The Dog Town Collection

by Sandy Rideout

  Bridget got up and filled the bowl. “Well, Grace is pretty sweet, I guess. For someone who doesn’t use sugar.”

  “He’s sweet on you, Bridget. That’s pretty obvious. Grace is just a friend.”

  Grabbing a handful of spoons from the drawer, Bridget dropped them onto the tray with a clatter. “I don’t get the sense Grace knows that. It’s not right.”

  “Let them work it out. You’ve got enough on your hands right now.”

  Picking up the tray, Bridget followed Duff out the door. She only lost one mug and two spoons on the way to the barn, and that was a small miracle, considering how slippery the path was now that Sullivan had widened it with his backhoe. He’d also cleared the brush all the way around the barn. It looked bare and violated.

  “It’ll grow back,” Duff said, seeing her expression. “It’s good to keep things clear.”

  “I told him not to plow anything,” Bridget grumbled.

  “Be nice,” Duff reminded her. “This is like an old-fashioned barn raising. It’s amazing.”

  More than a dozen people were already at work, pulling down old boards and carrying them out. Sullivan and Carver measured and discussed, and then discussed and measured again, before cutting the new wood. The preparation seemed arduous, but after a certain point, everything came together quickly. The hammering was loud and the laughter louder. Maisie worked alongside Ron, and it seemed like there was as much flirting as work going on.

  Cori had moved up the ranks and assigned herself official crew leader. She was the only one whose vote vetoed Sullivan’s. “No,” she said, more than once. “The dogs wouldn’t like that.”

  Sullivan and Carver exchanged glances but fell in line. The dogs were ultimately at the helm.

  The room shaped up beautifully. It was 16 feet square, with layers of soundproofing. There were plenty of vents, and only a few long, high windows. The point was to build a spa retreat, and the dogs would never be in there for more than a few hours.

  By noon, they were down to the final touches. “Let’s get out the power sanders and smooth it all down,” Carver said.

  They carried in two sanders, and plugged them in. The roar was deafening, but only for a moment. Then there was an odd whooshing sound followed by silence.

  “What the hell?” Carver said. “We blew the power.”

  “Doesn’t make sense,” Sullivan said. “The wiring’s fine for that load. I had it inspected.”

  Carver gave him a strange look. “You had it inspected?”

  Glancing at Bridget, Sullivan said, “Long story, but yes.”

  Ron’s head was back and his nostrils flared. Then he shouted, “Fire.”

  The shout rippled through the barn. Everyone scrambled, looking for the source. In the opposite corner from the room they’d built, a few flames licked out from under the panelling. Someone brought in a hose and hooked it up while others grabbed drop cloths and soaked them. In short order, the fire was out.

  “Way to ruin a good barn raising,” Trent said.

  Duff and Nika took Bridget’s arms and led her outside. “I’m fine,” she protested.

  “You’re as white as that drop sheet,” Duff countered. “Just sit down a moment.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Bridget, sit,” Sullivan said, pointing to a massive toolbox near Carver’s truck. “Just catch your breath, and we can sort this out.”

  Shaking off her friends’ hands, Bridget did as she was told. Her mind was racing like a greyhound on a race course. Sullivan’s deep voice was calming, even if he was giving orders like he owned the place. There was time to address his misconception later, when she wasn’t worried about her house burning down.

  Ron, Sullivan, Carver and Trent dispersed to examine the back of the barn.

  “Stay,” Sullivan said, wagging a finger at Bridget as he went around the corner.

  Once they were gone, Bridget looked up at Duff. “I can’t believe I almost fainted. It’s so embarrassing.”

  “Bee, it’s a totally normal reaction to seeing your house on fire. Or your barn, for that matter. Plus, you’ve been under so much pressure. Just keep breathing, okay?”

  “Sullivan was right. The inspection said the wiring in here was sound,” Bridget said.

  “It was and now it’s not. Welcome to the uncertainties of home ownership.” Duff patted her shoulder. “It’s nothing an electrician can’t fix.”

  “Bridget, come!” It was Sullivan’s voice out behind the barn.

