New Leash on Life (The Dogfather Book 2)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “I do?”

  Molly and Darcy blew in next, delivering hugs, hellos, and generally increasing the noise level.

  “So why didn’t anyone call Darcy and me to tell me there was a Kilcannon drink fest at Bushrod’s last night?” Molly demanded with a playful fist on Shane’s chest.

  “It wasn’t a drink fest,” Shane said.

  “And word is there was kissing.” Darcy put her hands on her hips and looked from Shane to Chloe, who started laughing.

  “Who was kissing?” Dad asked, frustrated that he didn’t know this tidbit.

  Molly poured a Bloody Mary from the pitcher into a glass Shane handed her in a move they’d done so many times, it felt choreographed. “Who wasn’t kissing would be a better question.” Molly took her own celery stick for the drink and pointed it to Dad. “In fact, our very own Liam—”

  “Left with Andi Rivers,” he finished for her. “Don’t even have to go to church to get that gossip.”

  On his other side, Darcy elbowed him. “You shoulda gone, Dad. Molly said Cassandra Michaels was there.”

  “There and looking good,” Molly added. “She dressed to impress somebody and it wasn’t Father John, based on the number of times she looked back at Gram and me.”

  Dad shot her a deadly look. “That’ll be enough of that,” he said gruffly, turning from the island and heading into the pantry, far enough away to end the conversation.

  “Enough of what?” Liam asked, coming in from the living room, rolling up a sleeve of his white dress shirt.

  “Did you go to church, too?” Shane asked, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Raised as Catholic as any Irish brood, most of the Kilcannon kids hadn’t stepped inside St. Cecilia’s since the day of Mom’s funeral. Molly took Pru sometimes in her effort to be a better mom, and Darcy drove Gramma but rarely stayed for the service. Shane, Garrett, and Liam never went.

  “I did,” Liam said, starting on the other sleeve.

  Except never say never.

  “Things so bad with Jag’s training you have to pray for him now?” Shane teased.

  Liam ignored him. “Hello, Chloe, how are you?”

  “I’m good, Liam. Thanks for walking Andi home last night.”

  Molly and Pru shared a look and Darcy plopped both elbows on the island and stared at her oldest brother. “Spill it, big guy.”

  “Shut it, little girl,” he fired back.

  Darcy just grinned and flipped her long, blond hair, a wicked smile on a face too beautiful for its own good.

  “Oh, Liam,” Dad said, coming back in. “I heard you saw Andi last night.”

  Everyone laughed, but Liam just closed his eyes and shook his head, stepping closer to Chloe who was perched on her barstool taking in all the verbal volley like she was on the main court at Wimbledon.

  “Hope you’re ready for a Kilcannon Sunday dinner.”

  “I’m starving,” she said.

  “Don’t think that’s what he means,” Molly quipped.

  “I can handle it,” Chloe assured them, then laughed. “I think.”

  That cracked them all up and took the heat off Liam, and then Garrett and Jessie came in with Lola, and the party was in full swing. A house full of dogs, drinks, and lively discussions.

  Shane was quiet, though, taking it all in.

  Maybe it was the first kick of Dad’s supercharged Bloody Mary. Maybe it was the family teasing or just Shane’s leftover libido that was still taunting him, but as he watched Chloe navigate the always bubbling waters of the Kilcannon family, something felt a little out of sorts in his chest.

  Was it just the way her dark eyes sparking in a way that reflected all the energy in the room? Or was it just that he wasn’t fighting that low-grade anger that bubbled up when he was in this house? And why wasn’t he? Something was different today.

  “Don’t you think so, Shane?” Chloe asked, putting her hand over his.

  Damn, he’d missed the question.

  “Don’t you think that change will be great for everyone?” she added.

  “Oh, yeah, definitely.” He turned his hand and threaded his fingers through hers, not caring that Molly, Pru, Darcy, and Dad were zeroing in on the gesture. He wanted to thank her for the distraction and the relief from a pain that had been around so long, it was part of him.

  “All right, all right, I’m here.”

