Sit...Stay...Beg (The Dogfather Book 1)

by Roxanne St Claire

  By the time they’d finished dinner and a bottle of wine, every year that separated Molly Kilcannon and Jessie Curtis evaporated into talk, laughter, shared memories, and life’s highlights.

  “God, it’s fun to see you again,” Molly said on a sigh. “My best friend is a twelve-year-old who wakes up every day with one goal in life: to get her period.”

  Jessie snorted. “I hope you tell her the thrill wears off fast.”

  “I tell her everything. She really is my partner in life.”

  Jessie winced at the expression. She’d once heard her mother say that about Stephanie, but then, Molly didn’t have another daughter who always came in second.

  “It’s wonderful you’re so close,” Jessie said. “You hear such horror stories about teenagers and single moms.”

  “I’ve been lucky, but not…” She lifted a shoulder. “In love.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you’d like to hang around someone who’s not dying to get a period.”

  Molly laughed easily. “Yes, a kind man with a good heart and the desire to settle down. Someone like one of my perfect brothers but not related to me.”

  “The bar is high in the Kilcannon family,” Jessie mused. “And no one has snagged any of them yet. How is that even possible?”

  Molly shook her head. “Life. Obviously, Aidan is overseas now. And the others? Garrett’s company was the focus for all of them. He was the brains behind PetPic, but Shane is an incredible lawyer and helped make it a viable business. Liam got an engineering degree when he left the military and turns out he’s as much a software whisperer as he is a dog whisperer. My little sister, Darcy? She handled PetPic’s admin and then created an HR department singlehandedly. None of them had time for romance. Then, when Garrett sold, they all went to Seattle to work for FriendGroup, but shortly after that, Mom died and they all came back. Then the next three years were all about building Waterford Farm into an elite facility, one of the best on the East Coast, if not in the country.”

  “So it was just a matter of time and priorities?” Jessie didn’t buy that, not completely. People found time for love if they wanted it.

  “Pretty much.”

  “And now?”

  Molly leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with humor and that third glass of wine. “Why are you so interested in my brothers’ love lives?”

  “For the story.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. “You think I forget the Garrett crush? It ran deep and wide, if I recall correctly. And you haven’t mentioned a single serious relationship. Are you really that married to work, Jess, or has a man wrecked you?”

  Jessie heard the silent too at the end of that question. “Did Pru’s father wreck you?”

  “Uh uh.” She pointed at Jessie and shook her head. “I know what you’re doing. You’ve done it all night. You answer a question with a question and turn the conversation back to the other person and make it the kind of question a person feels compelled to answer. I’m on to you, Jessica Jane.”

  Jessie laughed at the use of her full name that Molly loved when they were kids. “What can I say? It’s my superpower. I get people to go deep, or so they say.”

  “And you think you’re going to do that with Garrett?” Skepticism dripped off every word.

  “I hope to if I’m going to get the anchor job I told you about.”

  “Doesn’t that have to go both ways? He wants to get unpeeled? Or…” She lifted her wineglass and an eyebrow. “Undressed?”

  “He’s your brother!”

  “He was your first crush.”

  Jessie ignored that. “He obviously has to agree to answer questions, yes. But he said he would, and he knows it’s an in-depth interview. He promised, and I promised to help with Lola.”

  “That would be Garrett. Selling his soul for a dog.”

  “I’m not going to take his soul,” Jessie said. “The interview process—and, I might add, the profile piece—isn’t going to hurt him. Most people find it cathartic. Healing, even.”

  “So, why didn’t you become a shrink?” Molly asked. “Other than your lifelong dream to be the next Katie Couric.”

  “Pffft. That ship has sailed. But I do love journalism, and this is the next natural step in my business. That, or writing biographies, which isn’t quite as glam and doesn’t pay as well.”

  Molly searched her face, her eyes narrowed in the way that usually preceded a joke or something brilliantly insightful. “Just be prepared not to get the whole story from Garrett.”

  “Because he’s so private?”

