The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  Chapter 2

  Bridget wondered if she was the first person to fall in love with a driveway. It was long and curvy, with squat trees on either side that would flower in spring. Behind them were towering maples that shook rusty orange leaves onto the well-packed gravel. At the bottom, massive twin oak trees the color of oxblood stood sentinel where the drive opened to a parking area large enough to hold at least 15 cars. The house itself was a sprawling cottage, with smoke drifting up from the chimney. It was painted the mild blue of a summer afternoon’s sky. In Wychwood Grove, houses were often colorful—red, orange, yellow, teal and even pink. It was a like a maritime harbor, only without the sea. No doubt City Council would crack down on that eventually and issue an order to neutralize to match the downtown core.

  Duff was standing beside her red SUV, grinding something into the gravel with one stiletto-heeled boot. She was dressed impeccably in a black wool coat with a silk scarf that matched her blue eyes. Her hair grazed her shoulders in a sleek auburn bob. Redheads were wise to keep it simple, she always said. She stood out in any crowd as it was.

  Beau jumped out of the van after Bridget, and Duff’s wide smile downgraded to a thin line. “You can’t bring a dog to a house showing, Bee.”

  “Beau’s not a dog, per se,” Bridget said, as he took his habitual position at her left side.

  “Newsflash… he’s a dog. And a large, imposing one at that.”

  “He’s my quality control manager. What he doesn’t like, I don’t like.”

  Duff rolled her eyes. “The owners are home, so he can’t come inside unless they give permission.”

  “It’s Dog Town, Duff. I doubt they’ll be shocked.” Bridget followed her friend around the house and into the backyard, where the earth was spongy and covered in damp leaves. It smelled like mold and fungus and all the good things of cottage life. “How can you walk in those things?”

  Stepping lightly over slippery slabs of shale, Duff laughed. “I can leap tall buildings in a single bound in heels. I feel the same way about them as you feel about Beau.”

  Bridget rested her right hand on Beau’s sleek head. “I doubt that.”

  They crossed a stretch of lawn and then followed a short path of cedar chips through a thatch of young, gold maples. Finally, Duff stopped, and raised her arms dramatically. “Voila.”

  The sound that came out Bridget’s mouth was half-gasp, half-groan. “No!”

  “Yes. Yes, my friend.” Duff’s huge grin swallowed most of the freckles that dusted her cheeks.

  Before them sat an old red barn. There were few barns left in Dorset Hills that hadn’t been converted to posh artist lofts. Through the double front door, Bridget glimpsed several antique cars, most covered in drop sheets.

  “I want it,” Bridget said. “Mine, Duffy. Mine mine mine.”

  “The barn would make a great kennel and let you expand. But it needs some work, Bee. And the house, too.”

  Bridget blinked a few times, afraid the image would vanish. Then she rubbed her eyes, which were the gray-green of the lichen on the barn’s wall. “It’s gorgeous.”

  Duff laughed. “Oh, Bee, only you could see beauty in a rickety old barn.”

  Bridget laughed, too, and Beau joined them, his tail going around like a propeller. “I see what it could be, given some love and grooming.”

  “Remember what I said: lots of people fall for the first house they tour, but that doesn’t mean it’s the best one. Just keep an open mind, okay?”

  They walked through the barn, and Bridget spun around to view it from every angle. It wasn’t a complete wreck, but the floor sagged in places and heavy dampness hinted at leaks above.

  When Duff finally lured Bridget back outside, a silver-haired man was pulling logs from a woodpile and dropping them into a wheelbarrow.

  “Well, hello,” he said, smiling at Bridget. “I know you, young lady. You matched my daughter, Stacey, to her husband.”

  “Stacey Olson, yes!” Bridget beamed at him. “Actually, I matched your daughter to a Doberman mutt named Peanut. The husband was just a lucky accident.”

  He selected another log from the pile. “Speaking of accidents, they’re expecting twins any day. My wife and I want to move closer and help out.”

  “Ah, so that’s why you’re selling this beautiful place,” Bridget said. “I couldn’t understand why anyone would let it go.”

