Guys & Dogs

by Elaine Fox

  Megan sighed. “It is tough to get used to. It took me a couple of years to be able to say I was divorced without automatically adding in all the reasons why.” They both laughed. “Took me a while to figure out nobody cared. In any case, it’s four years now and not that many people even ask anymore.”

  Penelope rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky. People are always asking me about Glenn. And they’re not single men looking for dates, either. Just busybodies wanting to hear all the gory details. Either that or be the first to tell me the latest gossip about him.”

  “I know what you mean. That used to happen to me and I’m so glad to be away from it,” Megan said. “I left it all behind in Connecticut. Ex, in-laws, and meddling gossips. And boy, does it feel good to finally move on.”

  Penelope’s lips pressed together. “Move on. That’s what everyone says to me. ‘You have to move on.’ Like I don’t already know that. They just never say how.” She gave Megan a wry look. “I hate to be the one to break it to you but you haven’t exactly landed in a hotbed of eligible bachelors.”

  Megan shrugged. “Fortunately, I’m not looking for another relationship. Certainly not marriage. Not again. An affair might be nice,” she smiled slyly, “but right now I have too much on my plate even for that. And it seems an awful lot of work at this point.”

  “I know, sometimes I feel tired just thinking about it. But when I think about the future…” She made a rueful face, then continued briskly, “Around here it’s mostly families with young children, or older types who’ve been here a long time. Most of the women I know who date are seeing men who live in Richmond or Washington.” She shook her head. “Either way it’s a long haul for a date. A lot of work, as you said.”

  “Especially for those of us who work Saturdays too,” she said, guessing that Penelope, with her shop, was also a slave to the six-day week. “In any case I’m going to have my hands full for a while getting the hospital back on its feet.”

  Unbidden, Sutter Foley sprang to mind once again. She’d assumed he was single, based on the emptiness of his house, but he could well be married despite the lack of a ring. A lot of men didn’t like jewelry. And she couldn’t recall what she might have read about him in that department. She’d like to find someone to go out with, just to have the occasional fun, but Megan didn’t fool around with married men. Not that Sutter Foley would ever be interested in her.

  “I did meet an interesting man yesterday,” she said, then sipped her water.

  Penelope gave her a significant look of interest just as the waitress arrived with their food. Conversation paused.

  Once their salads had been deposited, silverware arranged and their beverages checked, Penelope immediately asked, “Did you meet him at the dog park? I keep thinking that would be a perfect place to meet someone, but I never do.”

  “No.” Megan started to chuckle. “It’s a funny story, actually. His dog woke me up yesterday morning.”

  Penelope picked up her fork and pushed the top of her salad around as if looking for something better underneath. “Oh I hate it when the neighbors leave their dogs out to bark. It’s not the poor animal’s fault, it’s just bored. But to leave a dog out in the yard all day? It’s irresponsible and you should call animal control.”

  “No, no.” Megan laughed. “The dog actually got into my bedroom.” Megan wrestled an oversized piece of lettuce from her Caesar into her mouth.

  “Your bedroom!” Penelope’s eyes widened.

  “It got in the dog door and came right on up.” Megan chewed while shaking her head at the memory. “Scared me half to death. When I finally got a chance to look at the tag, you’ll never guess who she belonged to.”

  “Wait, maybe I can. What kind of dog was it?”

  “Golden retriever mix. Very young, six or seven months, maybe.”

  Penelope paused, her glass of iced tea suspended between the table and her mouth. “Hm, a mixed golden…we had a puppy like that about a month ago at the shelter, but it was adopted. Oh and you know who—” She stopped.

  Megan looked at her, grinning. “You know who it was, don’t you?”

  Penelope’s eyes were wide. “Was it Sutter Foley’s groundskeeper?”

  Megan laughed and wiped a tiny bit of dressing from her cheek. “The man himself, actually.”

  Penelope, who’d been about to sip her tea, put the glass back down and leaned forward. “It was his dog? That’s so strange—wait, you didn’t go to his house, did you?”

