Feliz Naughty Dog (The Dogmothers Book 7)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Down, Tor.”

  “All the way, dude,” Lucas said, encouraging him with a pat on his backside.

  “No,” Pru said. “The trick is to only use one word. The same word. And don’t give him the treat until he does what you want on that word. Watch.” She lifted the treat closer to his nose, the lowered it again. “Down, Tor.”

  After a second, he got down, and this time, he brought the rest of him along. Then Pru opened her hand and let him eat the bite from her palm. “Good boy!” she exclaimed. “Now let’s do it again.”

  She repeated the whole process, finishing the Milk-Bone and half of another. After five straight successes, she pushed the remaining portion across the table to Lucas. “You try.”

  He took it down to the floor. “Down, Tor.”

  “Look into his eyes,” she said.

  Tor hesitated, but then lowered his whole body to the ground, getting the treat.

  “That’s good but he wants the treat,” Lucas said, still obviously skeptical. “Not sure he’s trained.”

  “Give it five minutes, then he gets a test.” She gave Tor’s head a good rub. “How long have you had him?”

  “Not long at all. I just got him right before I left LA, and he was barely living in a house before that when my…” He swallowed. “My friend…” He shook his head.

  Whoa, this girl had had an impact on him. “So you haven’t had much time to train him,” she said quickly, to help him out.

  He gave her a quick, nearly imperceptible smile of gratitude. “No. And I don’t know anything about his racing days or how old he is. Probably two? Maybe he raced, maybe he was retired because he couldn’t win. There are thousands of greyhounds that need homes now that racing is being outlawed in most states.”

  “Thank God,” she said. “It’s inhumane. We’ve had a few come through my uncle’s business, and they’ve all been sweet. Not quite this, uh, high-spirited, though.”

  He smiled down at Tor, who was resting again. “He’s either on or off. There’s no in-between.”

  “And when he’s on,” she joked. “Mall madness.”

  He laughed. “Don’t even say that.” They held each other’s gazes for a second, then another, and suddenly…butterflies.

  “So why do you have two last names, Pru?” he asked, the genuine interest in her making a few of those flying creatures dive-bomb. “’Cause your mom remarried?”

  She sighed, looking down at the table and the twenty-dollar bill Yiayia had left, considering how easy it would be to simply offer to get food and not delve into her family history. Not that she was ashamed of her father, but it helped if a person had met him before they heard his background.

  “It’s kind of a complicated situation.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “These days? Whose isn’t? Tell you what.” He put his hand over hers, the touch light, but somehow still strong and reassuring. “You tell me your family mess, and I’ll tell you mine.”

  “It’s not a mess,” she said quickly. “It’s just…oh well. You’ll hear it around school sooner or later.”

  “I’m intrigued.” He scooted his chair a little closer, smiling. “And I promise I won’t judge.”

  For a long moment, she looked at him, waiting for more butterfly shenanigans in her belly. But the feeling inside her wasn’t quite as nervous anymore, or even excited. Now she felt something completely different. More like friendship, but different. A connection, a budding trust, and oh yeah, all kinds of attraction.

  Suddenly, she very much wanted to share her story, if only to see his reaction. Some people recoiled. Some people pitied. And yeah, plenty of people judged.

  “My dad was in prison for fourteen years, and I didn’t meet him until he got out.”

  His brows lifted. “Not what I would have guessed from the future valedictorian.”

  Wow, he had been paying attention to her in school. “I was as surprised as anyone,” she said. “And he was in for…manslaughter.”

  “You were surprised? You didn’t know where he was?”

  For some reason, she liked that he didn’t react to manslaughter. “I didn’t know who he was,” she admitted. “I was raised by a single mom who was very discreet and quiet about my father.”

  “Because he was in prison?” he guessed.

  “She had no idea he was there,” she told him. “He stopped a man from attacking a woman in a parking lot when he was working as a bouncer at a bar. He accidentally pushed the guy, who hit his head and died. He didn’t, you know, set out to kill anyone. But my mom didn’t know any of this.”