  Every sound in the room instantly stopped, and all heads turned toward the living room. Around the corner came Gram, eighty-six years old, barely an inch over five feet, and just as mighty as ever.

  “I thought you wanted me to pick you up in half an hour, Gram,” Darcy said, instantly popping over to put her arm around their grandmother’s tiny frame.

  “I got a ride,” she said, looking hard at Dad. “Cassandra Michaels of all people.”

  “Imagine that,” Dad said dryly.

  Gramma came all the way into the kitchen and scanned them all with blue eyes behind rimless bifocals. She walked right up to her, crossed her skinny little arms, and stared Chloe down. “Are you the lass who wants to change the name of this town?”

  Chloe visibly swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Let’s take a walk, then. I have a story to tell you. It happened in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and—”

  “Fifty-four!” Every single Kilcannon in the room said it in unison.

  Chloe blinked. “Okay.”

  “Brace yourself,” Shane whispered. “You might be getting the long version.”

  Molly picked up Chloe’s half-finished Bloody Mary and stuck it in her hand. “Here. You’ll need this.”

  Everyone cracked up except Chloe. She just took a big, deep gulp.

  * * *

  “They said you were a pretty one,” Gramma Finnie said, her Irish lilt as lovely as her sky-blue eyes and surprisingly creamy skin for a woman closer to ninety than eighty. “But then, I wouldn’t expect Shane to go for anything less. Rachel was a beauty, too.”

  Rachel? First she’d heard of a Rachel. “Sounds like they’ve said a lot of things,” Chloe replied as they left the back patio, keeping her steps slow so she could maintain the older woman’s deliberate stride.

  “It was a wonder Father John could preach a sermon today without mentioning you, lass. Seems like most other folks could talk of nothing else.”

  Chloe had to laugh. “I think I’ve invaded all the churches in Bitter Bark this morning. So much for the confidentiality of the Tourism Advisory Committee.”

  “Welcome to Bitter Bark and the news according to Jeannie Slattery.”

  “So she’s the leak,” Chloe mused.

  “I’m sure she’s leakin’ plenty when she climbs out of Mitch Easterbrook’s bed.”

  Chloe coughed a shocked laugh. “I thought I sensed a little something between those two.”

  “What’s between them is little for sure with that man.”

  A laugh bubbled up, along with a memory. “That sounds like something my mother would have said,” she quipped. But Doreen Somerset’s caustic humor had also been cruel. Somehow, Chloe didn’t think Finnie Kilcannon had a cruel bone in her little body. “And good information to have in my back pocket.”

  “Oh, I’m a fountain of information and, in case you haven’t heard, I’m Irish. Born there, you know. But the best part of my life started when Seamus and I pulled an old clunker off the highway for gas, and Corky, my setter, read the name of the town and started to howl like a sick puppy.” Finnie elbowed her. “You can tell Shane you got the shortish version. The long one always includes the fact that Seamus had to go to the bathroom so bad, I didn’t think we’d make it to the gas station.” She chuckled. “I like that version.”

  Chloe smiled and put a hand on the woman’s narrow shoulder. “I’m honored to hear any version of this story, Gramma Finnie. It’s history and I don’t want to mess with that. I’m trying to change the future, not negate the past.”

  “I like the dog idea,” Finnie said with a dry laugh.
“Obviously. And I see that you want to lose the bitter, not the bark.”

  “Of course, we can make Bitter Bark dog-friendly, and if we get businesses to agree and the committees to do events, that will help. It doesn’t have to be a permanent change, but in my experience, you have to package something and make it obvious. That’s the difference between moderate improvement and huge success.”

  “I heard that about you, too.”

  “That…being…”

  “You’re a persuasive one.” A smile threatened. “Good trait for a woman to have.”

  She felt a little sigh of relief slip out. “I believe in what I’m trying to convince the town to do,” she said. “I’m sure you know that when you believe in something, it’s easy to persuade others to join your side.”

