Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Nothing but Trouble
Just One of the Groomsmen
The Truth About Cowboys
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Stefanie London.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
[email protected]
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Liz Pelletier and Lydia Sharp
Cover design by Hang Le
Cover image by Gradyreese/iStock
Interior design by Toni Kerr
Print ISBN 978-1-64063-668-2
ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-669-9
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition September 2019
Also by Stefanie London
The Behind the Bar Series
The Rules According to Gracie
Pretend It’s Love
Betting the Bad Boy
Other Romantic Comedies
How To Win a Fiancé
How to Lose a Fiancé
Trouble Next Door
Loving the Odds
Millionaire Under the Mistletoe
Taken By the CEO
To Michael, for being one of the most creative people I know. And to Zia, for always believing in your kids (and your nieces!).
Chapter One
Jace Walters had been ambushed, and by his own mother, too.
He hadn’t even seen it coming. The innocent request for lunch—which wasn’t out of the ordinary—and the equally innocent suggestion that they drop in on Mrs. Landry “for a minute” hadn’t piqued his suspicions. Not even when they’d walked past the stack of suitcases in the entryway, with a brochure for a cruise liner perched on top, did he suspect what was about to happen.
And by then…it was too late.
“My house isn’t set up for dog-sitting.”
His mother shot him a look across Mrs. Landry’s kitchen table. Although who the hell knew what she was trying to communicate. He’d never understood why people couldn’t say what they meant. Wouldn’t that make life easier? Clearer?
Maybe not. His mum had taught him long ago that his bluntness did not make her life easier.
So instead he sat there, dwarfing everything in Mrs. Landry’s house with his broad, six-feet-four frame like he usually did, including the two petite older women. A pot of tea sat in the middle of the table with three mismatched mugs, milk, and a packet of Tim Tams. Eugenie Elizabeth Landry would never, ever have people over to her house without serving something to eat and drink.
“They don’t take up much space,” Eugenie said sweetly.
Jace eyed her beloved dogs. Okay, sure, Truffle—the hyperactive white Chihuahua—didn’t take up much space. But Tilly—the German shepherd—looked as though she was really a pony wearing a costume of a dog.
“And really, you won’t even know they’re there,” she continued. “They keep each other amused most of the day. Truffle needs a walk every other morning, but you could always take him to the beach. You go there anyway.”
“To surf,” Jace said. His gaze flicked to his mother, who avoided eye contact.
“And Tilly, well, she’s getting on in life.” Eugenie reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eye.
Low freaking blow.
“Exactly!” Jace threw up his hands. “What if something happens?”
What if the dog got hit by a car? What if the dog ate something poisonous? What if the dog decided to chase a bird and somehow made it onto the beach and climbed on a surfboard and got swept away and ended up sailing to Fiji?
“I’d rather her be with people who care. Not stuck in some kennel where they probably feed the poor darlings home-brand dog food.” Eugenie shuddered. “You don’t even have to buy the dog food. I’ve got it all prepared.”
“It’s only a month,” Jace’s mother said. Her hands were folded around her mug, and a perfect imprint of her pink lipstick decorated the rim. “Well, a bit over a month.”
“How long exactly?” He knew better than to agree to anything based on such vague terms. Not that he liked anything in his life to be vague—Jace was a black-and-white kinda guy—but he especially didn’t like it when his mother was trying to rope him into something.
He’d learned that early on in life: clarify the boundaries of any agreement. Otherwise they’d move, and likely not in his favor.
“Two months.”
Two. Freaking. Months? Jace’s preferred level of commitment was something in the realm of a cactus that he needed to water every two weeks—if he felt like it. And he was pretty sure a dog would die if it was only watered every two weeks. “Have you asked Adam and Soraya?”
His oldest brother and sister-in-law ran a bed-and-breakfast at the edge of town. Once the school year started in a few weeks, the flow of tourism would reduce to a trickle. And not a moment too soon, in Jace’s opinion. He was already dreaming about what it would be like when his little town went back to normal—no struggling to park his car, no jostling with greasy sunscreen-covered tourists on the beach. No sharing his waves with some hog who thinks he owns the place because he rents a beach house for one month of the year.
“They’ve still got the holiday coming up, so they’ll be busy until after that,” his mum replied.
“What about Nick?” Now he was moving down the line of siblings, from oldest to youngest.
“He’s at work all day, and Trent’s always at different construction sites. Liv is traveling between here and Melbourne.” His mother shook her head. “They can’t do it.”
