It was a pretty little speech, nicely delivered, and he hated every word of it. All the more so because he knew exactly what it was. The ‘It’s been lovely, but it’s time to move on speech.’ The ‘Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out,’ speech. He’d certainly delivered variations of the same, letting former lovers know as gently as possible that the party was over. But he hadn’t ever realized how much it sucked being on the receiving end of it.
“I see,” he said.
Their gazes met, and then slid away.
Chloe nodded, cleared her throat. “Thank you for understanding.” Her words were clipped, strangely formal. Holy shit—was she calling it off? How had he not seen this coming?
He gave a tight nod. “Of course.”
Christ, he sounded every bit as formal in return. This wasn’t how they talked to each other. Worse, he sounded as if he were agreeing with ending their relationship. He dragged a hand through his hair. What the hell were they doing? If he could just… what? He wasn’t sure.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “You’ll see. Once you get home, everything will fall right into place.”
“You mean, Preston’ll be fine.”
“No,” she corrected. She placed a hand on his chest and tilted back her head to meet his eyes. “I meant you. You’ll be fine, Ian Dowling. I just know it.”
There it was. He’d been a stressed out disaster when he arrived at camp. No argument there. He’d give her that. He also knew that her words were meant to be encouraging. Maybe even inspirational. Chloe was handing him an easy out to just turn and walk away from her. Well, fuck that.
Ian wasn’t a cowboy. He considered himself a Brooklyn boy through and through. But all this talk of him and Preston leaving—just packing up, going home, and putting together the pieces of their old lives without Chloe—was like the proverbial nettle under his saddle. It rubbed him the wrong way.
“Can we go now, Uncle Ian?” Preston stared up at him, his small face lit with eagerness.
“Sure, buddy.” He looked at Chloe, suddenly desperate to reclaim lost ground. Fine—he’d give her some space. But he refused to let her slip away without a fight. “Tell you what. Why don’t I bring back some Chinese food for dinner. You can meet us at our cabin at six-thirty. Will that give you enough time to work?”
A faint glimmer of her smile returned. She nodded. “Actually, that sounds perfect.”
“Good. Any requests?”
“Steamed dumplings,” she replied promptly. “Oh, and moo shu pork with extra plum sauce.”
“You got it.” He stepped toward her, brushed a soft kiss against her temple. “And after dinner,” he said, “you and I need to talk.”
Chapter Sixteen
As it turned out, the report wasn’t nearly as challenging as Chloe had thought it would be. By late afternoon she’d finished her portion of the grant paperwork and was ready to walk it over to Sara Porter’s office. She left her cabin and crossed the grounds to the early 1900’s farmhouse that graced the center of the property.
Maybe because she was coming out of the fog that had enveloped her ever since the day Ian Dowling stormed into her life, or maybe because that very morning she’d determined to see everything as it actually was, rather than the way she wished it would be, she noticed that the main house was desperately in need of a new coat of paint. A few of the fence posts in the training rings needed to be replaced. Ditto the gates. All indicators pointed in one direction: the camp needed money for upkeep and repairs. They needed to develop a steady revenue stream, rather than rely on sporadic gifts—even if those gifts were as generous as Ian’s had been.
The door to Sara’s office was open, but Chloe gave a light knock before stepping inside. Sara sat behind her desk, phone to her ear, making polite noises into the receiver. She smiled at Chloe and held a finger in the air, indicating she’d be right with her.
Chloe nodded and bent down to greet Bowie. The fierce-looking shepherd had sprung up the moment she’d disturbed Sara’s sanctuary, but upon recognizing Chloe, he trotted toward her with his head low and his tail wagging.
