The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  “It’s a wedding, sir. Not the beach. Or the hills.” She gave him a sly smile. “I’m versatile.”

  “And still able to break up a dog fight without getting a hair out of place. Impressive.” He beckoned a couple of men she guessed were golf club cronies. “This is Bridget. She organizes our Thanksgiving dog pageant. Bridget, these are my oldest friends, Roger and Neil.”

  “Gentlemen.” The handshake came easily to Bridget this time. “My pageant brings people and rescue dogs together. And sometimes… just people. I’m not sure if you’re aware, Mayor, but I matched the bride and groom.”

  She normally shied away from such claims, but Duff had predicted the mayor would respond positively.

  “A matchmaker in Dorset Hills?” he said. “Fascinating.”

  “Every town needs one, sir. Especially a romantic place like Dog Town.”

  “My niece met a young man through your event,” Roger said. “They’re besotted with each other.”

  “Wonderful,” Bridget said. “I’m eager to see what this year will bring. Mind you, I do worry about holding the pageant in the hills. It can be slippery and unsafe at this time of year.”

  “She’s got a point, Bill,” Roger said. “My wife loves that event, and I wouldn’t want her going up to the hills right now.”

  “Attendance might drop, and that would be a shame. I’m afraid we’d lose the media, too,” Bridget said.

  “I believe the beach was an option,” the mayor said. “It’s safe and it’s central.”

  Bridget kept working her smile. “Oh, sir. Safe doesn’t need to mean boring, does it? I have other ideas. It’s not too late.”

  He rolled his eyes at his cronies. “Shoot.”

  “Well, I was thinking—”

  “Bridget? Bridget!” The wedding planner bustled over. “Photos!”

  The mayor smiled as Bridget resisted. “The show must go on, Birdie. We’ll talk later.”

  After the photos were done, the mayor had been surrounded by an impenetrable crowd. Bridget took the opportunity to get the dogs outside. The courtyard behind the hotel was gorgeous in summer and she often met friends there for a drink. The bugs could be bad, but she loved hearing the frogs sing in the marsh.

  By now, the frogs would be settling in to hibernate. Winter was sending threats on a stiff breeze.

  The multicolored plastic lanterns glowed on the patio as the sun set and she went towards them, stumbling on the uneven flagstones. It was nice to have a reprieve from the crowd inside.

  “Hey, Bridget.”

  She turned, startled. A couple was standing in the shadow of the hotel. Peaches moved to the end of her leash and gave an imposing growl for a spaniel mix.

  “Another savage,” the man said. “Never a dull moment for you.”

  Sullivan Shaw, with his gazelle, Grace. She’d had the sense to put a coat on over her dress, unlike Bridget.

  “It feels like a circus sometimes,” Bridget said. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

  She turned too quickly and tripped over the leashes. Sullivan reached out to steady her. His hand felt warm on her cool skin—so warm that she moved away quickly. Her skin had no business tingling like that for Sullivan Shaw.

  “I love your dress,” Grace said. “So pretty.”

  “Pretty uncomfortable, actually.” She crossed her arms, wishing she’d brought Duff’s scarf after all. “At least for a tomboy like me. I used to come down here as a kid and catch tadpoles in the marsh.”

  Grace shuddered, but Sullivan laughed. “Kept them in a jar till they sprouted legs?”

  “Yep. Coolest thing ever. Then I brought them back and set them free.” Bridget laughed a little. “Sometimes I still come down to hear the frogs singing. I wonder how many generations have passed.”

  “You must be sad about the swamp then,” Grace said.

  “That they expanded the hotel? Yeah, I was.”

  “That they’re draining the rest of it.” Grace jerked back a bit, as if Sullivan had tried to silence her.

  “What do you mean?” Bridget’s grip on the leashes tightened and Peaches growled again.

  “They’re developing it. Putting up a low-rise and some shops. Sullivan can tell you more. He’s part of the team.”

  “This isn’t the time, Grace,” Sullivan muttered.

  The fury that started in the pit of Bridget’s stomach chased away the chill. “You’re destroying the marsh?”

  “Not all of it.” He sounded both sheepish and defiant. “There will be a park. Kids can still come down and catch tadpoles.”