  “Because he’s….” She swirled the last sip of wine, staring at the glass. After a moment, she looked up. “Right around the time that my mother died, something happened to Garrett. Something—someone, I suspect—hurt him. And it all happened at the same time that he sold his company to FriendGroup. Like in the same month. Of course, he was a wreck during the funeral, we all were. But then Dad had this idea, and Garrett freaking jumped on it, even though Shane was like, ‘Dude, you can’t walk away from this deal.’ But he did. And brought Shane and Liam and Darcy home, too.”

  “And he was different after that?”

  “Completely. Closed off, quiet, focused on the dogs.”

  Exactly as Dr. K had said. “And you don’t think it was mourning your mom? Maybe even the loss of a business he’d spent years building from scratch?”

  Jessie lifted a shoulder. “He won’t say. If that’s what it was, wouldn’t he talk about that?”

  “You’d think he would, but some men don’t deal well with emotions.”

  “That’s Liam’s department. Garrett was always open and honest. But he came back from Seattle a different man, and no amount of booze or talking has ever gotten it out of him. Maybe you can actually help him.”

  She considered that, nodding, loath to admit she actually liked that challenge. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good.” She slugged back the rest of the wine. “And while we walk you back to the inn, I will tell you all about how I loved and lost and ended up with the best thing that ever happened to me. You’ve been trying to get it out of me all night.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Jessie had a list of leading questions all ready as she crossed the expanse of Waterford Farm bright and early, as they’d planned.

  As she approached the main training area, she caught sight of two men in the ring. One was wearing a bright orange suit, like a firefighter’s jumpsuit, with thick cushions on the arms and a helmet and cage over his face. The other, she knew in an instant, was Liam Kilcannon, the oldest, darkest, and quietest of the bunch. He was working with a vicious-looking German shepherd, handling it like it was a precious, helpless puppy.

  At seven years older than Molly, the oldest Kilcannon hadn’t been around much when Jessie was a frequent visitor. He’d joined the Marines right after she and Jessie became friends, so Liam had had a bit of a legendary status at the dinner table. He was the first Kilcannon to leave the nest, and his job as a military dog handler in Texas was a favorite subject.

  She hung back, watching the two men talk and stop to give the dog directions, then suddenly Liam yelled, “Go, Garrett!” and the man in the big orange suit and cage-face bolted across the training area.

  The dog barked ferociously, but Liam gripped his collar, easily holding him back. Then, as if choreographed, Liam let go as Garrett appeared to stumble and roll to the ground, and the dog launched into the air and tore across the grass toward Garrett, in full attack mode.

  Mesmerized, Jessie hustled closer, riveted. The dog leaped into the air and took a fierce bite out of that well-padded arm. Garrett spun, the animal holding on by his teeth, his huge furry body in the air until he unclenched his jaws and went to the ground.

  “Good boy, Mussie!” Liam yelled. “Reward!”

  Instantly, the dog bounded back across to Liam, who reached out his bare hand fearlessly so the dog could take the treat. By then, Jessie had reached the fence.

  “Stay
out there if you don’t want to die,” Garrett called, no humor in his voice.

  She peered at him, the protective gear making him almost as menacing as the dog. He ambled over, moving slowly in the cumbersome clothes, but even with him dressed like that, she felt her heart kick up at the sight of his smile behind the bars that covered his face.

  “You’re early, Lois Lane.”

  She laughed at the nickname. “You’re brave, Superman.”

  “If I was brave, I’d be bare like my badass brother.”

  Him bare? Now that she’d like to see.

  He glanced in the direction of Liam and the dog, who were now walking around and turning. Every time Liam stopped or turned or made a move, the dog mirrored it, and got a treat.

  “Seriously, is that safe with that ferocious German shepherd?”

  Garrett reached her at the fence now, close enough that she could see the deep blue of his eyes and a little more scruff on his face than the day before. “First of all, that’s a Belgian Malinois, similar breed, historically related, but significantly smarter. Not that Germans aren’t bright, but Colonel Mustard? He’s a freaking genius.”

  She laughed. “His name is Colonel Mustard?”