  Megan raised her brows. “Didn’t I?”

  Penelope leaned back in the booth. “But the dog wasn’t his! Not really, was it? What did he say?”

  Megan laughed. “That’s pretty much what he said. Repeatedly.”

  “It was some guy he’d hired who lived in his carriage house that adopted the dog. And the only reason I know this is because everyone at the shelter was thrilled that one of our dogs was going to live with a multimillionaire.”

  “A multimillionaire,” Megan repeated. “It’s hard to even imagine that kind of money. And the house was nice but with millions…it’s not like he had a helicopter pad on the roof or anything. Not that I saw anyway.”

  Penelope gaped at her. “You were in his house? What was it like?”

  Megan thought. “Nice. Plush. Filled with obviously expensive furniture and china and all that.” She thought of the shattered wine glasses and wondered if they were Waterford or anything. “But it wasn’t overblown. Nothing…ostentatious about it.”

  Penelope stabbed the salad with her fork. “You know, I was friends with his ex-wife but was never invited to the house. I always got the impression she wouldn’t do it because he wouldn’t like it. Apparently he’s obsessed with privacy.”

  “I would be too, if I were him. The weird thing was he was alone in the house. No one to even open the door. I thought he’d have servants or a butler or something. A housekeeper at least. Someone to deal with the riff-raff who might knock on his door.”

  “That’s the weird thing about Sutter,” Penelope said, shaking her head as if mystified. “Even though he’s rich as Croesus, and he does apparently love his luxuries, for the most part he supposedly tries to live like an everyday guy. That’s why he stayed in this town when he struck it big. A lot of people who know him now, knew him when he first moved to this country fifteen years ago with Bitsy, so we’re not overawed by his wealth. At least, we say we’re not.” She grinned. “But for the most part the town tries to protect him a little bit.”

  “Protect him? From what? Sounds to me like he could afford to build a fortress with a moat and hire enough assistants to never have to leave the house.”

  “That’s what I’d do,” Penelope admitted. “You’d be surprised how often the press comes looking for him. And the wackos looking for money—they’re endless! And when someone asks where he lives, you know, ‘just out of curiosity,’” Penelope brought her fingers up and mimicked quote marks, “you never know if it isn’t a thief or something. He’s even got some kind of geek fan club following. One time, this guy set up a giant wooden computer on the green across from Sutter’s house with ‘God Bless SFSolutions, Who Delivered Us From Microsoft’ painted all over it. And then there’re the women. Oh my God.”

  Penelope took a bite of her salad and chewed thoughtfully.

  “The women?” Megan asked.

  Penelope nodded and swallowed. “Whenever there’s an article or anything that includes a picture of him, women begin turning up in town posing as his sister, or his cousin, or his girlfriend, or whatever, looking for his house. One of them claimed he’d asked her to marry him over the Internet.” Penelope chuckled. “Sheriff Hill likes those trespassers the best.”

  “He is awfully good looking.” Megan speared a cucumber and put it into her mouth. So much for meeting an eligible man in Fredericksburg. She finds one and the whole world is after him. Not, she told herself again, that she’d ever thought he might be interested in her.

  Penelope nodded. “H
e is.”

  “Do you know him? I mean, personally?”

  “A little. I met him once or twice with Bitsy, his ex-wife, when they’d come to a function in town. But they’ve been divorced a while now, so I don’t see him very much. Or when I do, he doesn’t condescend to talk to me.”

  “So he’s a terrible snob, huh?”

  Penelope shrugged, as if his snobbishness would be kind of inevitable, what with him being able to buy small countries and all.

  Despite herself, Megan asked, “Ex-wife? So he’s single?”

  Penelope gave her a cagey smile. “Interested?”

  Megan laughed. “I’m really not. Believe me, I know myself too well to believe I could live the life of a multimillionaire’s girlfriend. If nothing else, my wardrobe isn’t up to the challenge.”

  “Oh come on, nobody would turn down a multimillionaire out of wardrobe concerns.”