“Hey, big guy,” Chloe said, giving his flanks a firm rubbing. He thumped his tail and brushed up against her knee, his big brown eyes silently imploring for more stroking. She laughed and scratched his chest, then rubbed the sweet spot behind his ears. “Good boy. What a good boy you are.” She motioned him into a Sit, fed him one of the homemade peanut-butter flavored snacks Sara kept in a jar on her desk, and then put him into a Down and tossed him another treat. “You’re not so tough, are you? You’re just a big softie. Just a big, cuddly beast,” she cooed.
She looked up to find Sara had finished her call and was watching them, her lovely features drawn into an expression of concern. “Do you think so?” she said.
“Do I think what?”
“Do you think he’s getting soft?”
Chloe hesitated before replying. Soft in what way? she wondered. A canine assistant was trained to discourage protective or aggressive tendencies. A display of either characteristic meant the dog washed out of the program. That was non-negotiable. Yet that had never been true of Bowie. For as long as Chloe had known him, the dog had been extraordinarily protective of Sara. Now that she thought about it, other than the opening day bit he performed to welcome the camp’s new arrivals, Bowie didn’t actually serve as a canine assistant. He was just… Sara’s guard dog.
A sensation of unease swept through her. Carefully she answered, “He’s ten now, right? I guess the old boy’s earned the right to get a little soft.”
Sara bit her bottom lip as she considered that, then seemed to collect herself. She gave a firm shake of her head and glanced at the file Chloe held, once again all business. “Looks like you finished the report I need for the grant. Any issues?”
“Nope. I think we’re a shoo-in.” Chloe slipped into a chair opposite Sara’s desk and passed her the file, watching her boss review the document.
“Perfect,” Sara said after a minute, giving it a satisfactory pat. “If we can just find three more grants like this, we’ll be able to meet all our expenses for the next six months.”
“Or we set up an income stream independent of grants and the occasional donation,” she said, for what was perhaps the tenth time in as many months. “We’ve been lucky so far, but we can’t count on either one to sustain us indefinitely. It’s just not good business.”
“But we’re not a business. We’re a non-profit.”
“A non-profit with expensive operating costs. If we want to keep the Hudson Valley Canine Assistance program afloat, we’ve got to figure out a way to pay our bills.”
Sara set down her pen, leaned back in her chair, and regarded Chloe steadily, her beautiful blue eyes suddenly cool. “Are you suggesting we start charging our clients?”
“Of course not. But there are other ways to generate income.”
“Such as?”
“Well, we could expand our services. Start offering obedience classes, doggie daycare, our own exclusive brand of dog treats, long-term kennel facilities.” Chloe stood up, pacing back and forth in excitement as she generated ideas. “We’ll start advertising to the local community and let them know we’re here, rather than operate solely on word-of-mouth.” She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “We’re so low-key it’s almost like we’re in hiding.”
A shadow crossed Sara’s face, but Chloe ignored it and pushed determinedly on. “We’ll use social media to get the word out. Who wouldn’t buy a dog treat from us, especially if they knew the money would go toward training assistance dogs for people in need?”
“Dog treats?” Sara frowned. “Chloe, I don’t think—”
“It’ll work if we put a face on what we do here. Your face, Sara. You’re not just gorgeous, you’re the perfect spokesperson for the camp. You’re passionate, you’re dedicated, you’re incredibly hard-working.”
“I’ve already told you, Chloe, I can’t.”
; Chloe sucked in a breath, reining in her anger. For the most part, she and Sara got along beautifully. But on this one issue, they continued to butt heads. “It just doesn’t make sense,” she said. “Why struggle so hard to pay bills every month? I know people would support us if they knew about the work we do. I can put together a media kit, and you—”
“But—”
“Sara, people will absolutely love you. I can set up a whole social media platform, plaster your face all over the Web. And you know I have connections with local hospitals. I’ll arrange friendly meetings, press interviews, you can speak at civic associations—”
“Damn it, Chloe, no. You’re not listening. I can’t do it!”
Bowie, who’d been napping beneath her desk, jolted at Sara’s sudden agitation. He leapt up and shot forward, hackles raised, lips curled back in a growl.