  “She didn’t wonder where he was?”

  “They didn’t really know each other,” she admitted. “It was a one-night stand. In the back of a van designed for hauling around foster dogs.”

  His eyes flashed, and that almost-smile threatened. “The dog thing runs deep, huh?”

  She laughed with him, ridiculously pleased with the complete lack of judgment in his response. “But long story short? He showed up in Bitter Bark after he got out, needed a vet, hired my mom, and now…” She beamed at him. “They’re married, happy, and I have a baby brother named Danny.”

  His jaw loosened. “Wow. That’s cool.”

  She really loved that response. “Yeah, it is.” She glanced around, remembering that they were supposed to be RACKing up points and watching for FBI agents on a sting…not sitting here like they were on a date. “We forgot to watch for the guys coming out of the bathroom,” she reminded him.

  “Totally distracted.” His look was a little smoky, but charming, too. Nothing like…well, like she expected. “But they haven’t come out.” He nodded toward the restroom entrance behind her. “I’m keeping an eye out for them. And what’s next on your RACKing list? Sing a few carols? Hand out free bottles of water?”

  “I guess we could…” She reached for her bag, then stopped and looked at him. “Wait. You promised to tell me your family story if I told you mine.”

  “Oh yeah.” He waved it off. “That’s not going to get us any points.”

  “You’re not in this for points,” she said, studying him openly. “You need a community service hour or two to finish the semester.”

  “Guilty, but now I’m all in. Let’s RACK, Kilcannon. Or, Bancroft.”

  She smiled. “Okay…Darling.” As soon as she said it, she felt the warmth of a blush creep up her cheeks, and he laughed easily.

  “That’s not my name,” he admitted. “So we have that in common.”

  “It’s not?” She shook her head. “Then why…”

  “My dad’s real last name is Dildenberg. Stop laughing right now.”

  She bit her lip. “That is…unfortunate.”

  “He was an actor back in the eighties, and his agent made him change his name for obvious reasons, and they came up with Darling since he was supposed to be, you know, the next Leo DiCaprio or George Clooney.”

  “Did he get famous?” she asked.

  “Not as an actor. And not really famous, because no one knows the producers outside of the Hollywood circles, but yeah. He’s made movies I guarantee you’ve heard of.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She remarried and now she’s a…professional wife.” He made a face like there was way more to that story.

  “Is your dad remarried?”

  “No, he just has a harem of wannabe actresses.” He rolled his eyes. “Never knew who I’d find in the kitchen when I came down for breakfast.”

  “You live with your dad? I would have thought your mom.”

  “He’s the lesser of two evils,” he explained. “And my mom travels with her husband, who is…” He leaned in and looked from one side to the other. “The drummer for Split Second.”

  “The band? The Split Second? My dad loves their music.” A slow smile formed as she put a few puzzle pieces together. “So your father is a rock star.”

  “Stepfather, who I barely speak to.”

  “Wow. So, what’s so messy? I mean, l
ots of people have divorced and remarried parents.”

  “The mess is money,” he said without a second’s hesitation. “Money—at least the kind they both have—makes people messy. And stupid. And mean. And careless. And…” His voice trailed off as he shifted his gaze over her shoulder. “Could that be the FBI agents?”

  She turned, saw two men, and assessed them. “They meet the description.”

  “Let’s watch where they go.” He shifted his chair, one hand sliding into Tor’s collar as if he half expected the dog to run after the two men.

  But when the men went to the line for Chick-fil-A and ordered, Pru and Lucas leaned back and shared a look.

  “Should we go tell them their target went to Penney’s?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.” Pru shook her head and scanned the mall for any sign of the grannies. “Gramma and Yiayia have been known to make mistakes in their, uh, interpretation of things.”

  “The Dogmothers?” He chuckled. “I love that they have a team name.”

  “They’re matchmakers,” she said. “And they claim six committed relationships, including several marriages and one set of twins on the way.”

  “Matchmakers?” He choked a laugh. “They still exist?”

