The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge

by Stewart, Mariah

  “Yeah, I know. It hasn’t worked very well in the past, but since you haven’t said no yet, maybe things are looking up.”

  “What time do you want me?”

  “Anytime you can come over would be fine. I’ll be seeing patients right up until around seven, so I’ll be cutting it close if they’re on time. Which they usually are not.”

  “I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Great. Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

  For the second time that day, Dallas hung up from a call with a smile on her face. She was going to celebrate her happy day with Grant, and who knew where that could lead?

  Chapter 16

  “It looks like flea baths for everyone,” Grant announced to no one in particular.

  “What?” Dallas stood in the doorway, holding a young beagle on a leash. “Flea baths?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded and flashed her a smile. “We’ll start with you.”

  Dallas crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Kidding,” he told her. “I was referring to the dogs. One in the bunch had fleas, they’ll all have fleas. If we don’t knock that out right now, every dog in the shelter will be scratching by the weekend. Anyone know where Janelle is?”

  “She went to pick up a pizza,” Mimi Ryan, one of Grant’s assistants, told him.

  “No eating on the job. I thought we had posted that in the kitchen.”

  “Ha ha. Good one, boss.” Mimi whispered something to the dog Grant was examining, and patted its head.

  “I get no respect. I’m thinking about changing my name to …” He looked over at Dallas. “That comedian who got no respect. What was his name?”

  “Rodney Dangerfield,” Dallas replied.

  “Yeah, him.” Grant continued his exam of the greyhound. “What do you think, Dallas? Rodney Wyler?”

  Dallas offered a thumbs-down.

  “I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Grant ran his hands along the dog’s back. “You’re looking good, Champ. Take a walk with Mimi and she’ll give you a bath.”

  “How come I have to do all the flea baths?” Mimi complained.

  “Because it’s in your job description.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “It is now.”

  Mimi laughed good-naturedly and walked off with the greyhound.

  “So tell us, Dallas MacGregor, international superstar. How did you celebrate the outstandingly good news you received all on one day?”

  Grant waved on Janelle, who walked in with a pizza box in one hand and a tan mixed-breed pup in the other arm. She handed the pup to Grant, who stood it on an examining table. “ ‘Well, Oprah, I just totally went to the dogs that night,’ ” Grant said.

  Dallas rolled her eyes. Janelle took the pizza into the kitchen, then came back and took the beagle from Dallas, who traded for the foxhound that was next in line.

  When Grant finished with the puppy, he moved on to the beagle while Dallas walked the foxhound.

  “I’ll bet you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun,” Grant said to her when she came back into the barn after walking the dog.

  “Actually, I can,” Dallas deadpanned. “August 2001. The Tarzan remake. Up to my chin in quicksand. Well, actually, it wasn’t real quicksand, but it felt like it.”

  “Because you know what real quicksand feels like,” he scoffed.

  “If it’s soft and mushy and wet and you’re in it up to your chin …”

  “All right, I’ll give you that one.” Grant turned and called to Mimi. “If you’re done with the greyhound, I have a beagle here that could use a bath.”

  “You’re going to have to hold him for a minute,” Mimi called back. “This guy still needs to be dried off.”

  “I’ll take her back.” Janelle reached for the beagle and led it to the room off to the side of the barn where the dog bathing was taking place.

  “How often do you do this?” Dallas asked Grant.

  “As often as someone brings me dogs,” he said simply. “When someone in the network gets a call that a bunch of dogs at XYZ shelter are going to be put down, if they can get a volunteer to pick up the dogs quickly enough, they’ll drive them north. I take a few, other shelters take a few. We save as many as we can.” He looked across the examining table and met her eyes. “These are all good dogs, Dallas. They deserve a chance to have good owners and good homes. Forever homes.”

  He knelt down to take a look at the foxhound, then smiling up at Dallas, he said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to …”

  She held up one hand and laughed. “Hey, you’re two for two. Don’t press your luck.”

  “No harm in asking.” He examined the foxhound, who licked his chin. “Nice girl here. Beautiful dog. Yes, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? And young.” He checked her teeth. “Maybe eight, ten months at the most. And so well behaved. We’re going to find a good home for you, baby girl, and someone is going to thank me.”

  Grant had been charming and fun on Friday night, but the Grant who calmly and gently examined each dog, speaking softly and with affection, was the Grant who Dallas knew she’d be unable to resist. She thought of the champagne that she’d brought with her and that Grant had placed in the ice maker in the old refrigerator in the shelter’s kitchen, and wondered if resistance was going to be an issue.

  When he’d looked over the last dog and handed it off for its bath, he wiped his hands on his lab coat, which had long since ceased being white, and told Dallas, “Give me ten minutes to grab a quick shower. I’m really pretty doggie. Do you mind waiting?”

  “Not at all. Oh. The champagne …” She dashed into the kitchen, and returned with the bottle.

  “Good call.” He nodded and started for the back room. “I’m just going to check in with Mimi and Janelle, see if they need anything before I leave.”

  “I can help them if they want,” Dallas offered.

