everyone’s palm,” Veronika informed Bree. “I already told the hostess that I wasn’t feeling well and you were filling in.”

  “You can’t make me,” Bree stated.

  Veronika smirked. “Of course I can.” She put her iced tea down with subtle but unmistakable menace.

  “Fine.” Bree switched tactics with breathtaking speed. “Fine. I’ll go to the stupid shower. But I have rules and conditions.” She pushed her hair back from her face. “I’m telling everyone that I have no professional training in palmistry and that my readings are for entertainment purposes only.”