by Jo McNally
“Yeah, but...” He automatically started to defend himself, but he didn’t know how to put his thoughts into words. “I mean... Okay, you’re right about Mel and Shane. But there’s something about Brittany Doyle...”
Nora’s smile returned, and she reached over to pat his arm. “Just admit it, Nate. You don’t like anyone or anything new. Change is not your friend. But this town is changing.” She waved toward the other side of the street. “Hell, you’re changing it with the boardwalk. The resort is getting more and more popular, and the town...” She pointed straight at him. “The town has to accept that we’re going to grow and change because of it. I know your family’s been here forever, but they’ve survived all the ups and downs so far.”
“But...” He sputtered for a moment. “Why is she over there taking pictures of Stella’s building?”
“How should I know? Maybe she likes historical architecture. Maybe that’s something you two have in common. Why don’t you go ask her, Nate?” Nora nodded at four customers coming through the door, dismissing him with one last dig. “Since you seem to be so fascinated by the woman.”
Nate rolled his eyes and headed back to the hardware store. He’d been gone too long as it was. Brittany and Stella were just walking into Stella’s place as he crossed the street. His eyes narrowed again. Brittany had been here four days and already knew Nora, Mel and now Stella. Making herself at home? Or something else?
It was more than unsettling that she was staying at Vince’s little cabins. He drove by Walnut Point on his way home every day. He could walk there easily. It was a little too close for comfort.
“Good morning, you salty son of a...”
“Hank, no.” Nate tapped the side of the cage with his fingers. “No swearing during the day. You know the rules.”
The large bird twisted his head to the side, then gave a wolf whistle. “Handsome Hank! Handsome Hank!”
Hank was a handsome bird, with his brilliant turquoise feathers with sapphire tips and the orange, black and white around his face. He’d been one of Nate’s father’s many irresponsible purchases, bought on a whim. Or maybe won in a card game—the story had always been a bit fuzzy. But the foul-mouthed parrot had somehow managed to worm his way into Nate’s heart. It wasn’t the bird’s fault his dad had taught him every curse word known to man.
He dropped a couple of dried banana chips in one of the plastic dishes inside the large handmade cage, and Hank snatched one right away, holding it with one foot and nibbling his way around the edges. The parrot knew he wasn’t supposed to use curse words after his morning tirade, but Nate had a sneaking feeling he did it once in a while just so Nate could correct him. Then he’d say something cute and get a reward. Hank was no dummy.
“You’re gonna ‘handsome Hank’ your way into a stew pot if you’re not careful.”
Hank ruffled his feathers and hollered.
“Help! Help! Help!”
No, he wasn’t really sentient, but he was extremely intelligent and remembered a lot of cues. Threatening him with the words stew pot always got him screaming “Help!” The customers loved it, and Hank loved applause. And banana chips. Nate tossed him another and headed back to his office.
There was a stack of bills on his desk that needed to be paid. But first, he fired up the computer and checked his website. Not the one for the hardware store, but the one for Gallant Lake Picker—the side business that kept this place afloat. He’d probably be better off financially if he sold off the nails and bolts and ropes and the rest of the hardware items and filled the place with the antiques he gathered on the weekends. But he didn’t have it in his heart to be the one who ended the generations-long hardware business. He’d promised his grandfather he’d keep it the same as always.
He had two offers on the vintage Halcolite lights he took out of Sally Mitchell’s house last week. They weren’t all that priceless or rare, but it was a complete set from the 1920s, with a large chandelier and four matching wall sconces—solid bronze with all the crystal teardrops still intact.
The first offer was laughable, but the second was close to his asking price, and the buyers were up in Lake George, so they could drive down and pick them up. Not having to box and ship them was worth dropping a few bucks off the asking price. He messaged them that they now owned a set of lights. With a little bit of money coming in, he felt better about paying bills.
He’d been at his desk for an hour or so when he heard the brass bell above the front door tinkling. Hank had it covered.