  “The wardrobe’s just the tip of the iceberg.” She thought about her father asking clients for money, buying drinks for preposterously young women, coming home drunk and brimming with tales of barroom “networking.”

  Penelope’s smile turned benign. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you for being interested. Who wouldn’t be? He’s a great-looking, extremely wealthy, available man. But trust me, you don’t want to get mixed up with him.”

  “Why not?” This time Megan leaned forward. Did Penelope know some sort of scandalous secret about Sutter Foley? How close was she to the ex-wife?

  “He’s dating someone, for one thing,” Penelope said.

  “Well, of course he is.” She laughed. “Though if he knew there was an average-looking, single, impoverished veterinarian in his midst I’m sure he would dump her in an instant. Who is she? Does she live in Fredericksburg?”

  “She didn’t, but I heard she just rented a house a couple blocks away from his. The rumor is she’s an ex-model from New York, but she’s not. She’s a Massachusetts blueblood who’s pretty enough that millions of dollars can make her look like a model.”

  “They never mention that in Glamour,” Megan mused. “How millions of dollars is really the ultimate fashion accessory.”

  “That’s for sure,” Penelope agreed. “Look at Paris Hilton.”

  “Who?”

  Penelope looked up. “You’re kidding. Don’t you watch TV?”

  “I don’t own a TV,” Megan confessed. “I don’t have time to watch.”

  Penelope shook her head, smiling. “Good for you. I, on the other hand, am an “Entertainment Tonight” groupie. Anything you want to know about the rich and famous, just ask me.”

  “All right,” Megan said, “what’s the other reason I wouldn’t want to get involved with Sutter Foley? You said he was dating someone, for one thing. What’s another?”

  Penelope paused, then sighed. “All right, but you have to promise me you’re not going to go straight to the National Tattler or anything.”

  Megan grinned. “Sure, I promise. I might be a reporter who moved to town and impersonates a struggling veterinarian to get near him, but I promise. Feel better?”

  Penelope chuckled but eyed her a tad warily. “All right. But only because I know Doc Rose is your father.”

  “That’s the first time that’s ever given me an advantage,” Megan cracked.

  “Sutter Foley,” Penelope said in a low voice, leaning forward, “is an emotional cripple.”

  A brief silence passed.

  “An emotional cripple?” Megan finally asked. This was a far cry from the gossip she’d hoped for—like a criminal record, a penchant for dressing in women’s clothing, or a mad wife in the attic.

  “Yes,” Penelope said, her expression intent, “you know, the kind of man who doesn’t have any.”

  Megan frowned. She was always leery of psychobabble and “emotional cripple” smacked of just the kind of thing women make up to tell each other to soften the blow of being dumped. “How do you, uh, know this?”

  “Because,” Penelope said, nodding sagely, “he hates dogs.”

  Four

  Sutter hated dogs.

  He looked from the hall to the living room to what he could see of the dining room and as far as the eye could see was toilet paper. A long unbroken string of it stretched from the half-bath under the stairs to the front room, and beyond that were chewed bits and small wads and little gobby things that looked like gum. Interspersed with the toilet paper was a generous sprinkling of garbage, some carpet fringe and a bit more of the stuffing from the armchair.

  The bloody beast had gotten out.

  How? How on earth had the thing gotten free of the laundry room? The door had been closed and, to the best of his knowledge, dogs were not adept at doorknobs.

  He thought of Briana and the horror she would feel at this desecration of his “charming parlor,” as she’d called it. He imagined one of her expensively clad feet stepping into a pile of this beast’s making and gritted his teeth.

  Briana would abhor whatever it was that had made him relent in the face of the veterinarian’s logic that morning. She would consider it weakness, not kindness or anything that could be considered laudable, to have kept the dog even overnight. He would think so too if it had not been himself arguing with the implacable Dr. Rose.

  And he would have been right. Look at how his charity had been paid back. No, some people were pet people and he was not one of them.

  He took a deep breath and set his briefcase on the floor.

  Where was it, he thought, setting a pile of mail on the hall table. Where was the sodding dog?

