Doggone Ugly Creek

by Cheryel Hutton

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Doggone Ugly Creek

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Stop, my brain cried out. Back away from the lunatic! Instead, my rebellious arms slid around his neck, finding muscles I didn’t realize he had. My fingers touched him like his skin was Braille, and I was hungry to read his story.

  His hands spread over my back and he pulled me close. It felt good to be held. To be warm and secure in the strong arms of a man. Even if they were part of an annoying guy who cared more about dogs than the people around him. That’s me, no-life Shay.

  I shoved him away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Me?” His face went red and the muscles in his cheeks and around his eyes tightened. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

  “Don’t blame me, you’re the one who started that kiss.”

  Ace’s shoulders dropped and he closed his eyes for a moment. “We kissed each other.”

  “Crap.” He was right, it had been a mutual touching of lips. My fingers, the same ones that had just caressed Ace’s neck and shoulders, touched my still tingling lips as I wondered what had just happened.

  “Was it that bad?” His lips were pulled into a crooked little grin.

  Doggone

  Ugly Creek

  by

  Cheryel Hutton

  Ugly Creek Series, Book 3

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Doggone Ugly Creek

  COPYRIGHT © 2017 by Cheryel Hutton

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Fantasy Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-1254-5

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-1255-2

  Ugly Creek Series, Book 3

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To all the dedicated people

  who spend so much of their time and money

  to save animals from situations of abuse or neglect.

  You are all heroes!

  Chapter 1

  Ugly Creek was the prettiest little town I’d ever seen. Almost unnaturally clean and neat, it was also quiet and friendly. Not a bad place to start over.

  I was on my knees, on the front lawn of my Aunt Ruth’s little white house, pulling a few weeds that had dared to grow among the irises in her gorgeous flower garden. I promised myself I would keep her pride and joy as nice as possible. I can usually hold my own with plants, but nobody does flowers like my aunt. I think she could probably grow prize-winning roses out of a rock.

  A large collie pushed open the front door and bounded off the porch.

  I grinned at the beast. “I wondered how long it would take for you to decide to come out and play.”

  The collie gave me a doggie smile, then proceeded to lope around the corner of the house.

  This starting over thing might not be so bad after all.

  Just then a huge dog that looked like a mix of Great Dane and Lab leaped over the white picket fence and headed straight for our backyard.

  “Watch out!” I yelled.

  Before I could get to my feet and follow the dog, a human interloper rushed through the front gate. He stopped to shut and latch the gate before he ran toward the backyard—without even glancing my way.

  I took off running, sliding to a stop near where he was standing. At the back of the house, the collie and the rich chocolate colored dog were sniffing each other’s hindquarters. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Sniffing each other’s rears is a perfectly natural way for dogs to get to know each other.”

  The voice was surprisingly deep and rich for a guy whose sun-bleached hair and tan reminded me of a beach bum .

  I eyed the trespasser. “And who the hell are you?”

  He held out his hand. “Ace Ellison, and you must be Shay. Shay Carpenter, right?”

  I kept my hands where they were. “How could you possibly know who I am?”

  “I know your aunt.” He smiled. “Ruth’s a fascinating person.”

  I ignored his on-the-nose assessment of my eccentric, aunt who loved horror movies and wore bright purple, blue, and red clothes. Instead, I met his gaze and held it. “I suppose that’s your dog over there.”

  He dropped his hand. “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” I crossed my arms in front of me and glared hard. His eyes were sort of greenish something that seemed to change color when he moved. Like a chameleon. Figures.

  “He’s a rescue.”

  “Rescued from what?”

  His T-shirt and faded jeans fit snugly, setting off flat abs. He crossed his arms over those abs. “Hugh here was rescued from an irresponsible owner, but we rescue dogs from all kinds of bad situations.”

  Hugh? “Like that TV show about the guy who rescues pit bulls?”

  The frown that pulled above his full eyebrows and the frustration I saw in his eyes lightened my mood considerably.

  “Pretty much,” he said. “Except I rescue all breeds of dog, and sometimes other animals.”

  “On television I’ve seen rescuers break into places to get dogs out.”

  He held my gaze, his full lips tightening.

  “Rescuers don’t like to see animals abused. Sometimes it’s a judgment call how far to go to protect them.”

  Judgment call, huh? I didn’t like this guy. His attitude needed adjusting. Movement caught my gaze, and I saw the dogs running together and playing like puppies. “He’s a rescue? Are you sure he doesn’t have a disease or fleas or something?” From the corner of my eye, I saw him glare at me.

  “I’d hate for your dog to get rescue fleas.”

  “Her,” I said, without acknowledging his sarcastic tone. “The collie’s a girl.”