“Hello! Hell-oo! Hi! Hello!”
Nate heard a woman’s voice and immediately thought of Brittany. Which was weird. Maybe Nora was right in saying he was obsessed after two brief conversations. A man’s voice spoke next, and Nate walked out to greet a young couple. They were looking for rope for the small boat they’d just purchased, and he set them up with enough line, as well as fiberglass polish and vinyl conditioner for the seats.
And all the while, he wondered why Brittany Doyle had been right next door with Stella and never stopped by his place. Yeah, Nora had a point about him being obsessed, and it was time for him to shake it off and get on with his day.
Chapter Four
Brittany had been in real estate long enough that she should have known better than to sign an agreement to rent this so-called adorable cottage. Adorable was always a code word for tiny. That it was small wasn’t all that shocking—the ad said it was a one-bedroom, seven-hundred-square-foot cottage. That square footage was just...smaller...than she’d anticipated. She walked outside with her coffee and looked the place over again. This was her third morning there, and the place wasn’t getting any bigger.
Cottage was just as generous as adorable was. This was an old square clapboard box sitting on cement block supports. The cheery green metal roof appeared recent, but the rest of the place? She took in the peeling white paint and a set of sagging steps leading to a wooden screen door painted to match the roof. There wasn’t much that was cheery about the rest of it.
She had been mildly relieved at the interior. It was definitely rustic, with the gray painted wood-plank flooring and a kitchenette straight out of the ’50s with its tiny refrigerator and gold-flecked white vinyl counters. But it all seemed clean, and the sofa and easy chair had bright yellow slipcovers. The bed and bath were compact, but serviceable for a month. She got a kick out of the cast-iron tub with a clear plastic shower curtain hanging from a track on the ceiling above it. Okay, maybe that was the adorable part of this place. But at least there was Wi-Fi. Cleanliness and Wi-Fi were really her only requirements.
And it did have a nice view. The cottage—who was she kidding, it was a cabin—was on a narrow piece of land that jutted out into Gallant Lake. There was a cluster of these little square boxes. They were old...really old...summer camps that had been converted to rentals. Brittany had taken the one farthest out, so she could see water outside the windows on three sides. Clouds were low and threatening that morning, but she paid no mind to that. She’d learned storms blew up and blew over quickly here. Conrad would be expecting reports on her progress, even if it was her first week there.
She’d made contact with three of the owners on the water side of Main Street. Four, if she counted Nate Thomas, but neither of their conversations had involved properties or selling. Stella was looking for a tenant, but she said she’d sell if the right offer came along. Bill Nichols owned the vacant diner. He’d been surprised to get a call from Brittany about buying the property, but he hadn’t said no. Probably the most challenging prospect for a quick sale were the Carters with their consignment shop. Their business wasn’t exactly booming, but they referred to themselves as “lifers” in Gallant Lake and said they weren’t ready to retire for a while.
It was a fine line Brittany was walking, trying to keep all this under the radar of the gossip grapevine that surely existed in a small town like this. She’d told each pe
rson that she was just curious and might know someone interested in buying a business property here. Then she begged them to keep it “just between them” for now, as she was only here to visit and didn’t want to be hounded by people looking to sell. That was just enough to plant the seed with each property owner that there might be competition out there—other sellers with more enticing properties, or maybe lower prices. So they’d agreed to keep things on the down low. There was no way to enforce it, of course. There was still a chance someone would tell a friend, and the friend would tell another friend, and so on. But she hoped to keep her dealings quiet until she had two or three of the properties they wanted under contract.
Later that day she made herself dinner and sat down to relax. She’d opened most of the windows and the front door to let a nice lake breeze blow through the cabin. Knowing she hadn’t planned to see any clients today, she was a bit more casual, but still too citified for this place. Her pink seersucker capris and matching knit top were comfortable, but stylish. Then again, the town had a lovely clothing boutique, so she couldn’t say the place had no style at all.