  Standing behind Mr. Olson, Duff pressed her finger to her lips. Prospective buyers were probably supposed to play harder to get.

  The old man sighed. “This house has so many wonderful family memories. But it’s getting harder for me to keep up with everything.” He ran a gloved hand over the logs. “I’m proud of this woodpile, but it takes work.”

  “I can see that,” Bridget said, admiring the stacked, even rows.

  Beau nudged Mr. Olson’s hand, and he automatically stroked the dog’s shoulder. “Now that is a beautiful animal. Is he one of your rescues?”

  “Once upon a time, yes. Now he’s the love of my life.”

  Mr. Olson shook his head. “Pretty girl like you needs more than dogs.”

  “Dogs are less trouble. Even thirteen of them.”

  “My wife would probably agree with you,” he said, with a chuckle. “Come inside and meet her. The dog is more than welcome.”

  Bridget made a face at Duff, who rolled her eyes again.

  After they greeted Mrs. Olson and downed a quick cup of tea, Duff led Bridget around the house quietly pointing out every fault and flaw. Bridget countered each negative comment. The cramped third floor bedroom with the sloped ceilings would make a perfect office, she said, and the dingy laundry room was better than the non-existent one she had now. The dated kitchen had charm, and the powder room was so small it would be easy to clean.

  Duff stared at her. “Are you stoned, Bridget? I’ve never heard you like this. You’re… bubbly.”

  “Bubbly? Ridiculous.” Looking around the kitchen, she pulled a long breath in through her nose. “They must be piping something into the air.”

  Perching on a hoop-backed chair at the kitchen table, Duff persisted. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Bee?”

  Bridget pulled the card with the kittens out of her purse and handed it to Duff. “My landlady wants me out by Christmas.”

  “She can’t evict you unless she’s moving in herself. That’s the law. You can make her prove it to the City.”

  “I know, but it’s awful. I’ve been a good tenant for 12 years. You know how much of my own money I’ve put into keeping the place up.”

  “You’re an excellent tenant and she’s lucky to have you,” Duff said.

  Beau pressed against Bridget, sensing her concern. “Who else would rent to me? Everyone knows about my rescue program.”

  “Still, you can’t buy this house just because your landlady’s making empty threats. It has to be a considered decision.”

  “Well, let’s consider it, then.”

  Together, they flipped through the home inspection the owners had commissioned early, in hopes of creating a bidding war when the listing went live the next day. Real estate in Dorset Hills had spiraled out of control in the past five years. Even here on the fringes, houses sold for way over asking price.

  Duff tapped a polished maroon nail on every issue cited, murmuring disapproval. The Olsons hadn’t kept up the house as well as they could have, and the inspection had a long list of required repairs, some more urgent than others.

  “The roof needs to be replaced,” Duff said. “That’s at least ten grand. And the porch is unstable, which is another three. The plumbing isn’t up to grade, either.”

  Bridget deflated with every tap of Duff’s fingernail. Fighting tears, she said, “I guess you’re right. It’s hopeless.”

  “Hopeless? I never said that. All of those things can be fixed if you really want the house. But we’d need to get it for the right price to leave a budget for repairs.”

  “Do I have enou
gh now? I was counting on the pageant to build my down payment.”

  Duff rested her chin on clasped hands. “Honestly, Bee, I doubt it. I think they’ll get multiple offers. If you go in too high, the roof won’t get done.”

  Running her hand along white wainscoting, Bridget nodded. “Okay. I understand.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Duff touched her friend’s arm. “Do you think your mom might help out?”

  Bridget jerked her arm away. “I’m not asking my mom for money. You know how much she hates Dorset Hills.”

  “Okay, okay. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “I know you like her, Duff, but trust me when I say that wears off when you get to know her better.”

  Bridget and her mom had grated on each other through years of crisscrossing the country for her father’s job. When he’d passed away three years earlier, Bridget had been devastated, whereas her mom had dusted herself off quickly and settled just far enough away that they had a good excuse not to visit each other.