  “In my family,” she said, shaking her head and hoping he didn’t put two and two together and come up with…Prucas. God help her. She propped her chin on her palm. “So, you just moved yourself to Bitter Bark from Los Angeles? You weren’t, like, sent here as punishment?”

  “Contrary to public opinion, I was not escaping the long arm of the law, or forced to do community service for my misdeeds, or part of a gang, or whatever gossip you heard.”

  “But some rumors were right. Or close, at least.”

  He rolled his eyes. “The truth is, my dad told me if I wanted to keep this dog, I had to move out.”

  “What?” She blinked at him.

  He shrugged. “He’d been looking for a way to get rid of me ever since one of the harem thought I should join in their fun.”

  She drew back, slightly horrified. “Now that one hasn’t hit the rumor mill.”

  “I declined,” he said quietly. “I really am shy. And kind of not into…that. Anyway, Tor and I took off the next day.”

  “To stay with your aunt and uncle…ish.”

  He looked like he was about to say more, then reconsidered it, shifting his attention to the sleeping dog next to him. “Has it been five minutes? Can we test his skills?”

  “Sure.” She handed Lucas a treat, and instantly Tor was up, looking at the Milk-Bone. “Remember what word to use. Only once and his name.”

  He nodded and held the treat just out of reach. “Down, Tor.”

  Tor blinked, but didn’t move.

  “Down,” Lucas repeated. “And…nothing.”

  “Attention! Attention!” They both spun around at the order from a man in a red jacket marching through the tables, holding out flyers like he was selling newspapers.

  “Isn’t that the cashier from the pet store?” Pru asked.

  “Yup.”

  “We have a missing puppy from The Animal House pet store! If you see this dog or someone with this dog, he needs to be returned ASAP.”

  Lucas and Pru shared a look of dismay, but before they could say a word, the man spotted them—well, he spotted Tor.

  “Nice work, you two,” he muttered, slapping a flyer with a photocopy of a dog’s picture on it. “Buttercup was either stolen or lost in that mess you created.”

  Pru sucked in a breath when she recognized the basset puppy who had captivated Tor’s attention. “Oh gosh, that’s horrible.”

  The cashier—although the name badge he wore said David, Manager—just shot Lucas a dark look. “I should have known you were up to no good with that whole random-act-of-kindness crap. For all I know, you arranged to steal Buttercup. That basset is worth a lot of money on the street.”

  Lucas just looked away, his expression blank.

  But incredulity and fury shot through Pru. “Excuse me? You’re accusing him of stealing a dog?”

  “Probably stole this one,” the guy said, glancing at Tor.

  “He’s a racing rescue.” Pru practically sputtered the words. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

  The guy gave her a get real look and threw another one of pure disgust at Lucas. “Just stay the hell away from my store,” he said. “We don’t need any more trouble.” With that, he pivoted, then turned back to fire one more parting shot. “Someone was supposed to get that dog today, and you wrecked their Christmas!”

  At the vicious tone, Tor dropped right to the ground, his head down, eyes up. Pru leaned over to rub his back, sympathy welling up for how he reacted when the man yelled.

  “Lucas,” she said, watching how he looked away, too, very much like the dog. “Are you going to just sit there and let him accuse you of stealing dogs?”

  He shrugged. “People suck.”

  “And need to be corrected.”

  “Pru, chill.” He ran a hand through his long, unruly hair. “I’m used to it. People assume the worst.” He leaned forward. “Didn’t you?”

  She held his gaze for a long time, almost unable to look away. “Did. Past tense. All it took was about an hour of talking to you to see I was wrong.”

  He let out a soft sigh, barely audible over the din of the food court, then stood. “Shouldn’t we be doing something kind?” he asked, picking up the twenty-dollar bill. “I think I’ll go buy someone’s lunch. Be sure to get a picture. Otherwise, no one will believe I’m capable of it.”

  He took off with Tor, leaving her with the doxies and a whole lot of questions. And some serious shame for ever assuming the worst of someone who was actually more than a pretty face. A lot more.