She took a sip of her wine, grateful the town also had a good liquor store. Her deep fuchsia toenail polish was making a statement in her sparkly flip-flops. The ones Nate Thomas had given her. She’d never been much of a flip-flop girl, even when she spent time on the Gulf Coast beaches around Tampa. But the fluorescent orange footwear made her smile for some reason. The same way that kitschy drink did the other night at the resort.
She heard a soft scuffling sound outside the screen door. It was still daylight, if fading a bit, so she didn’t think it could be a wild animal poking around...or could it? What she knew about living in the mountains would fit on the back of a matchbook. Were there bears here? Badgers? Raccoons? Or worse...rats? She wasn’t feeling relaxed anymore. There was the sound again. This cabin was ancient—was there a way for critters to get inside? Could it come through the screen door? That thought was enough to get her on her feet.
She’d be damned if she was going to feel intimidated by a noise. She was Brittany “Barracuda” Doyle, and she didn’t back down from any fight. She’d learned to never blink in business, and she figured the same rules applied with wild animals. Whatever was snooping around out there was going to regret it. She picked up the kitchen broom and moved slowly to the door. She’d just scare off whatever was out there, lock herself in and get back to her wine.
She grabbed the door handle, gripping the broom with her other hand, and whipped the screen door open. To her horror, something small and furry came running past her feet and into the cabin the instant there was enough space. Brittany let out a shriek and spun around, then let out a shaky breath.
It was a smallish dog. At least...she was pretty sure it was a dog. It was possibly white under all the dirt, its long hair matted in some places and standing on end in others. It had ears that stood straight up, with tufts of hair making them look even bigger. That hair—this dog had no shortage of it—fell across one eye, à la a young Brad Pitt. She leaned over and checked. A boy. A wild-haired boy dog. Sitting in the center of her living area.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She set down the broom and pointed to the door, which she was holding open. “You need to go home. And this ain’t it.” He tipped his head back and forth in that adorable way dogs had... No. She could not think of this mutt as adorable. She didn’t do dogs. She didn’t do pets, period. She traveled too much, and they were an impractical distraction she didn’t need in her life.
But this dog was unconcerned with her practicality. His feathered tail swept back and forth on the floor where he sat, and his mouth dropped open to reveal a bright pink tongue and a goofy grin. She steeled herself against his obvious charm.
“You need to go. Get out. I’m serious!” She held the door farther open. “Get out right now.”
“Is everything okay here?” The male voice coming from outside made her shriek again, letting the screen door slam shut. Halfway through her scream, she realized she recognized the voice. Nate Thomas. The man was everywhere. She glared at him through the screen. He’d ditched his jeans and plaid for khaki cargo shorts and a well-worn T-shirt. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he seemed to be bristling and tense.
She’d always been of the opinion that cargo shorts were the hallmark of suburban dads trying to look hip and failing badly. Seriously, what did any man need that many loops and pockets for? Dweeb city. But for some reason, the shorts worked for Nate. Maybe because they were as well-worn and soft-looking as his T-shirt. Maybe because they hung a little low on his hips, revealing the slightest hint of an underwear waistband...red with a wide blue stripe in the elastic. A surprising bit of color for Mr. Plaid. What on earth was he doing outside her temporary home?
“You know, Nate, it’s one thing to run into you at a public place like the resort. Understandable coincidence there. But I really need to know what you’re doing at my front door.” Her eyes narrowed. “Uninvited.”
He held up his hands in innocence. “Sorry for seeming like a creeper dude. I live down at the end of Lakeshore Drive, which is just down that way.” He nodded his head to the side. “Nora told me you’d rented one of Vince’s places, and I was going to welcome you to the neighborhood.” His expression grew more serious. “Then I heard you trying to throw someone out and got concerned. Is everything okay?”
She grinned in spite of herself.