  Duff closed the inspection binder. “Why don’t we chat later when you’ve had some time to think? We can make an offer tomorrow if you want.”

  Taking a last look around, Bridget led the way out to the van in silence. She opened the driver’s door and Beau jumped through to the passenger seat. Then she slid behind the wheel and rolled down the window. “I guess you’re right. I should wait for a house that doesn’t break my bank.”

  There was a pinging sound of gravel on metal, and they both looked up the driveway. A low silver sports car was practically flying toward them, sending bright leaves twirling up in tiny tornados.

  Duff turned as the tiny convertible reversed into the spot beside her car. Bridget peered around her. The car looked freshly washed and sparkled in the now-setting sun. The driver didn’t own a dog, of that she was sure.

  The car door opened and a dark-haired man unfolded from it. He was surprisingly tall and broad-shouldered given the size of the car. Pulling off his shades, he dropped them on the seat before closing the door and heading toward the house. He didn’t even look their way.

  “Wow,” Duffy said. “What is that?”

  The man’s gait was elegant and effortless. On a driveway thick with dust he didn’t raise a cloud. “A vampire?” Bridget guessed. “Or a shapeshifter? He’s a luxury car in human form.”

  “That he is.” Duff’s hand twitched, as if she wanted to fan herself.

  After knocking on the front door, the guy finally turned and glanced toward them.

  “Wait, I know that guy,” Bridget said, ducking. “I turned him down two years ago.”

  “For a date?”

  “No, not a date. When’s the last time I went on a date?”

  “Too long ago to remember. You should do something about that.”

  “What’s he doing here?” Bridget gasped as she realized. “Duff, get in here.”

  Duff came around the van and climbed into the passenger seat, shooing Beau into the back. “What gives?”

  “That’s the developer behind the condo going up by the lake.”

  The door to the house had opened and Mr. Olson was shaking the man’s hand. “You mean Sullivan Shaw?”

  Bridget sniffed. “Who needs two last names? It’s pretentious.”

  “You didn’t tell me Sullivan Shaw wanted one of your dogs.”

  “He wasn’t a good fit.”

  “That guy is a good fit for anything.”

  “If he had his way, all the character would be sucked out of Dorset Hills and we’d all be living in sterile gray boxes.”

  Duff shook her head, bemused. “You turned him down for a dog because he follows the City’s guidelines on architecture?”

  “I turned him down because he’s not a dog person.”

  “Maybe he wanted to become a dog person.”

  “You don’t become a dog person. You either are or you aren’t. And I can always tell.”

  Duff’s phone buzzed in her hand. “Uh-oh. The Olsons’ agent says they’ve just received a bully offer. It must be from Sullivan Shaw.”

  “No!” Bridget grabbed Duff’s arm and shook it like a dog toy. “Mr. Slick is not knocking down my house and building a McMansion. Do something.”

  Chapter 3

  “Bee, you can’t buy a house just to keep someone else from having it,” Duff said. “In fact, that’s probably the number one reason not to buy a house.”

  “It’ll break Mr. Olson’s heart if Mr. Slick bulldozes all his memories. Make the offer.”

  Duff’s fingers flew on her phone, and then paused. “You’re sure, Bee? We have to go in at the top of your range.”

  “The pageant will probably double what it brought in last year.”

  “It’s never a good idea to bank on what you don’t have in your pocket already. I hate to sound negative, Bee. As your agent, I’m sure it will be fine. As your friend, I worry.”

  “Just give me a second to think.” Bridget took a few deep breaths, turning to scan as much of the property as she could see from the car. Beau licked her cheek. His tail fanned gently and steadily back and forth. “Okay. Do it.”

  Hitting ‘send,’ Duff leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “If it’s meant to be, it’ll be. Mr. Slick is likely to counter your offer, and he obviously has coin to spare.”

  Shrugging, Bridget said, “He can try, but this house is mine. I feel it in my bones.”

  Duff gave her musical laugh—the one that had men dropping like flies, if they hadn’t succumbed to her blue eyes already. “If it is, then you deserve it.”