  “I… I don’t know what to say.” Bridget’s voice was tight and high. The only time of her childhood that she remembered with much fondness was about to crumble under the weight of Dorset Hills’ progress. “I hate—” She stopped herself. She wanted to say people like you, but she knew Sullivan wasn’t the cause of the development. Dorset Hills was growing in leaps and bounds. “I hate hearing things like that,” she finished at last.

  Sullivan buttoned his suit jacket. “I know it’s hard to see things change in Dorset Hills. But the work will be done responsibly.”

  “Yes, of course.” Bridget’s voice was faint. “Excuse me… I need to walk the dogs.”

  She left them on the patio. It was past dusk now, and she picked her way carefully over the grass.

  “Stay away from the bank,” Sullivan called after her. “It’s wet and muddy.”

  “For now,” she called back. “Soon we’ll be able to shop here.”

  If he answered, it was drowned in the babbling of the water as it came downstream before dispersing into the marsh. There was a fish ladder about half a mile upstream. Lake Longmuir wasn’t exactly a thriving ecosystem, but it did foster a few salmon that came back to spawn. Where would they go now?

  There was a loud splash in the water. A muskrat, she guessed, or an otter. Peaches leapt forward and yanked the leash out of Bridget’s hand. Then there was a louder splash as the dog went off the bank and into the water. “Peaches! Peaches, come!”

  Peaches wasn’t coming. She was sloshing around in the darkness.

  “Water dogs,” Bridget said, cursing. “Peaches, come out of there.”

  The splashing came from higher upstream now. Peaches was enjoying her swim. Following the noise, Bridget walked along the bank. Bruno whimpered, and she wished she had Beau with her, instead. He’d collect Peaches and put her properly in her place. The dog would come out eventually, but in the meantime, Bridget was freezing in her skimpy dress.

  “Let’s try reverse psychology, Bruno,” she said, turning, and hobbling in the opposite direction. It always worked with her own dogs, but where there was no bond there was no guarantee. However, Peaches turned out to be as smart as Bridget predicted. The splashing followed them downstream. Bridget remembered the geography well. Another sixty yards and the stream would start to dwindle. There was a small sandy stretch of shoreline where she could likely lure and leash Peaches.

  Slowly and carefully, she edged along the bank. Just another few yards now, and Peaches was catching up.

  Suddenly, there was a yelp, and thrashing in the water. “Peaches!” This time Bridget yelled and came close to the edge. The soft clay gave way and she plunged down the bank to land on her hands and knees in shallow water. “Ow, ow.” The stones had cut her hands and knees, and her ankles twisted off the heels, but otherwise, she was okay. “Peaches!” And then, “Bruno, stay!” Luckily, she’d dropped the leash as she fell.

  The splashing got nearer, and then, bam! The dog leapt on Bridget and knocked her right over into the water. Thrashing, she managed to grab Peaches’ leash. Holding it in her left hand, she pulled off her shoes and threw them up on the bank.

  Floundering, she tackled the bank but slid down twice. Fear for Bruno kept her focussed. Finally, a light appeared over the side. Standing on the bank was Sullivan, with Bruno by his side. “Bridget, are you okay?”

  “Take Peaches,” she said, offering the leash up to
him. He knelt and took it.

  “Wait there.” He disappeared for a moment, and then the light bobbed back. Bruno started howling.

  Peeling off his suit jacket, Sullivan went down on one knee again and held his hand out to Bridget. She grasped his fingers tightly, and he pulled. The slime on her hand cost her his grip. He leaned forward to catch her as she slid back, and then he lost his balance too. Down the bank he came. The flashlight tumbled over and over in the water. Cursing, Sullivan clambered to his feet, and went after the light. It flickered, but stayed lit. Just as he grabbed it, the silty bottom gave way and tipped him into a deeper pool of water. He sat up, wet to his chin, unleashing a blue streak.

  Bridget wanted to laugh, but her lips had frozen.

  Scrambling out of the sinkhole, Sullivan shone the light on Bridget and pulled her up. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “I’m fine.” Bridget looked down and saw that Duff’s pink dress was covered in sludge so heavy that it had pulled the already-low neckline even lower. Most of her wet bra was exposed and it was transparent. She yanked up the dress and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “You’re going to need those.”