  “Come on, Hugh. We need to get you back where you belong.” He started toward the dog, who immediately took off in another direction, followed closely by the collie.

  “Trixie, come here,” I said, trying to catch the eye of the errant dog.

  He turned from his chase to look at me. “Trixie? Really?”

  I turned my gaze on him again. His sun-bleached sandy blond hair was mussed like he’d just emerged from bed. Sexy. Not that I cared. “What’s wrong with Trixie? No worse than Hugh.”

  “Just kinda old-fash
ioned.” He shrugged. “I didn’t name Hugh.”

  “I didn’t name Trixie either. She’s my cousin’s dog.” I gave him a good glare. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that name.”

  Ace headed toward Hugh, who gave him a look and took off in another direction. I barely held back laughter as man and dog did a little dance around each other. Ace, with some type of red rope at the ready, kept at the effort longer than I would have. That man must have serious patience. Dang, I wish he’d hurry up. It was getting hot out here in the sun. Watching a well-built male body had nothing to do with it. Really.

  When Ace finally cornered the dog near the back porch, I breathed a sigh of relief. He deftly slipped a loop of rope over Hugh’s neck, and tightened it. Hugh, seeming to concede defeat, sat on the ground.

  “Come on, boy.” Ace tugged the rope, and Hugh went with him.

  Relief filled me as I watched the two head toward the front gate. Before he went through, Ace gave me a big smile, and a wave. “Later.”

  Anger sent heat through my body as I watched the man take his dog down the street. He looked good from the back, I conceded. He had broad shoulders and a well-shaped rear. Hey, just because I disliked the man didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy the scenery.

  I pulled my T-shirt collar out to allow in a bit of air. The temperature must be rising fast. I didn’t see Trixie, so I started toward the front. The air conditioner in the house would be more than welcome right now.

  “You know that Ellison boy?” a woman’s voice asked.

  I turned toward the waist-high, white fence between our yard and the next. A medium-height, silver-haired woman wearing a lime green dress stood there. Her face carried some signs of aging, but not as wrinkled as a person would expect from someone with gray hair.

  I walked toward her. “No, we just met.”

  “You’re Ruth’s niece, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m Shay.”

  “I’m Camilla Carlisle. It’s nice to meet you. I’ve known that aunt of yours for years.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” There was something about the woman that bothered me. Maybe it was that she seemed to look down her nose at me. Or the feeling she enjoyed inserting her opinion into things that didn’t concern her. Whatever the clue my subconscious had picked up on, I wasn’t convinced she was really the sweet little old lady she appeared to be.

  “I believe Ruth would want me to look out for you.”

  Our new neighbor shook her head and tightened her thin mouth.

  “You watch out, you hear me. That Ellison boy is trouble.”

  I quite agreed, but more info is never a bad idea. “Is he?”

  “Absolutely. He’s got about a hundred dogs, you know. Mutts and strays all of them.”

  “He said he’s an animal rescuer of some kind.”

  The woman snorted. “He’s a blight on our beautiful community, that’s what he is. Nobody ought to be allowed to have a bunch of animals right in town. Hordes of nasty beasts belong on a farm.”

  “Where does he live?”

  She pointed in the direction I’d seen him go.

  “That-a-way and over two streets. His place is at the end of the road and down a hill, but I can still hear his mutts all times of the day and night.” She sighed. “And I don’t hear as good as I used to.”

  I smiled. “I’ll steer clear of Ace.”

  She gave a quick punctuating nod. “Good for you. Now I need to get back inside before I melt. It’s hot for September.”

  Miz Carlisle went toward her house, and I turned toward the place that would be my home for a year, or at least that was the plan. I grabbed the gloves I’d been using to pull weeds and headed toward the front porch. “Come on, Trixie! We’ve got work to do.”

  Trixie let out a little whimper, then followed me inside.

  I put the gloves on one of the shelves attached to the wall near the back door. Aunt Ruth kept all her gardening things neatly organized, which definitely made it easier for me.

  I then turned back to the totally unorganized pile of boxes in the living room. For two single women who lived with their mothers, my cousin and I had a lot of stuff, and apparently we’d brought most of it with us.

  “Don’t trust that Carlisle woman.”

  I turned in time to see my cousin pulling on her shirt. At least she was getting dressed, which wasn’t always a sure thing. “What are you talking about, Terri? She seems like a nice old lady who’s concerned about her friend’s niece.”

  Terri rolled her eyes. “Leave it to my cousin to see good in everybody.”

  She headed toward the kitchen, and I went after her. “You don’t like her, I take it?”

  Terri stuck her head in the fridge and rooted around. “She’s a mean old broad, and her cat’s the spawn of Satan.”