  “Liam is a Clue freak,” he said. “You should have seen Miss Scarlet. She’s currently kicking ass and taking names for some private security company called the Bullet Catchers.” He looked back at Liam, still in a foot dance with the dog. “My brother is the only one Mussie doesn’t want to devour now, but he’ll have him eating out of your hand in seven days and ready to go into official K-9 training.”

  “Not my hand,” Jessie said.

  Garrett laughed, a beautiful and unexpected sound that sent a little jolt right down to Jessie’s toes. He seemed so much more relaxed today, and less on guard.

  Maybe he’d accepted his fate. Or maybe the protective gear was, well, protective.

  “This morning, Liam’s working on attack-on-command because that will be Mussie’s sole purpose in life.” He glanced down at her feet, taking in the sneakers she’d chosen to wear with comfortable khaki pants after seeing what other dog trainers wore here. “Glad you wore better shoes today. You ready to go see Lola? You can feed her.”

  “Okay. Then…we’ll talk?”

  “Oh, not today. I have to run out and deliver a therapy dog. We can talk tomorrow, well, maybe. Or the day after.”

  No wonder he was relaxed. He was blowing her off. “Garrett. We had a deal.”

  “I have ten days, right?”

  “Nine now. But I have to write the story. I thought we were interviewing today.”

  All that relaxation disappeared behind the mask. “I can’t today.” At the look she gave him, he laughed softly. “Okay. Tell you what. If Lola eats enough, and that’s a big if, we’ll take her on a short walk. You can, you know, ask a few questions.”

  “I need a recorder and notebook.”

  He barely covered a moan. “I don’t have a lot of time today, and Liam needs me now.” He adjusted the face mask. “Go see Lola. She’s dying to spend some time with you.”

  But he wasn’t. “Garrett, you promised.”

  Before he answered, Liam started walking toward them. Behind him, Colonel Mustard stayed perfectly still, giving Jessie a chance to take in the angles of Liam’s strong face and dark, dark eyes under a severe brow. She’d met him, of course, as a child, but now he was a grown man of forty years old, if her math was right. A tattoo popped out from under a tight-fitting T-shirt, stretched over muscles that had a fierceness to them.

  “This must be the reporter,” he said.

  “Not exactly a reporter,” she replied. “That would imply I’m looking for news. I’m actually a writer. Nice to see you again, Liam. I’m Jessie Curtis.”

  “Jessie.” He nodded and looked hard at her. “I guess we met years ago, but I honestly don’t remember all the friends who’ve been in and out of this house. Welcome back.”

  “Thanks. You’re amazing with that dog.”

  “Mussie?” He turned and looked at the dog, whose ears twitched, but every other muscle stayed still. “He’s one of a kind. He’s going to NYPD, so I want him to be a superstar. We’re done, Garrett. You guys can get to work on Lola.”

  As if Lola were the only reason she was here.

  “Then let’s go see her,” Garrett said, obviously out of any more excuses to avoid Jessie.

  “Sure.” Jessie rounded the expansive pen and headed toward the entrance to the kennels. When Garrett stepped outside of the fence, he stopped and stripped off the helmet and mask, shaking out his long black locks.

  It shouldn’t be, but the move was sexy, and everything female in her rolled around in a happy sigh of appreciation. A second later, he unzipped the one-piece garment and stripped it off, shirtless underneath.

  She wanted to look away from the sight of a broad chest glistening with a sheen of sweat over rippling muscles, but that would make her absolutely not human.

  “It’s hot in that suit,” he explained, catching her staring.

  So hot.

  She nodded, and turned to head into the kennels, following the hall of individual dog cages. Along the way, she paused and talked to the various dogs who perked up and looked at her, some barking in greeting. She stopped to admire a lively little dachshund sharing a cage with a giant brown and white dog she guessed was a mix of a pit and something else. The little dog yelped a few times, and the big one gave him a gentle swipe, pressing him to the ground under his front paw and staring up at Jessie as if daring her to touch the puppy.