  She glanced up and found Sullivan looking at her folded arms, grinning. A flush started somewhere down near her frozen feet and cascaded up to her face. She had never felt less appealing, but he seemed to like what he saw.

  “Never mind,” she said. “Where’s Grace?”

  “Inside. Waiting to call the cavalry if needed.”

  “And the dogs are safe?”

  “Just unhappy about being tied to a tree.” He turned to the bank and sized things up. “It’s going to be a mud bath.”

  “We could walk down to the shallows.”

  “Too slippery and rocky for bare feet. Let’s just do this.”

  Maneuvering Bridget in front of him, he lifted her as high as he could, and when she found a shrub to grab, moved his hands under her butt and kept shoving until she tipped over the top. Once she was on her feet, he threw the light to her and clawed his way up himself. Looking down at his clinging, filthy white shirt and slimy pants, he shook his head. “You had to relive your tadpole memories tonight? At a wedding?”

  “Didn’t work out like I planned,” she said, picking her way across the lawn toward the wailing dogs. “I’m sorry, Sullivan. And thank you.”

  She tried to unhook the dogs’ leashes but her fingers were too cold. He bent and released them for her. Watching her shake in great wracking spasms, he tossed her his jacket. “Give me the dogs. I’ll take them inside and then drive you home.”

  “You can’t go in there like that,” she said.

  “Well, you certainly can’t go in there like that.” He glanced down at her bra again, and this time his grin lit up the darkness. “Although the mayor might pay more attention.”

  “Doubt it.” She slipped into the jacket and clutched it closed. “He likes a polished presentation.”

  Sullivan unbuttoned his mucky shirt and peeled it off. Bridget stared at his bare chest, mesmerized. It was obvious that destroying and rebuilding was good for his physique.

  He caught her looking and kept grinning. She expected him to tease her, but he just said, “Let’s get you warmed up.”

  Grace came outside carrying Sullivan’s coat. She gasped when she saw them, but said nothing. Sullivan declined the coat and simply walked inside bare-chested. Grace followed, without even glancing over her shoulder.

  Bridget waited until the door closed behind them. Then she ran.

  Chapter 13

  “You just hopped in a cab?” Duff’s eyebrows seemed to be stuck in the raised positioned as she steered her SUV through the heavy traffic downtown. Normally, Bridget insisted on driving but she was stiff and sore from her adventure the night before.

  “It was more like a slither, actually,” Bridget said. “Then I crouched in the footwell like a fugitive. Good thing it was only a ten-minute drive.”

  Duff pumped the gas and then the brake. “You should have called me, Bee.”

  “No phone, remember?” She braced herself on the dashboard and winced. Her palms were still raw. “I just wanted to get home. Took me an hour in the bath to thaw out.”

  “I’ll bet. Stupid Peaches.”

  “I went back to the hotel this morning to collect my stuff. Nika’s shoes are ruined and your dress is on life support at the dry cleaners. They’re making no promises.”

  “I don’t care about the dress. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  Bridget held out her palms. “The wounds to my pride go far deeper.”

  “I hate to ask about the mayor, but…”

  “That’s one reason I bolted. I didn’t want to undo the progress I’d made.”

  “Okay, good. I mean, it wasn’t good, obviously. But it was gallant of Sullivan.”

  Bridget gave a dismissive wave. “He’s still a slimy developer. Outside now, as well as in.”

  “Cut him a break. He has different priorities, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, wrecking everything good in this town.”

  Duff’s hand hovered over the horn at an intersection. Several people sauntered across with their dogs even after the light had turned red. “Come on, move it,” she said.

  “Don’t honk. You know what they say…”

  “Scare the dog, beware the owner.” Duff snorted. “Dog people think they can flout every traffic light. Honestly.”

  “Your road rage fascinates me.” It was the reason Bridget usually drove despite Duff’s complaints about dog hair in the van. “You’re so smooth everywhere else it has to bubble up somewhere, I guess.”

  Duff shook her finger at an old lady and her poodle, and then shook it at Bridget as well. “Never mind.”