  He gave a whistle, sharp in the quiet of the house. A scurrying of toenails on the wood floor overhead responded. Sutter looked up. It had gone upstairs. Sutter’s blood threatened to boil. A moment later the pup hurled itself down the steps, its back legs almost going faster than the front ones. It hit the front foyer, u-turned and threw itself at Sutter as if expecting to be caught in his arms.

  Part of the dog—snout? leg? he couldn’t be sure—caught him all too close to the groin and he doubled over, pushing the dog’s next attack away. Finally, when the puppy rebounded one more time, he grabbed its collar and dragged it to the door.

  “That’s enough from you,” Sutter growled. “I can’t be dealing with this blasted nonsense. Coming home from work,” he muttered, “long day, bleeding bastard at VamTech, pain in the ass Lizzy wanting favors, damn senseless memo, Arnetta, for Christ’s sake. It’s too much, I tell you. Too bloody much.”

  The dog’s tail wagged furiously, whacking him in the legs, as he opened the door and dragged it out to the car. He opened the back door, grabbed the hairy thing, and tossed it unceremoniously onto the petal-soft, dove-gray leather of the Jaguar’s back seat.

  He straightened and looked at the pup panting up at him, happy as a halfwit, dripping saliva onto the seat.

  God, he was knackered. He’d slept all of two hours last night and all he’d wanted to do when he arrived home was eat and go to bed. It had seemed he might be tired enough at last to sleep.

  Not now, however. Now he was wound up. Now he was going to see that veterinarian and get rid of this whole sodding problem.

  Then he was going to get some sleeping pills.

  Where in the hell had Martina been, anyway? Dropping her sister off at the airport, he remembered. The house had been empty for only an hour, but apparently that was enough time for pandemonium to break loose.

  He opened the front seat and got in, slamming the door behind him. A long wet tongue found his ear.

  Sutter shot forward, throwing one arm back into the dog. His other hit the car horn, startling them both.

  “No!” he barked, glaring at the dog. What was its name? Didn’t matter. He was getting rid of it.

  He drove swiftly down Washington Avenue to Lewis, turned and gunned it toward Princess Anne Street. He wasn’t exactly sure where Rose’s Animal Hospital was, but he was pretty sure he’d seen a veterinarian’s office down on Sophia Street. Waste of prime property, he�
�d thought at the time, as it was sitting on the riverfront and not taking advantage of the view. Not that a bunch of animals would care, which made it another crime.

  He pulled up in front of the two-story clapboard structure and threw the car into park, congratulating himself on being right. Rose’s Animal Hospital was painted in chipped letters across the front of the building above the front door and below the second-story windows.

  He got out of the car and looked in the back seat. The good news was the puppy had laid down and was no longer drooling. The bad news was it had thrown up. From what he could tell, most of it was toilet paper. Whatever Martina, his housekeeper, had fed the dog for dinner had already been processed and was probably sitting at home somewhere on one of his carpets.

  He looked dolefully at the dog and took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. He hadn’t brought the leash, he realized.

  He opened the back seat and the dog sprang to life. He grabbed its collar and pulled it off the seat, avoiding the mess, and up to the front door of the hospital. Unfortunately the door was locked, and there in front of him were the hours. Open at ten, closed at six. He looked at his watch. Six-thirty.

  Blast.

  Through the glass door he could see a light glowing from a back room. He rapped on the glass. A moment later a shadow crossed the doorway and to his immense relief Megan Rose herself came out and headed toward him.

  She had a smile on her face until she spotted the puppy. Then she frowned, and shook her head ruefully as she unlocked the door.

  Sutter loosed the dog and the animal took off, slipping and sliding on the linoleum into the back room. Sutter stepped into the waiting room. Megan pushed the door closed behind him and locked it.

  “Well, hello,” she said, sounding as if she were not at all surprised to see him. “Let me guess. You don’t want a dog.”

  It wasn’t until this moment that he realized he should have taken the dog to the pound, not back here to Megan Rose. She was going to make him feel guilty about this. She was going to try to talk him into keeping it again. She was not going to take this lying down.