  Duff laughed. “It’s cute, how he speaks to you in a language you understand.”

  “It’s annoying,” Bridget said, leading Duff over the freshly dug-out soil to a corner at the rear of the barn. Ron and Sullivan were on one knee, while Carver and Trent leaned over them.

  “What’s going on?” Bridget asked.

  “This board was loose,” Ron said. “It came away too easily.”

  “Squirrels?” Trent asked.

  Carver ran his fingers along the edge. “Not unless they know how to use a crowbar.”

  Bridget’s heart raced. “Someone vandalized my barn?”

  “Worse,” Ron said, shining his flashlight inside. “Rigged the power to trip.”

  Sullivan peered inside. “The wires are cut.”

  “Cut? You must mean chewed.” Bridget’s head was spinning, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Clean snip,” Ron said. “It’s deliberate.”

  Duff and Nika grabbed her arms in case she got faint again. “You mean someone wanted the barn to catch fire?” she asked.

  “Looks that way,” Ron said. “I’m sorry, Bridget. I’m going to have to call in the fire marshal. And the police.”

  Bridget closed her eyes. “I don’t understand. Why would anyone do this? My dogs could have been… hurt.”

  “We all could have been hurt,” Ron said. “Arson is no joke.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Most people hung around, following the police and the fire marshal. Duff eventually insisted Bridget sit down again on Sullivan’s toolbox.

  “No wonder the dogs have been freaking out,” Bridget asked. “Someone’s obviously been sneaking around.”

  “You know who first came to mind?” Cori asked.

  “Daniel,” Nika and Duff said, together.

  “Exactly,” Cori said. “But if we tell that to the cops, it might come out that we stole Geronimo.”

  “It’s a risk Bridget needs to take,” Duff said. “This is no joke. Whoever did this doesn’t care if he hurts people or dogs.”

  “I’ll tell them,” Bridget said. “If Daniel did it, Tina may not be safe, either.”

  “Who else?” Duff said. “There’s no way this is random.”

  “Someone had to know we were planning this build for today,” Bridget said. “Why else target the barn?”

  “Word gets around,” Cori said. “The neighbors didn’t want you expanding. This sent a message.”

  A crow cawed overhead and Bridget saw that five of the big black birds were sitting on a branch, seemingly watching. It was hard not to see it as an omen.

  “The investigation will take forever,” she said. “And there’s no way the CCD will approve a kennel license until this is resolved.”

  They fell silent for a long moment. Finally Duff spoke. “I’m sure the cops will figure this out, Bee. In the meantime, please stay at my place. You’re not safe here.”

  “I’m as safe as a woman with 13 dogs can be,” she said. “No one will come near the house while they’re in it.”

  Bridget stared around at her friends. Normally they all looked ready to burst into laughter. Now, Nika was crying, and Maisie paced as if she wanted to punch someone.

  Cori’s expression shocked Bridget the most. Her warrior eyes were soft with pity. Resting a hand lightly on Bridget’s shoulder, she said, “Bee, you’ve got to rehome the dogs. You can risk your own safety if you like, but you can’t do that to the dogs.”

  That was when the seri
ousness of the situation really sank in. “Right. Of course, you’re right,” she said.

  “The police will get to the bottom of this,” Duff said. “Don’t worry.”

  Cori became the warrior again. “And if they don’t, we’ll do it ourselves.”

  Chapter 18

  “Chin up, chest out,” Duff said, as they marched into The Dog House Building Supplies the next afternoon.

  “Really? Must we lead with the chest?” Bridget resented that Duff had made her change into another sweater at the coffee shop. A tighter sweater, naturally, and one of three Duff had brought along in full expectation that Bridget’s outfit would disappoint. “We are brilliant, accomplished women.”

  “Women being the operative word. Two women in Dog Town’s biggest independent hardware and building supply store. We need to play to our visible strengths first.”

  Bridget trailed after Duff up and down the aisles of tools. “I’m tired of playing. This game is hard.”