  I bit back the grin. “Well, it’s understandable that you wouldn’t like cats.”

  She turned back out of the fridge, her arms full of turkey, two kinds of cheese, mustard, mayo, tomato, lettuce, and pickles. I had no idea how she managed to get them to the table. If I tried that, I’d have a big mess to clean up.

  “I like cats,” she said. “Why would you think I wouldn’t?”

  “Because you’re…well, you’re a dog. Or at least part of the time you are.”

  Her shoulders shook so hard with laughter she had to pause in her food preparation. “Dogs like cats. At least some of them do.”

  “Yeah, to chase.”

  Terri shook her head. “Dogs are as diverse as humans, just so you know.”

  I studied her face. “So you really like cats, except the demon spawn ones?”

  “Yes, and don’t be so weird about me being a shifter. You’ve known me your whole life.” She shoved a couple of slices of turkey into her mouth.

  I sighed. “It just feels odd, you and me living here for a year. Honestly, I’m not always sure how to handle being around you.”

  She grinned and patted my face.

  “Just love me.”

  “You know I do.”

  She shoved the fixings back into the fridge and took the huge sandwich with her toward her bedroom. Hopefully to unpack boxes. “Let me know what you want to do about dinner.”

  I leaned against the counter, laughing and shaking my head in amazement. Terri could eat like a growing male teenager, something about using so much energy to shift between woman and collie. My cousin, the bestselling author. And dog.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. All I knew was that the next few months promised to be anything but dull.

  Chapter 2

  Loud, pounding music blasted me out of a sweet dream. A glance at the clock told me it was still a good three hours before sunrise. Groaning, I slid out of bed and stumbled toward the other bedroom.

  Terri sat at her desk, her hands flying over a laptop keyboard while her body swayed to the beat of what I vaguely recognized as an old AC/DC song. I took a moment to rein in the seething heat in my belly. She was my cousin; I couldn’t strangle her. Right?

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I yelled so she could hear me.

  “I’m writing,” she yelled back without so much as a glance in my direction.

  I clicked off the stereo. Terri spun her chair and glared at me like I’d just killed her new puppy.

  “Why did you do that? I was on a roll.”

  I crossed my arms and glared back. “I was asleep.”

  She opened her mouth and held it for a moment, then closed it as she leaned back in her chair. “I’m sorry. I’m used to writing in the morning and I always write to music.”

  “There’s a new invention,” I told her. “Headphones.”

  She poked out her bottom lip. “But those can damage your hearing.”

  “Loud music can damage your hearing no matter how you listen to it. Waking up your cousin in the middle of the night isn’t conducive to good health either.”

  “It’s not the middle of the night, it’s almost fou
r.”

  “Like I said, middle of the night.”

  Her mouth pulled to one side as she shuffled over to her closet, where she pulled out a nice pair of big, neon green headphones. “All right. I’ll put these on.”

  “Thank you.” I turned to go back to bed.

  “You know, early morning is a very productive time to write. You should try it.”

  I took a moment to count to one hundred, just so I wouldn’t need somebody to bail me out of the Ugly Creek jail. My cousin was the only one I really knew in town, and she probably wouldn’t want to come get me if I’d just tried to kill her.

  I tried reasoning with her. “Terri, four o’clock is not morning, it’s the middle of the damn night.”

  She shrugged. “Rising early works for a lot of very successful writers. So does writing to music. For instance, Stephen King writes to loud music.”

  I glared so hard my vision went blurry. “I write at night, when it’s quiet, like a lot of very successful writers. You know as well as I do, every writer has to do what works best for them.” With that, I turned and stomped back to bed.

  I hoped sleep would quickly return, but it was not to be. My thoughts swirled round and round. Terri was irresponsible. Aunt Ruth wanted the two of us to stay here while she traveled, saying that Terri and I needed an opportunity to get to know each other better.

  I loved my cousin. I enjoyed being with her. I loved her goofy sense of humor. It was true we hadn’t seen each other for any length of time since we were kids. Mostly we got together on the rushed days during holidays. We all knew Terri tended to be more than a little free-spirited. Aunt Ruth confided in me once that Terri’s mother, my aunt, still had to keep an eye on her twenty-eight year-old daughter.

  It was bad enough that she acted first and thought later, but she didn’t seem to understand how serious protecting her secret really was. For all I knew, Aunt Ruth might have wanted the two of us to stay here in her house so that I could keep an eye on Terri and her secret identity while her mom was away.

  It made sense, I guess. Terri was almost two years older than me, but Mom’s illness had made me the caretaker of the family. Thing was, I was tired of being responsible for another person. I’d taken care of my mom since I was barely a teenager. I’d hoped this year would be my introduction to a life of freedom.