  “Nah. Your job was to walk dogs, and you did that quite admirably. But flea bathing … ah, that’s an acquired skill. But thanks for offering.” He went into the back room and moments later emerged. “They’re almost finished and will lock up, so I’d say our work here is done.”

  He reached for her hand, and they walked across the yard to the house.

  “Beautiful night,” Grant noted. “Not too hot, not too cool. Stars overhead. Nice bright moon on the rise there.” He took a deep breath. “Nice to be alive on a night like this.”

  She smiled and allowed herself to be led up the brick walk to his front door. It was nice to be with someone who noticed such things.

  When he opened the door, three large dogs spilled out, all wagging their tails and making a fuss over Grant. He introduced Dallas, telling her, “These are the old folks, the dogs that got kicked out of their homes because they were too old to keep around. This is Schultz. Everyone expects rottweilers to be tough, but he’s a lamb. Probably because he’s forgotten he’s a rottweiler.” Grant gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.

  “This is Sailor.” He pointed to a wizened bloodhound. “He has arthritis in his back legs and doesn’t move very fast these days, but he’s a good old soul. And this is Mamie, my number one girl. After Paige, that is. Oh, and you, of course.” He looked up from the dog and smiled. “Mamie is part retriever, and part shepherd, and all love. She must have been a sassy girl when she was younger.”

  He leaned over and kissed Dallas on the mouth, a quick meeting of lips that was just enough to promise more later. “The dogs will keep you company while I’m in the shower. I won’t be long.” He handed her the remote control for the TV. “In case you get bored.”

  “I won’t get bored.” Mamie followed Dallas to the sofa and gave her a good sniffing. “Grant, is there a powder room where I can wash my hands? I’m a little doggie myself.”

  “Right through this door, through the kitchen, door on the left.”

  “Thanks.”

  Grant disappeared into the hall and she heard him take the steps, two at a
time, to the second floor. She found her way to the powder room, where she washed up. She took her time on the way back to the living room, wanting to see where he lived, what things were important enough for him to have in his home. She’d always believed you could learn a lot about a person by the things they keep near.

  She found the kitchen to be quite old-fashioned, with wooden cabinets painted white, a worn linoleum floor, and ancient wallpaper with random bunches of cherries, the background of which had probably once been white but was now yellowed. The appliances were new, though, and she suspected that his renovations hadn’t gotten as far as the kitchen yet. A glass filled with cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace was placed in the center of a wooden table in the bay window—Paige’s contribution to the decor, she guessed—and near the open door that led to a back porch stood three bowls of water for the dogs.

  She went back into the living room, the furniture of which was new, but the wallpaper as antiquated as that in the kitchen. On the floor was a large oval multicolored rag rug and in one corner was an old rolltop desk that appeared to be authentic rather than a reproduction. Paintings on the walls were mostly of boats and the Bay. A closer examination revealed they were all painted by the same hand and signed A. Clanton. Most were of skipjacks or skiffs, the Bay’s hardworking boats, but there were a few of sailboats and one of a schooner. She walked around the room to study each.

  “Not bad for someone who never had a lesson, don’t you think?” Dallas hadn’t heard Grant come down the steps, and was startled at the sound of his voice.

  “Who’s the artist?” she asked.

  “My mom’s mother did those. She raised nine children on a waterman’s income, and when the last of her kids left the house, she went back to school, got a GED, and decided she was going to be an artist.”

  “I’d say she succeeded. These are lovely.” She turned to him. His dark hair was still wet and his cotton shirt was partially unbuttoned and clung to him in places that were still damp, and his feet were bare. Dallas thought she’d never seen a sexier man in her life.

  “You should see the landscapes,” he went on. “They were split between my older sister, Evie, and Steffie. Most of the cousins got one or two, but we got the most because Gramma was living with my parents when she passed away and she gave them all to my mom.”

  “I keep forgetting you had an older sister. Where is Evie these days?”

  “She and her husband moved to Iowa about three years ago. That’s where he’s from originally, and he wanted to go back, work the family farm. Evie was okay with that—she’s into organic gardening—so off they went. Stef calls them Mr. and Mrs. BOR-ing, but they’re happy and doing their own thing, so I say good for them.” He stood and just stared at her for a long moment. “So. Champagne.”

  He went into the kitchen and returned with the bottle in one hand, two wineglasses in the other, and a towel over his shoulder.

  “I’m afraid we’re out of flutes this week.” He set the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table, where a brochure for a conference sponsored by the Veterinary Emergency and Critical Care Society sat atop a copy of Small Animal Internal Medicine, which sat crosswise on a pet supply catalog, and a copy of Kirk’s Current Veterinary Therapy. “Let me just move this stuff …”

  He stacked the books and papers on the floor, then proceeded to open the bottle. The cork flew out and was caught in the towel he’d draped over the top of the bottle.

  “Which of your good fortunes should we toast first?” he asked as he poured into both glasses.

  “I think my divorce first, because that’s a solemn thing and it closes a door,” she said thoughtfully. “Then we’ll celebrate me getting the film rights to my favorite book, because that’s a door that is just starting to open.”

  “That’s what we’ll do, then.” Grant lifted both glasses, handing one to Dallas. “Here’s to closing some doors and opening others.”