Jace’s stomach sank like a boulder falling to the bottom of the ocean. He was well and truly screwed.
He wanted to point out that even though he worked from home, that didn’t mean he had the time to take care of other people’s pets. Not to mention it was completely outside his skill set! A cat would be a better dog-sitter than he would. There was a reason he didn’t have a dog of his own—and it had nothing to do with how he felt about animals. He loved animals. But his home was his sanctuary. Where he could work and think and create, uninterrupted a
nd unencumbered.
His routine wasn’t just important to him. It was vital.
And his mother knew that better than anyone. Diagnosed as being on the “high-functioning” end of the autism spectrum when he was in kindergarten, routine was critical to his mental health. But the doctors had also warned his mother that routine could become a prison for someone like him—making him unable to enjoy a full life if even the slightest disturbance to that routine caused an earthquake to his equilibrium. She’d taken those words to heart. His mother had been his champion from day one, and even though she loved and respected his needs, she also nudged him outside his comfort zone from time to time.
Problem was, this nudge felt more like The People’s Elbow.
Every morning he was at Sorrento Back Beach at seven a.m. for his morning surf. After surfing for an hour, he’d head home, shower, have breakfast—always plain porridge, which had disgusted his siblings to no end when he lived at home—and then work. Even his lunch break occurred at exactly the same time every day.
Having pets meant accommodating things like walks and meal time and vet appointments. So many things to disrupt his life.
“The dogs are used to having people around all the time. You know, for comfort. After Burt died…” Eugenie sniffed. “Well, they’re my only family.”
Jace sighed. How could he possibly say anything to that? He looked across the table at his mum, and she offered a sheepish shrug. She knew he would do anything for his family. Especially his mum.
But oh, he was going to collect all right. There’d better be some damn good pavlova in it for him.
“Fine.” He shook his head. “Two months, but not a day more. If Eugenie isn’t back to pick them up, you’ll be doing it.”
“Deal.”
Jace glanced at the dogs, already regretting his decision. Truffle was barking at something through the window, his high-pitched yips like a tiny pickax to Jace’s brain. Tilly stretched out on the floor, totally oblivious to the noise until Truffle decided to jump down from the windowsill and gnaw on the end of her tail. Then commotion ensued with more barking. And running. And fur flying.
RIP, my sanity.
“Aren’t they cute?” Eugenie scooped up Truffle, cuddling him close to her chest. “I’m going to miss them so much.”
Ten minutes later, Jace’s pristine, peaceful life was already being defiled. His car—which he vacuumed weekly and which looked way younger than its ten years, because he’d never been able to pull the trigger on replacing it—was full to the brim with canine paraphernalia. Truffle was sitting in a plush doggy car seat, smug as hell, while Tilly lay over a blanket Eugenie had offered to protect the upholstery. But the carpet was already coated with a fine dusting of dog hair.
Jace got into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut, letting his hands rest on the steering wheel a moment while he drew a long breath. A second later, his mother climbed in while Eugenie made kissy noises at her “furry babies” and ensured everything they needed was accounted for.
The dogs had special brushes, chew toys, water bowls, and timer-activated food dispensers. There was shampoo for Truffle’s skin condition and medication for Tilly’s arthritis. They had blankets and coats and leashes. Truffle needed to be walked every other day—or he got antsy, which Jace wanted to avoid at all costs. The dog was already more hyper than a toddler hopped up on red food dye. Tilly didn’t walk as much as she used to, but she should still go out once or twice a week. Truffle needed a cuddle before bed, otherwise he tended not to sleep well. Tilly was self-sufficient and quiet…unless the possums were acting up.
Jace’s head spun with all the information. Two bloody months and he’d be essentially looking after two fur-covered children. Well, technically it was one fur-covered child and one fur-covered old lady, going by dog years.
He started the engine and pulled slowly out of Eugenie’s driveway, unsure how fast was safe considering dogs didn’t wear seat belts. Frowning, he looked at Tilly and Truffle in the rearview mirror. They’d gone quiet…for now.
His plans for an enjoyable lunch flew out the window along with a fine cloud of Tilly’s fur.
“Thank you,” his mother said. “Eugenie was desperate. She’s done so much for us, and she really deserves this holiday. Her dog-sitter pulled out at the last minute.”
The dogs grizzled at each other. Truffle let out a yip so high-pitched, Jace winced.
“I can’t imagine why,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Why did you feel the need to trick me into it? That was low.”