  “That’s exactly what I told Sullivan when he ogled my boobs in the creek last night.”

  Duff braked hard for a red light. “He ogled?”

  “And smirked.”

  A grin swept across Duff’s face. “Really! And where was Grace during his facial gymnastics?”

  “Avoiding the swamp and the dogs. Smart lady.”

  A loud honk made them both jump. The light had turned green and they hadn’t moved forward. Duff exchanged her index finger for her middle one as she pounded the gas.

  “Cool your jets, will you?” Bridget said. “We’ve still got fifteen minutes.”

  “We’re back-to-back with two house calls before meeting Mike at City Hall. We can’t afford to be held up by idiots.” Duff made a hard right followed by a hard left. Now they were driving parallel to Main Street on Lonsdale Avenue. The atmosphere in the car cleared as they flew. “So Sullivan wasn’t put off by your stink?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My friend, you still smell of marsh sludge—even after that hour-long bath.”

  “And a few showers on top.” Bridget grinned. “Well, I bet he smells even worse. You should have seen him go down in that sinkhole. Good thing my lips had frozen, because I only laughed inside.”

  “You can laugh, but I think your frog man is going to turn into a prince.”

  “For Grace, and she’s welcome to him.” Bridget pumped an invisible brake. “Slow down, jeez. I want to live to see the pageant.” The car circled some jaywalking teens, practically blowing their hoods back. “I feel kind of bad I never noticed before how pretty Grace is. She’s got that sexy librarian vibe. Frogman’s bringing that out in her.”

  “Meh. She’d blow away in a stiff breeze. Men like women they can mud wrestle.”

  “Says the woman whose hair is always perfect.”

  “In public, my friend. In private, it’s a whole different cage match.”

  Two phones buzzed simultaneously, in Duff’s lap and Bridget’s.

  “Uh-oh,” Bridget said. “Must be a 911.” Grabbing her phone, she confirmed it. “Turn right at the next intersection, Duff.”

  “Bee, we can’t.” Duff’s voice was pleading.

  “It’s a rescue emergency. W
e have no choice.”

  Sighing, Duff turned and drove at breakneck speed toward the outskirts of town. “This is really bad timing.”

  “There’s no good time for a rescue 911. If a dog’s in desperate need, house calls can wait.”

  “But the debut is on Saturday and the pageant five days after that. Besides, urgent rescues are so risky, Bee. Any negative press would be deadly right now.” Bridget didn’t respond, so Duff continued. “Let the girls handle this one. If you want to make it through Thanksgiving without the wheels falling off, you’re going to have to delegate more.”

  “Nika and Maisie don’t have enough experience,” Bridget said. “And Cori’s a wild card.”

  “Less so, lately. You used to be a wild card too.”

  “Guess we’re all learning from you to try diplomacy before combat.” Bridget drummed her fingers on the dash. “How about I keep the meeting with Mike, and you work with the girls on the rescue to make sure it goes well?”

  “Deal. I have a hat and sneakers in the hatch.” The only time Duff lowered herself to flats was a 911, where speed and agility might mean the difference between saving a dog and getting arrested.

  Duff steered off the main artery into Holmburg, a suburb that got little profile in Dorset Hills. The houses were packed together, many of them dilapidated.

  Taking an old gravel road, they drove toward the trail head. They were on the south side of the range of hills, fifteen miles from the main trails and Clifford’s Crest. Council had vowed years ago to connect the entire trail system, but it hadn’t happened yet. When the local citizens complained, the new mayor had renewed his commitment by delivering one of the original bronze dog sculptures.

  That was why a huge chow-chow sat at the start of the rough trail, surrounded by scrubby bush. They could just see the tips of his ears as they pulled into the gravel parking lot. Cori’s truck and Nika’s car were parked at the far end.

  “Why a chow-chow, anyway?” Duff asked, sending up a cloud of dust as she sped towards Cori’s truck. “Out here, a hound or a setter would make more sense.”

  “You’re expecting the City to make sense?” Bridget said. “Someone must have backed out of their sponsorship. I heard these statues go for twenty grand. Imagine what that money could do for services for dogs. People like us wouldn’t have to do the dirty work.”