Chloe froze. Her gaze shot from Bowie to Sara.
“Bowie, Kennel!” Sara instantly commanded, horrified. Bowie obediently trotted off to his cage. The two women locked eyes. Sara looked away first. She drew in a shaky breath and forced an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to raise my voice like that.”
Interesting. She apologized for her own display of temper. But she didn’t say a word about Bowie’s reaction. The reaction Bowie had been trained to give, should he detect the slightest apprehension, fear, or anger in his owner’s voice.
A glimmer of awful understanding spread through Chloe. God, had she been dense. She’d simply assumed that a woman like Sara Porter—a woman graced with stunning beauty, natural elegance, and obvious intelligence—had been given life’s easy pass. A woman like her couldn’t possibly have any worries.
But how much did Chloe really know about Sara? Now that she thought about it, she realized with a surge of selfish awareness that while she’d had intimate conversations with nearly all the staff, Sara had remained deliberately aloof, revealing nothing of herself or her past. How had she not put the pieces together sooner and recognized that something was wrong?
“Sara,” she said, “is there anything I can do?”
Sara brought up her chin and drew back her slender shoulders. “As a matter of fact, there is.” She lifted a file off her desk and passed it to Chloe. “Your next client is a thirteen-year-old boy whose stutter is so severe it has rendered him almost completely non-verbal. He’s made tremendous vocal progress speaking directly to therapy dogs, and will benefit hugely from having a dog with him at all times.”
“Of course. I’ll review the file.” Chloe chewed her lower lip. “Sara, about—”
“Thank you, Chloe. That’s all for today.” Sara swiveled away and fired up her computer.
Troubled by the exchange, Chloe hesitated, then nodded and left the office. It wasn’t right. Sara spent her every waking moment helping others, yet when it came to needing help herself, she wouldn’t dream of asking for it. Her first thought was to discuss the situation with Ian, get his advice. But one glance toward his cabin revealed his SUV wasn’t there. He and Preston were still out.
She spotted Luke in the training ring working with Marley and two dogs she didn’t recognize, and headed in his direction. She was uncertain how much to reveal—obviously Sara valued her privacy—but maybe she could just feel Luke out on the matter. She let herself in the ring and watched him teach the two newcomers to fall into an off-leash heel. Once they were comfortable with the command and could hold the position for a beat of five steps, Luke tossed them each a few treats and sent them off to play. They still had a ways to go, but they’d gotten the basic idea down. Training 101—always end a lesson on a positive note.
He walked toward her. Chloe was struck once again by what an attractive guy Luke was. Not just good-looking, either. He had the whole package: charm, confidence, sense of humor, and an obvious appreciation for the softer sex. Add to that a soft Texas drawl, green eyes, broad shoulders and killer abs. No wonder women flocked to him in droves.
“Hey, stranger,” he said, settling next to her, his back against the fence rail, watching the dogs. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Marley greeted the newcomers by slapping his front paws on the ground and holding up his hindquarters, his tail wagging. A classic invitation to play. Within seconds that chase was on, three furry goofballs racing and tumbling around the perimeter of the ring.
“What does that mean? I work here, remember?”
“I remember.” He gave an easy shrug. “Just that you’ve been scarce around these parts.”
She considered his words, then softly asked, “Have I been making a fool of myself?”
“No. Absolutely not.” He turned, quietly studying her profile. Then he smiled. “I am looped in the loops of her hair.”
Chloe returned his smile. Brown Penny, by Yeats. Exactly right. Falling in love with Ian hadn’t been a gentle slope, but a hazardous cliff from which she’d lost her footing and tumbled head-first. Despite her every attempt to maintain her sense of decorum and personal pride, she’d fallen too hard, too fast, too deep. And thrilled to every reckless minute of it.
“Have you talked about what comes next?” Luke asked.
“You mean, between us?”
“No—I mean between you and Ian.”