  “I don’t know about ‘deserve.’” Bridget combed her unruly blonde hair with her fingers, twisted it into a knot and secured it with an elastic band. “But I can’t grow where I am. And I hate feeling unwelcome there.”

  “You’ll love having your own place. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  It was true. Bridget had lived in so many places that she craved roots. Her heart had been broken over and over from leaving homes she liked and family dogs she loved. At least those losses had toughened her up for her work now, she thought. Every year, she managed to give up dogs she adored and go on to love new ones.

  The phone buzzed and Duff’s lips pressed in a thin line as she read the text. “He counter offered. It’s a lot more, Bee. Thirty grand more.”

  “Thirty! Crap. Even if the bank said yes, I’d have zero for renovations. In my wildest dreams I’d clear that much from the pageant.”

  Duff patted her friend’s arm. “You’ll probably clear that, but do you want to stretch yourself so thin? You might have to take more shifts at the bistro.”

  Bridget flipped through the photos she’d taken of the Olsons’ house and barn. Resting his head on her shoulder, Beau appeared to be examining them, too. He’d love having a bigger place, she knew. While he tolerated the rescue dogs, he was happy when they left and he had her all to himself. If she had a nice kennel space the house wouldn’t be so crowded.

  “Duff, how many places in Dorset Hills will have capacity for a kennel? I mean, honestly.”

  “I’m always honest with you. Except about smoking.” Duff grinned. “Plenty have room for that, but I’ve heard the City is getting stingy with permits for new builds. So we need to find a place that already has a barn or outbuilding that can simply be refurbished. I won’t say there’s a lot, but they do come up.”

  Bridget found a contact on her phone and called her bank. With a few minutes of pleasant negotiation, they expanded her pre-approved mortgage by fifty thousand. Duff’s smile fled as she sent in the new offer.

  As they waited for a response, Sullivan Shaw came out of the house and walked back to his car. He was staring at Bridget’s van.

  “Look down, look down,” Duff said, and they sunk in their seats, giggling.

  “Why do we need to hide?” Bridget asked, rolling up the window.

  “Because if he knows it’s you—the woman who spurned him for a dog—his pride might ma
ke him bid more than this house really deserves. Why’d you turn him down, anyway?”

  “He’s fake, that’s why.”

  “We’re all fake, my friend. Even you.”

  “I am not fake.”

  “I will grant that you are less fake than most people. But I could point out a few—”

  “Don’t bother. We’re hiding like teenagers spying on a rock star. I concede your point.”

  Duff didn’t give up. “He seems like a good candidate for a dog.”

  Bridget shrugged, as much as she could, crumpled up. “He’s arrogant, and I figured he was trying to use the rescue dog angle to fast-track his assimilation into Dorset Hills. For business, in other words.”

  “It doesn’t mean he’d make a bad owner, necessarily.”

  “He could find a dog anywhere. But then he’d have to do the hard work of raising and training it himself. And guess what? Two years later, he still hasn’t done it, judging by that car. It’s only big enough for a teacup dog, and that wouldn’t suit his image.”

  “You’re such a snob, Bridget. If I wanted a dog, I’d want a ‘turnkey,’ too. I have a busy life. Does it make me a bad person for wanting an easy, trained dog?”

  “Debatable.” Bridget grinned to soften the blow.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Wanting a turnkey dog doesn’t make someone a bad person. But I only have so many I can polish like gems. Demand exceeds supply, so I can be super selective about where they go.”

  The phone buzzed again, and this time, Duff’s jaw clenched. “He’s gone up another twenty thousand, Bridge. He means business.”

  Bridget sat up, suddenly furious. “I mean business, too.” She called the bank again and haggled with her representative until he agreed to cover a short-term bridge loan.

  Duff got serious. “This is a bad idea, Bee. I mean, I have complete faith in you, but less in Dorset Hills. What if something happens and the pageant doesn’t produce like it usually does?”

  “It grows every year, and there’s no reason to think this one will be any different. I’ve still got three weeks to drum up new sponsors. I’ll make a killing and pay back the bridge loan before the house even closes.”