  The mafia had stayed the night, speculating on who might be behind the snipped wires. The police were convinced it was just a scare tactic to keep Bridget from building a kennel, and were focusing on the neighbors. Bridget thought they were probably right, but she’d found placements for all the dogs anyway.

  “You’re tired, period. And no wonder after what happened yesterday. I wish we could call off the pageant this year.”

  “No way.” Bridget shook her head emphatically. “Even if the money weren’t an issue, I wouldn’t let whoever did this stop me. And I won’t let them keep me out of my house, either.”

  “Understood.” Duff grabbed a trowel off a peg board. “Then you’ll need to dig deep, my friend. We’ve got to seduce a few sponsors today.”

  “I object to the term seduce.” Bridget picked up a hammer from the opposite side of the aisle and waved it. “I have my limits.”

  Duff traded her trowel for a fly swatter. “Pack your old limits away. Today we forge new ones.”

  Dodging out of the way as Duff tried to swat her, Bridget smiled in spite of herself. “The pageant’s always been hard work, but it used to be fun, too. Maybe I should pack it in and focus on running the bistro.”

  “You’ll never give up on rescue.” Duff continued up the aisle, heels clicking on the tile floor. “It’s in your blood.”

  Four men turned at the sound of Duff’s stilettos, and their faces lit up. “Can we help you, ladies?” one asked.

  “Absolutely, gentlemen.” Duff offered her brightest smile.

  “You’re in the market for flyswatters?” he asked, gesturing to the one in Duff’s hand. “In November?”

  “It’s to keep the boys away. Thanksgiving brings them out in droves.”

  The men laughed and surrounded them, renewing their offers of help.

  Duff introduced herself and then Bridget. “Which one of you gentlemen is in charge?”

  A balding man with a salt-and-pepper beard tapped his nametag. “That would be me. I’m Sid.”

  “We come with a very special request, Sid. On Thanksgiving, my friend is holding an event to refurbish Seaton Dog Park. We’d like to request your backing.”

  “The pageant, right?” Sid leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “My nephew got one of those dogs a few years ago. Nice little mutt.”

  Duff’s eyes lit up. “Then you understand what this event contributes to the community, and how it can benefit local business. We’ll post signs around the park and feature your logo on all communications.”

  “I’d have to ask the owner,” Sid said. “You’re leaving it a little late.”

  Bridget stepped forward. “That’s true, Sid. Things have changed this year and we’re flying by the seat of our pants. I only firmed up the location a few days ago.” She described the event, and then handed him a list of the supplies they’d need.

  “Whoa,” he said. “That’s some list.”

  “Nothing terribly expensive,” Bridget said.

  Sid looked torn. “I can’t promise anything, ladies. The owner gets hit up a lot—sports teams, playground builds, you name it.”

  “This is different,” a male voice said, behind them. “It’s not just another softball league. It’s an opportunity to back a local legend.”

  Sullivan Shaw joined them, carrying several yards of corrugated silver tubing.

  Bridget’s face burned. “Legend?”

  “Sullivan’s right, Bridget,” Duff said. “You’re a Dog Town institution just as much as this store is. It’s a great match.”

  Sid shrugged. “All I can do is make your pitch to the boss and tell him Sullivan’s backing you. That means something around here.”

  “Wonderful, gentlemen, thanks.” Duff reached for the business card Sid offered. “We’ll send you an information package shortly.”

  Bridget walked ahead of Duff and Sullivan, feeling claustrophobic. Duff grabbed her sleeve before she could escape out the front door.

  “That was so kind of Sullivan, wasn’t it?” She elbowed Bridget. “Obviously your reference means something around here.”

  “Thank you,” Bridget muttered.

  Sullivan grinned at her. “That sounded like it cost you.”

  She sighed. “It’s not personal. I just hate going around hat-in-hand. People used to come to me.”

  He grappled with his armful of silver tubing. “With the tides turning in Dog Town, we’re all going to have to do things differently. There’s no room for pride.”

  “There’s always room for pride.” Bridget’s tone was clipped. “At least, I hope so.”

  Duff gave her another elbow jab. “Sullivan, it’s been a tough morning dropping off the dogs, as you can imagine.”