“Ha. Very funny.” Chloe shook her head and tilted up her chin to soak up the last of the sun’s dying rays. Winter was coming. The days were getting cooler, shorter. “It will end the way it always does,” she said. “Ian and Preston will take Prince back to Brooklyn and get on with their lives. They’ve made tremendous strides here, and I imagine they’ll only get stronger as they get back into the groove of everyday life. As for me, I’ll keep busy here.” She nodded toward the paperwork she held. “Sara’s already given me the file for my next client.”
“Is that right.” Luke looked as though he wanted to say more, but stopped himself. Instead he nodded toward the main house. “So how is our resident Ice Princess today?”
Something in his voice gave Chloe pause. A tension just beneath the surface indicated things weren’t right between Luke and Sara. Had they argued? Would that have anything to do with the anxiety that radiated off Sara earlier? She doubted it, but just in case, “Everything okay between you two?”
“Sure. Fine. Why do you ask?”
Hmm. Not a good liar. Definitely something going on there. Then something else dawned. She’d seen Luke with dozens of women over the years—hell, he’d even made a pass at her—yet she’d never seen him look at any of them the way she occasionally caught him glancing at Sara.
Very telling. But if he wanted to keep his feelings about their boss private, so be it. She turned her attention toward the dogs. “How’s Marley working out?” she asked, nodding toward the chocolate lab as he paused to lap up a drink of water.
“Actually, he’s one of the best we’ve ever had.” Luke called Marley forward and rubbed his chest. The lab’s tail beat frantically back-and-forth, swinging so hard his entire hindquarters swayed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a real hound for petting, aren’t you? A four-legged hedonist.” Luke smiled, rubbed him a bit more, then sent him back to play. “Great pick on your part. I think we can fast-track him into service within six months.”
“Wonderful. Who are his buddies?”
“Just came in this morning, as a matter of fact. Your friend Sheila Ward, from the shelter over on Lancaster, recommended us to a local family. Get this: they came already named. The yellow lab is Fleetwood, and the black is Mac.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Sheila got a request from a military couple being stationed overseas, looking for help placing their dogs in a good home. Turns out the family had lived in the area for nearly ten years and didn’t even know we were here. They were thrilled to find us, even made a five hundred dollar contribution when they left.”
“Great news.”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Gee, could you try to contain your enthusiasm?”
Luke arched a dar
k blond brow at her. Turning away from the ring, he hitched one booted foot on the bottom fence rail and rested his wrists on the top rail, gazing at the main house with a frown.
“The point is, why make it so hard for people to find us? We do damned good work here. We ought to be blasted all over the internet.”
“Sara and I just had the exact same conversation.”
Luke glanced at her, curled a derisive lip. “Let me guess. She wouldn’t hear of it. She doesn’t want the exposure. I mean, I get it. Managing growth can be scary. But the status quo isn’t working either. Not when we’re barely managing to meet our expenses.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what she’s so afraid of.”
Chloe took a moment for internal debate. On one hand, she knew very little about Luke. An army vet, he’d served two tours of duty in Afghanistan, hence his affinity for working with injured vets like Chuck. He never discussed in exactly what capacity he’d served, or exactly where. So for all his breezy charm, there was a bit of mystery to him. A steely core that lurked just beneath the surface.
Still, it looked as though Sara needed a friend, and Luke just might fit the bill. She made a decision.
“Actually, that’s not the right question,” she said.
He turned to look at her.
“The question isn’t what she’s afraid of, Luke. It’s who.”
Chapter Seventeen
“One black coffee, one hot chocolate.” The elderly proprietor behind the counter passed the drinks over. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Thanks, but that’ll do it.” Ian passed him a bill and waved off change. He and Preston made their way to the outdoor picnic tables and sipped their drinks, but Preston was too impatient to sit for long.
“Can I go down to the playground?”
Courting Chloe (Hudson Valley Heroes Book 1) Page 16