  “Mutt and Jeff.” Garrett came around the corner, wearing a white Waterford Farm T-shirt with the dog bone logo she’d seen all over the place. It looked great, though not quite as great as what he wasn’t wearing before.

  “That’s really their names?” she asked.

  “These two cannot be separated. We’ve had three people try to adopt Jeff, but it’s always tough to find the right home for a bull terrier. Mutt’s a big baby, though, and Jeff is his favorite toy. Someone has to take them both because I’ll never break them up.”

  The way he said it, with such simplicity and honesty and love, touched her. And made her wish she’d been recording. How could she get this man’s abiding respect for animals across on the page?

  “So who comes up with these adorable names?” she asked.

  “Some come with the dogs, some we give them. Some they just seem to own, like Mutt.” He tossed a few treats into their kennel. “Good job, Mutt. You keep that wild Jeff out of trouble.”

  All Mutt did was lift his paw so Jeff could take one treat in his teeth and bring it to Mutt. Then he went back for his own.

  “Awww.” Jessie pressed her hand against her mouth. “I love that.”

  Garrett guided her along the row of kennels, and she couldn’t help noticing again how pristine the area was. The gates were all white, not dingy gray or jail-like. The floors were polished, the sun pouring in from strategically placed windows and skylights. They spared no expense at Waterford, and it was obvious.

  “These are all rescues and fosters in this section,” he said. “It’s my home away from home.”

  More good quotes slipping away. “I’d like to use that line in your story.”

  He huffed a sigh. “Do I have to watch every single word I say? Can’t we have an official start time, and this not be it?”

  Even if she didn’t write down his quotes and thoughts, she’d be taking mental notes, but Jessie had a feeling if she told him that, he’d shut down completely. “Sure,” she agreed. “Oh, look who it is!”

  Lola was flat on her belly, food untouched, and as miserable as she’d been yesterday. At the sound of Jessie’s voice, she perked up.

  “Good morning to you, Miss Lola.”

  She trotted toward the gate with a light in her eyes that touched, squeezed, and possibly took full ownership of Jessie’s heart. She barked three times in quick succession, making Jessie clap her hands with unabashe
d joy.

  “Her signature bark,” she said to Garrett. “Have you noticed?”

  “She’s trying to say something to you, that’s for sure.”

  Three more barks, and these came with the slightest leap off her front paws, the move like a little dance on Jessie’s heart. “Is that possible? That she’s trying to tell me something?”

  “With that mix? A border collie and Aussie shepherd? She’s the doggie equivalent of a Mensa candidate. And excited to see you, Jess.”

  The way he said her name, short, sweet, all the coldness gone. That did a little dance on her heart, too.

  In a move so natural it almost didn’t faze her, Garrett draped an arm over Jessie’s shoulders and stood next to her, peering down at the now standing Lola like two proud parents gazing into the cradle.

  Amazing how this dog changed him, she thought.

  “I brought her back, Lola. Just like I promised. Will you eat now?” He opened the kennel door with his free hand and guided Jessie in with his arm still around her. It was warm, strong, masculine, and so incredibly perfect on her shoulders.

  But Jessie took only a moment to think about that, because Lola actually pressed her snout against Jessie’s khaki pant leg and whimpered, doubling down on Jessie’s poor heart.

  “Oh, girl. I’m so happy to be back.” Petting her, she bent over, kissed her fluffy tan and white head and, immediately, Lola went to the food bowl and ate a little.

  “You are magic, Jessica Jane Curtis.”

  She laughed, then looked up at him. “How did you know that was my full name?”

  “I read just about every article you’ve ever written.”

  She drew back, stunned. “You did?” A new warmth spread through her—a mix of pride and hope and a little pressure of professional anxiety. “What did you think?”

  He lifted one dubious brow. “I think I better be careful. And you should know you’re not getting any of that out of me.”

  “Any of what?”

  “All the feely crap.”

  Feely crap? “You mean emotional insights into the things that make a person tick?”

  He crouched down, shifting his attention to Lola. “She sounds like a shrink instead of a journalist,” he whispered to the dog.