“This place is attracting a parade of uninvited male guests tonight.” She held open the screen door so he could see the dog. As soon as the dog saw Nate, he started barking, coming to stand at Brittany’s side like a protector. It was cute. No, not cute. She did not need a dog.
Nate grinned and stepped forward to scratch the pup’s chin. “I’ve seen this dog skulking around people’s trash cans for a few weeks now. You brought him inside, huh?”
“He brought himself in. I heard a noise and opened the door, and he bolted inside. And won’t leave.” She put her hand on her hip and stared down at the dog, who was definitely grinning up at her. “I don’t do dogs.”
“It looks like maybe you do.” He patted Joey’s head—oh, God, she’d named the dog—and stood to face her. “He’s a mess. Want some help cleaning him up? Do you have dog dishes and food? I sell pet supplies at the...”
“He is not a pet! At least, he’s not my pet. I don’t want a dog, no matter how cute he is...” She closed her eyes in frustration. She had to stop noticing his cuteness. “He can’t stay. This is a rental, and they probably don’t want pets...”
“Vince has four dogs of his own,” Nate said. “Pretty sure he’s not anti-dog.”
“He must have owners somewhere.”
“I’ll ask around, but he doesn’t look like anyone’s beloved pet.” Nate pointed out the obvious. “He hasn’t been cared for. No collar. No tags. And like I said, I’ve seen him digging into trash around here for a few weeks now. It’s not uncommon for people to dump unwanted dogs in remote neighborhoods like this.”
This couldn’t be happening. “If he’s a stray, he won’t want to be confined. He’ll want to live outside, running free.”
“Um...” Nate nodded toward the sofa behind her. Where Joey was curling up on a pillow, plopping his chin on his front paws, watching them adoringly. His tail waved back and forth when they looked at him. He looked very much at home. Damn.
“Fine.” Brittany waved her hands. “I give up. Joey can stay, but only as long as I’m here. I am not taking this dog home to Tampa.”
Nate chuckled. “Joey?”
“Yeah...that mop of hair reminds me of Brad Pitt from his Meet Joe Black days. So...Joey.”
“Okay. Well, Joey still needs a bath. And food.”
“I can handle that on my own, thanks.”
“You’re a real independent type, huh?”
She lifted her chin. She bore a lot of weight on these shoulders of h
ers, but that was okay. She was used to it. She gave him a thin smile meant to send him on his way.
“You have no idea.”
He studied her face. She did her best to hold on to her I-rule-the-world expression, but there was something about this guy’s dark gaze that unnerved her every time. One corner of his mouth twitched upward. She’d somehow managed to amuse him again.
“That’s cute, but you’re in a small town now, and we don’t let people handle stuff alone. I’ll be back in a bit.”
And he was gone. Didn’t say where to. Didn’t say why he thought he had to return. Just gave her that small-town spiel and split. She heard a loud sigh behind her. Joey had stretched out across the sofa pillow and was falling asleep, his head hanging off one edge of the pillow.
Her sister would die laughing when Brittany told her that, in the span of half an hour on her first week here, she’d gained a helpful neighbor she didn’t want and a mangy dog she didn’t need. Things were not going according to plan, and Brittany liked it best when the plan was followed. But damn, that little dog was cute.
And frankly, so was the neighbor.
* * *
Nate told himself he was just being...helpful. That was what Gallant Lake folks did—they helped each other. Even if that meant driving into town, opening their shop, loading their van with pet supplies and driving back to a woman’s house to help her adopt a dog she claimed she didn’t want. It was almost dark when he got back to the cabin she’d rented from Vince.
The thought made him chuckle as he parked the van. He knew Vince had been renting out the old fishing camps, listing them on some vacation website. He’d seen a few people in and out that summer. Mostly fishermen, mountain bikers or rock climbers, looking for a cheap spot to stay with room to store their equipment. Definitely a lot less upscale than the resort, which was interesting. Brittany Doyle definitely seemed like an upscale kind of woman.