  “It won’t be easy.” Finnie steered her off the path, away from the wide areas where a few dogs were running around with one person, toward the shade of the overhang of another building with a shingle that read Kilcannon Veterinarian. There was a bench that was probably for clients to wait with their dogs, and Finnie gestured to it, ready to sit. “This is as far as I want to go.”

  Chloe sat next to her, crossing her hands on her lap, sensing that this wasn’t the time for small talk or idle conversation. Gramma looked up at her, searching her face as if looking intently for something. A flaw? The truth? Chloe didn’t know, but she didn’t look away.

  “I hear you kissed my grandson at Bushrod’s last night.”

  Chloe laughed softly and shook her head. “What did this town talk about at church before I showed up?”

  “The undertaker and the redhead,” she answered without hesitation. “Shane’s a fine lad, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. As evidenced by the well-documented kiss on the dance floor.”

  “Damn fine-looking,” Gramma added.

  “Gorgeous, really.”

  “Smart as a whip, you know.”

  “Georgetown Law,” Chloe said. “Obviously very intelligent.”

  “He makes me laugh more than any one of my grandchildren,” she added. “He’s got a heart for animals, of course, and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for me if I asked.”

  Chloe nodded. “He is an all-around great guy.”

  Gramma lifted a white brow. “Is he a good kisser?”

  She dropped her face into her hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Yes. One of the best ever.”

  Gramma’s expression was pure satisfaction as she leaned back with a grunt as if to say, I knew it! “Course, he is Irish. Seamus could kiss my panties off faster than I could down a glass of whiskey.”

  “So good kissing is a family trait?” Chloe joked.

  Gramma just smiled and looked straight ahead, a little lost for a moment, maybe thinking about Seamus’s panty-stealing kisses. “If I support this idea of yours, it will help you. I’m small but mighty in this town. And on the Internet.”

  “I understand that, and I would only want you to do what makes you happy and comfortable.”

  She inhaled slowly. “I need to know why.”

  “Why? The idea? Well, I’ve done this kind of thing for other tourism councils. A big idea that people rally around can really make a difference and will honestly bring a lot of money into the town.”

  “But why do you want to do it?” she pressed. “To add this success story to your fancy résumé? To impress my grandson? Why does it matter to you, a young woman who lives somewhere else?”

  “Blanche Wilkins is my aunt,” she replied without hesitation. “Her husband, Frank, put his heart and reputation on the line with the first phase of the gentrification of Bushrod Square.”

  “Frank was a good man,” Gramma said. “A little better in the mayoring department than his widow, I’m afraid.”

  “Maybe, but I have the ability to help her, and she’s my family.” Chloe leaned a little closer. “She’s my only family,” she added. “My mother is gone and my father died when I was a baby. I have no siblings. And Blanche didn’t have children. My whole life, she’s been a…a special aunt. My godmother, actually. I want to help her.”

  Gramma Finnie turned, stunning Chloe with moisture-filled eyes. “You and Blanche? That’s it? That’s a small circle of strength. That’s what Irish say a family is, you know.”

  She wouldn’t know. She had no idea. “Yours certainly is,” Chloe said.

  The old woman studied her for a long, long time, thoughts brewing in those blue eyes that were still swimming with tears. “All right, then. I know all I need to know. Family matters to you. Even if you don’t have much of one.” She stood, putting a hand on Chloe’s thigh to get a push up. “Then we should try and do something to help yours.”

  She looked up. “Does this mean you’ll support the name change?”

  She gave a sly grin. “A name change is exactly what I’ll be supportin’, lass.”

  Chapter Twelve

  The emergency meeting of the town council to vote on the consideration of a name change got scheduled for Wednesday morning. But that had given Shane and Chloe two full days to take Daisy in and out of many of the shops that ran the perimeter of Bushrod Square.

  And every time a person fell for Daisy—like the bookstore owner who ended up on the floor with her and the florist who tucked daisies in her collar—they not only won important hearts in town, but Shane’s own heart felt lighter.

  He didn’t know what he loved more, converting the world to pit bull lovers or watching Chloe become more and more comfortable with touching and petting Daisy. The more she fell for the dog…the more he fell for her.