  Bridget reached unconsciously for Beau’s head but her hand dangled awkwardly. She’d reluctantly agreed to Duff’s request to do the dog-and-pony show without the dog.

  “Who got Fritz?” Sullivan asked. “My little buddy.”

  “He’s still at my place with Cori. She’ll take him home later.”

  “Let me have him.” Sullivan fumbled with the silver tubing; it sprang out of his hands and clattered to the floor. “I’ll take good care of him.”

  Bridget appraised him curiously. With the tubing coiled around his feet, Sullivan looked like an ordinary human. His blue eyes had softened from sharp to entreating. For some reason, he really wanted Fritz.

  “This dog is a challenge,” she said. “And he’s been the most unsettled by all the commotion. I think Cori’s the best one to handle him.”

  “I can handle Fritz. You know he likes me.”

  “Of course. It’s only a few days, Sullivan, but I’m warning you, it’s hard not to get attached.”

  “I’m the king of detachment,” he said. “I’ll give him back on time and I won’t even cry, I promise.”

  Bridget grinned. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I bet you’ll bawl like a baby.”

  “Inside, maybe,” he said, grinning back. “But I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “Sounds like it’s agreed,” Duff said, opening the door. “Now, don’t trip over that snake, Sullivan.”

  Bridget trailed around outside with Beau and Fritz, reluctant to go inside even though it was chilly. She was down to two dogs, and soon only one. Her pack disappeared abruptly every Thanksgiving, but this loss was premature, and more bitter than sweet. All her little goodbye rituals would have to be forfeited. On Thanksgiving morning, she’d collect the billeted dogs and go straight to Seaton Park.

  Her eyes blurred with tears, and initially she mistook Sullivan’s car for two vehicles. There was no mistaking the purr of that little sportscar, however.

  He climbed out and Fritz charged across the parking area to hurl himself into Sullivan’s chest. “Hey, buddy,” he said, letting Fritz bathe his face in excited licks.

  “Don’t let him jump,” Bridget said. “He’ll think he can do it to everyone, and some senior citizen will go down hard.”

  “Fine.”
He put the dog on the ground. “You don’t give Fritzy enough credit. He’s discriminating.”

  “I couldn’t leave him with the Fergusons for this very reason. I gave them Lulu instead.”

  “The Fergusons next door? You mean they fell for the cookie ploy?”

  Bridget couldn’t help grinning. “I suppose so. We had a nice chat when I delivered the cookies, and they stayed for tea when they brought the plate back.”

  Starting a game of chase with Fritz, he called, “I’m pretty taken with myself right now.”

  “Don’t get him too excited,” she warned.

  Ignoring her, he darted after Fritz. Bridget couldn’t help smiling. There was something magical about seeing a grown man playing tag with a dog. Whatever cares Sullivan might have, they were forgotten in that moment. He was quick and agile, but Fritz was even more so. As Sullivan dodged to avoid the dog, Fritz jumped and caught the fabric of his pants. He was literally hanging off Sullivan’s butt.

  “Fritz, leave it!” she shouted.

  Sullivan spun and the dog spun, too, paws splayed out.

  “Off, off!” Sullivan yelled.

  Fritz wasn’t letting go. Like most terriers, when he caught what he wanted, he held on to the death.

  “Sullivan. Just stand still.” Bridget was shaking with laughter as she bent over, grabbed Fritz under her left arm and pried open his jaws with her right. The left pocket of Sullivan’s designer jeans was punctured in several places. “Are you okay? He didn’t break the skin, did he?”

  Sullivan’s face seemed flushed when he turned, but he recovered easily. “I don’t think so. And I won’t ask you to check.”

  Bridget sat down on the porch stairs and laughed till her sides ached. “That was the funniest thing I have ever seen. If you could have seen your face…”

  “Didn’t do much for my pride,” Sullivan said, sitting beside her. “But it’s nice to see you laughing.”

  “Can you imagine if I’d left him with the Fergusons? James needs a hip replacement, and he’s already worried about winter. The last thing he needs is a terrier grabbing his—”