  Chapter Eight

  “He moves fast for an old guy,” Finnie said from behind Agnes’s shoulder.

  “No, you move slow,” Agnes grumbled, keeping her gaze locked on the man in the red and white Santa outfit headed toward an escalator. “Where the hell is he going in Penney’s?” she murmured under her breath.

  “Agnes.” Finnie underscored the warning with a gentle but firm hand, a touch Agnes recognized so well. She was trying to smooth out Agnes’s rough edges, which was normally appreciated, but Agnes was too frustrated by the day to appreciate anything.

  “You really don’t want me to have any fun, do you, Finnie?”

  “If by ‘fun’ you mean swearing and mocking my old legs that don’t move quite like they used to, then no.”

  Aldo was stuck behind a group on the escalator, so Agnes took a second to turn, ready to sling back a comment that bubbled up from deep inside. But one look in those Irish blue eyes, and the volcano suddenly quieted.

  And that was Finola Kilcannon’s secret power.

  “I’m sorry, Finnie,” she said on a sigh. “It’s my nerves and disappointment, I guess. I thought he was going to be…wonderful.”

  Finnie’s tiny shoulders dropped, and the fight went out of her at the same time. “Maybe he is wonderful, Agnes. Maybe we didn’t hear that whole business correctly.”

  “But I’m afraid we did.”

  “Donchya be worryin’, lass.” She gave a light nudge to Agnes’s shoulder. “If he gets off that escalator, and we lose him, we’ll never forgive ourselves. Haul your butt, Greek grandmother.”

  Agnes snorted a soft laugh, a familiar affection welling up. “Okay, then hold my arm, and let’s power through the crowds.”

  They did, parting people like Moses at the Red Sea, until they were about twenty feet behind him.

  “He has fine shoulders,” Finnie whispered as they gazed at him.

  “And a fine Santa rear under all that fur.”

  They both giggled their way to the top of the escalator, spotting him heading to the Men’s Department, threading his way around tables of wallets and belts, all the way to the Customer Service Department.

  “Bathroom?” Finnie guessed.

 
; “Could have used the one downstairs,” Agnes said. “But—oh, look.”

  A man came up to him, holding a shopping bag, stopping to talk. They were too far away to hear anything, but Agnes studied the man who didn’t look much older than any of her grandsons. He had dark hair, a gray hooded sweatshirt, and leaned in to talk to Aldo.

  After a moment, he gave Aldo the shopping bag, chuckled about something, then shook his head as he walked away. Aldo headed toward the Customer Service entry, disappearing around a corner.

  “’Twas a handoff,” Finnie said. “Drug deal? Money laundering?”

  “Maybe a change of clothes?” Agnes suggested, since Finnie had clearly lost her mind.

  “So he can slip out unnoticed by the feds.”

  The feds? “You’ve been reading too many suspense novels, Finola.”

  Not five minutes later, as they pretended to be fascinated by a selection of underwear, he stepped out, dressed head to toe in street clothes—which fit his tall frame rather nicely—the shopping bag gone.

  Agnes exchanged a look with Finnie, and Finnie’s eyes were sparking with horror.

  “What?” Agnes demanded. “He can’t walk around dressed as Santa! The kids will attack him. He gets a lunch break, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Or he’s undercover.”

  “He’s simply…taking a phone call.” She yanked Finnie behind a tall display of tighty-whities, hiding as he put his phone to his ear and walked closer to them. “Hush up, Finola!”

  She could hear a low laugh as he approached. “Well, I’m telling you I found her. She’s the one. Young, beautiful. Has a kid, but really, who cares? At this point, I can’t be picky.”

  Now Agnes was sure her expression was as horrified as Finnie’s.

  “I got her number, too.”

  Agnes closed her eyes, punched in the gut by the words. And how nice his voice was. Why did he have to have a nice voice? And hair that was thicker and even shinier than in his picture? Why couldn’t he be schlumpy and bald?

  “Well, now I shop,” he said. “Oh yeah, I know they’re here. FBI all over the place. Ever since they saw the corpse, there’s no getting rid of those guys.”