  “I like that.” She nodded.

  They touched glasses and each took a sip.

  “Let’s hope those doors that are opening for you will lead to better things.” He sat next to her on the sofa. “Now, which do you want to tell me about first?”

  Dallas shrugged. “There’s not so much to say about Emilio that you couldn’t read in any tabloid or celebrity magazine.”

  “I don’t bother with that stuff. The raciest thing I’ve had time to read lately was The Manual of Equine Reproduction.”

  Dallas laughed. “Really, there’s not too much to tell—you already know the story. I guess I was hoping for Cody’s sake that things would turn around, but they never did.” She leaned back against his arm, which was draped over the back of the sofa. His skin was warm and comforting through her knit dress. “In retrospect, I was totally stupid through the whole tawdry thing. I should have divorced him when I realized that he hadn’t married me for the right reasons, but for a while it was easier to just go on pretending that things were just skippy.”

  “So now it’s done.”

  Dallas nodded. “Now it’s done. Norma, my attorney, called late this afternoon to tell me that the judge had approved the property distribution that we’d all signed off on, so yes. It’s done.” She took another sip of champagne. “I guess I could have moved this along more quickly and it would have been official before now, but I was in a rut, I suppose.” She smiled. “You know what they say about the path of least resistance.”

  “But now on to happy things. You’re going to make a movie.”

  “Well, I’m not going to make the movie,” she corrected him. “I’m going to write the screenplay, and I would like to direct, assuming I get financial backing for it. That’s an involved process but Norma thinks it won’t be difficult to get a studio on board. Especially if I can talk Berry into playing one of the roles. I haven’t discussed it with her yet, but I plan on doing that tomorrow.”

  “That would make a difference?”

  “A gigantic difference. Berry was a big box office draw for a long time, and she hasn’t made a film in almost fifteen years. She’s always being offered parts, but she just hasn’t wanted to. If she’d do it for this one, though, it could be huge.”

  “What if you don’t get the backing?”

  “I guess I’d have to consider financing it myself. I hadn’t thought seriously about that, but I’d do it.” She thought for another moment, then added, “A lot of independent films have done very well; there’s no reason why this one wouldn’t. Especially if Berry were signed on as a lead.”

  “I’ve seen her movies,” he told her. “My parents had them all on video. I had yours—I think I told you that? Video tapes first, then DVDs.”

  “You had both?”

  “All of ’em.” He nodded somewhat shyly. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Does that make me sound like a stalker?”

  “Not as long as you didn’t sit in a dark room, all by yourself, while you were watching.”

  Grant looked at the ceiling.

  “Tell me you didn’t …”

  “No, I didn’t. And mostly I just wanted to see you, to see how you were doing. It always felt so strange, to see your face there on the TV screen. As time went on, and we both got older, it was more to see how you were—” He stopped abruptly.

  “How I was …” She gestured for him to continue. “How I was what?”

  “I was going to say ‘aging’ but I don’t think that would be wise.” He frowned. “It’s probably not the right word.”

  “You could probably find a better one,” she agreed, laughing in spite of herself.

  “How about, I wanted to see how you changed over the years? Does that sound better?”

  “It’ll do.” She nodded. “So, have I changed all that much?”

  “Not so much.” Grant shook his head. “Your face looks surprisingly like it did when you were a kid, but better.” He paused. “Not that you didn’t look really great when you were in your teens. I didn’t mean …”

  “
I didn’t think you did.” She couldn’t help but smile. He was trying so hard not to offend her.

  “My mom would say that you grew into your looks. Actually, my mom did say that about you.”

  “She did?”

  “She saw one of those award shows where they do the red carpet thing, and told me about it the next day. She said you had on a really pretty long dress and that you looked really big-time Hollywood but she could tell it was you, all grown up.” The hand that had rested on the back of the sofa reached out and touched the back of her neck, his fingers tracing a circle. “I guess that’s a really different way of life, your life out there, as compared to here.”

  “As different as night and day in some respects, not so very much in others. When I first moved out there, I was dying to be part of it, you know? I couldn’t wait to get dressed up in fabulous designer gowns and jewelry and be interviewed on the red carpet. And the first few times, it was a lot of fun, I won’t deny it. But as time went on, and I had Cody, I wanted to be around the house more and more. I came to look upon the roles I played as nothing more than that: roles I played because it was my job. I enjoy doing it—I love doing it—I really believe this was what I was born to do. But it’s my job, not my life. I care more about the films that I make than I do for the rest of it—the parties and the gossip and the chatter—who’s been seen with whom and who does your hair and who’s your stylist and who’s your personal trainer and how many houses do you own and—” She stopped. “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just that the trappings grow old, if you’re smart enough to let them. I’m getting to the age where the best roles are going to be offered to actors who are younger than I, so there aren’t quite as many parts as there were ten years ago. I’ve made enough money that I can pick and choose among those that do come my way. I can honestly say that working on this screenplay has given me a renewed interest in the business, but from a different perspective.”

  “Do you think you’d want to do more screenplays?”

  “Absolutely. I have an idea for one, an original story, that I want to work on as soon as this one is finished. And I’m hoping—”