“Yes, it was a bit of a crafty move.” She knotted her hands, which Jace had learned was something she did whenever she felt conflicted. “I’m sorry for the subterfuge. But you know how important it is to change things up from time to time. Besides, I thought it might show you that you’d be a great dad someday.”
Oh no. They were not going to have a discussion about his sex life on top of everything else. Hard pass.
“Speaking of which, how is that cute American tenant of yours?”
“Nice segue,” Jace said, shaking his head. “Subtle as a hammer.”
And Angie wasn’t simply cute. She was sexy as hell. Sexier than hell, if that was a thing. Every time she knocked on his door, needing help with something or offering to share the muffins she’d picked up from the local bakery, his head went into a spin.
But Angie made his mum look like an amateur when it came to messing with his routine. If his mum liked to nudge him, his tenant was a steamroller crashing through his life and taking all the exit signs with her. And for that reason, he tried to keep his distance. Unfortunately, even with that decision made, he still had trouble not thinking about how sexy her butt looked in those frayed shorts she liked to wear.
No, he couldn’t think about that now. Angie was definitely off-limits—both in this discussion and in his own thoughts.
“You didn’t answer my question,” his mother said. She was watching him very closely, like he was something under a microscope.
“That’s because I didn’t want to.”
She laughed. “Is it so wrong that a mother take an interest in her son’s dating life? You never bring anyone home.”
“Perhaps it’s because nobody in this family understands how to respect personal boundaries.”
Jace had grown up in a house of seven. Being smack-bang in the middle of five kids, there had never been a moment of peace. If he wasn’t fighting someone for the last piece of pizza, he was squabbling over which TV show to watch or shouting at the others to be quiet while he tried to do his homework. Or draw. Not easy, given he shared a bedroom for far longer than most kids did. His folks weren’t exactly rich, and their house was better suited to a typical family with the standard 2.3 children and maybe a small family pet.
But the Walters’s house had been utter chaos. They had an “open-door” policy, which meant extended family, friends, and neighbors were always dropping by. They fostered animals and took in strays and never turned anyone away—whether they had two or four legs. It was the “Walters way.” And honestly, his family did try to be helpful and observant of his needs. But one of the things he loved most about them, even if he’d never admit it, was that they treated him like he wasn’t different. Like he wasn’t…the odd one out. It was annoying at times but also refreshing.
He could be himself, even if that meant locking himself in his closet sometimes just to get a moment’s peace.
So while Jace admired how giving and kind his family was, it had made him crave a precious space to call his own—where he could escape the chaos and the noise and the clutter and the chatter.
“Anyway, thank you again for saying yes. I didn’t know what else to do,” his mother said. “I would have taken the dogs, but we’re off camping next week.”
Jace didn’t bother to point
out that one week out of eight would have been manageable, rather than asking him to do two whole months by himself. But that was because this whole thing wasn’t about dog-sitting. Not really.
His mother thought he needed to have more in his life than his art. He’d overheard her saying to his dad once that she was worried he’d become addicted to solitude and that he’d lock himself away to the point that he’d miss out on allowing someone into his life. That he wouldn’t find love. Apparently that made her sad, because she’d said he deserved love.
And of course she wanted as many grandkids as possible. He had to suppress a shudder at the thought. Jace was perfectly happy with his life the way it was: he had his dream job and a very small but close-knit circle of people he cared about. No girlfriend. No attachments.
Total and utter personal freedom.
But when Melanie Walters decided something needed to change in her child’s life, she made it happen. And dog-sitting would force Jace out of his studio and out of his routine.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” his mother added with her signature sweeter-than-honey smile. “You’re looking after two lovely, well-behaved dogs. What could possibly go wrong?”
Jace raised a brow and checked the rearview mirror, where Truffle the Chihuahua met his gaze. He was sure it was impossible—but he could have sworn the dog winked at him.
Chapter Two
Angie Donovan had seen a lot of lawyers. And she’d figured out, over the years, that you could tell a ton about a lawyer based on what their reception area looked like. Several boxes of tissues handy? They probably managed estates or divorces. Somber gray tones usually meant they dealt in wills—because it was softer than black but didn’t give the “pearly gates” feel of white.
The ones with water glasses and flowers overcharged. The ones with Herman Miller chairs—usually knockoffs—overcharged even more.
Before coming to Patterson’s Bluff, she’d wasted time with one of those kinds of lawyers. The ones with fake furniture, high fees, and absolutely no benefits. The kind who gave shoddy advice to get clients in and out as quickly as possible. Thankfully she’d found Arthur Westerly, because he seemed the sort of attorney who would fight for his clients when they needed him.
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