  They learned early on that most of the time, they needed to buy something, so every few hours, they’d go back to Chloe’s house to give Daisy a break and unload their purchases.

  Together, they were the proud owners of more stationery, baked goods, T-shirts, socks, teacups, craft beer, candy, fresh produce, a box of nails with a hammer, and body butter than either of them could ever use. Although, that last one? Shane was pretty sure he could come up with something creative.

  Tonight. This afternoon. Soon.

  But Chloe had to present today to the town council and to what he knew would be a sizable audience of non-voting, but very interested, townspeople. Every one of their Daisy Drop-ins, as she called the visits they’d made for the last two days, had helped the cause.

  There wasn’t universal support for the name change, but if the popular vote were taken today and not just the council vote, Shane was pretty sure he’d soon be living in a town called Better Bark.

  Daisy had indeed been a secret weapon. In fact, right now she was pacing the brick sidewalks of Bushrod Square as if she expected to be taken into a local business and fussed over.

  “Not today, girl,” Shane told her as he settled on a park bench and took a few more pictures of her to text to Marie, since he’d been keeping her informed about Daisy’s PR job. “Chloe’s doing her special Chloe thing.”

  Chloe had left a key to her house hidden for him and asked him to stop by and take Daisy out while she was presenting to the town council, since she had no idea how long she’d be. As soon as he got the dog, he knew he wanted to be the first person she talked to when she left that presentation.

  He wanted her to win this for so many reasons. He was all in on the idea, of course, having spent days with her learning how her business worked. No nights, though. He’d left her house three—no, four—times in a row with no more than a lot of long kisses. Anything more and her wall went up and she grew cool and distant.

  “Hello, Shane.”

  He turned, pushing up the beak of his ball cap to get a better look at the man walking toward him. Even with the sun in his eyes, he recognized the wide girth of Dave Ashland, the real estate broker he’d last seen at the Tourism Advisory Committee meeting. “Dave.”

  Daisy got up as Dave got closer, making the man slow his step a little. “That a Waterford rescue?” he asked.

  “Not a rescue,” he
replied. “We’re watching her for a friend who’s laid up for a while, and she’s living with Chloe Somerset.”

  At the mention of Chloe’s name, Dave glanced toward town hall. “Heard they called an emergency meeting of the council to vote on her big idea.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not there,” Shane said, surreptitiously holding tight to Daisy’s leash as Dave came over and sat down on the bench. She trotted closer and sniffed, and Dave gave a shaky smile, inching his legs away.

  “I heard all I needed to hear at the last one.” He was still staring warily at Daisy. “Got bit by one once,” he said. “Looked a lot like this.”

  Shane eased Daisy closer and gave her a look, which was all she needed to sit. “I got bit once, too,” he said.

  “Really?” Dave seemed surprised. “That pit bull breed?”

  “She’s a Staffordshire terrier.”

  Dave gave a dubious look. “Right.”

  Shane resisted a screw you response, knowing that having the man see Daisy in action—or not, as the case might be—would be a lot more effective than telling the big, fat blowhard that one bad experience didn’t define the breed.

  “Sure would be nice to get that tourism stuff passed and do some more tenants down here for my client, James Fisker,” Dave mused, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked toward town hall. He was about the same age as Shane’s father, but this man had lived life a lot harder.

  “Yes, it would be nice,” Shane agreed, not really interested in chatting, but not wanting to be rude.

  “In fact, I talked to him today and told him big things were going to be happening for this town.”

  “Could be. I’m waiting to find out how her presentation went.”

  He gave Shane a bit of a side-eye, as if that connection surprised him a little. “Yeah, that dog idea sure would be a boon for Waterford Farm, I guess.”

  “Waterford is pretty much packed to dog capacity, to be honest. But we’re going to be happy to help out with some of the events that get planned.”

  Just then, the front doors of the town hall building opened, pulling Shane’s attention.

  “If they get planned,” Dave murmured, but Shane barely heard him because Chloe stepped into the sunlight, in a white dress that fit her curves without being too tight and fell above her knees, showing her pretty, long legs.