James’ hand felt warm as he pulled her out of the water. He took off his jacket to put it around her shoulders, since the Chihuahua was still swaddled in hers. Kinney shook her head and gestured to the woman in the purple dress, who was shivering and crying.
They trailed toward the parking lot, leaving wet footsteps in the sandy soil. “Ma’am, are you okay?” Kinney asked. “How did that happen?”
The woman clutched James’ arm. “My dog slipped off the bank,” she said through chattering teeth. “I thought it would be easy to get him, but it was awful.”
“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.” He pointed to the two-seater sports car. “Kinney, it’s already going to be tight with Rocky and the Chihuahua. Can you drive yourself or should we wait for a cab?”
“I’m fine.” She forced herself to stop shaking long enough to smile. “I’m great, actually.” She let Whiskey into the back of the Prius. “I’ve got an amazing dog.”
As she drove home, she kept glancing over her shoulder at Whiskey as if he were too good to be true. He was supposedly all hers now. But what if she ended up falling hard for him and the City pulled another fast one? The mayor was always shifting the goalposts.
“I just don’t know how to feel about all this, Whiskey,” she said.
This time when she looked back, the dog met her eyes. Then he opened his mouth and let out a loud belch from all the water he’d swallowed in the creek.
Laughing, she shook her head. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Chapter 12
The sun had barely crested the horizon when Kinney stopped the Prius near a small park on the outskirts of town several days later. The Tattle Creek neighborhood somehow hadn’t made it onto the City’s radar yet, as evidenced by the startling lack of bronze statues. Kinney shook her head over the realization that their absence was the first thing you noticed now. No doubt some of the more obscure breeds would start cropping up in bronze before long, with space at a premium downtown. For now, the residents apparently relished their low profile; their gardens were filled with showy spring flowers in non-regulation colors and there was no dog art to be seen.
The neighborhood’s low profile was the exact reason she’d chosen it for her solo dog training sessions. Cori and other Mafia members had been visiting Whiskey regularly while she was at work to make sure he was coping okay. They’d taken him out many times and determined that it was safe to walk him in public, but the fewer distractions the better. Cori had given Kinney a very specific training plan that started with providing plenty of exercise and observing his physical reaction to everything he encountered, including men, women, children, dogs, cats, prey animals, sounds, vehicles, and even toys and sticks. The list was long, and she was to send a report to Cori each and every night. Once they had a good understanding of Whiskey’s triggers, they could introduce gradual exposure with positive reinforcement.
Inside the small park, she unhooked the dog and let him run. He took off like a shot, which would normally unnerve her, but Cori had assured her that he wouldn’t leave his meal ticket. Whatever his shortcomings, his recall was good. Testing it, she called his name and he quickly reappeared at her side. Then she let him go again, smiling as he circled the perimeter, nose to the ground.
She zipped her jacket to her throat, waiting for the sun to chase away the chill. Implementing Cori’s plan meant rising at four thirty to put in an hour or two with Whiskey every day before work. Far from feeling resentful, she was excited to get going—to give this beautiful dog the exercise and structure he deserved and truly required, as a working breed. If she could turn him back into the calm, composed creature he was when she saw him first, it would be a huge victory.
When he’d blown off some steam, she went through his basic commands a few times. The dog responded flawlessly to “sit,” “down,” “stay” and “drop it.” He even held a down-stay at a distance, keeping a close eye on her as she circled him. Jacinda, his previous owner, had clearly put in time with him early on. Summoning the dog, she hooked him up, noticing that while he watched her closely from a distance, at her side he would only offer a passing glance, or even stared to one side. It was proof that she hadn’t yet earned his trust. That was to be expected, but she needed to be able to attract his attention at all times to avoid trouble. At first she would have to resort to bribes. Pulling liver treats out of her pocket, she walked him back and forth, commanding him to “watch me” and rewarding him when he met her eyes.
Behind her, someone applauded. Turning, she saw a fit young man in jogging gear who was dripping with sweat.
“What are you doing here, Wyatt?” she asked, instantly suspicious. Was Cliff having her watched? And wasn’t Madison Parker’s camera enough?
“Uh… running in my neighborhood?” he said. “Is there a law against that?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I just don’t like an audience.”
“I don’t see why not. You’re doing great with this dog. You should be proud.”
“Wyatt… nothing personal, but I don’t like to think about work outside of work, and when I see you it’s inevitable.”
“Got it,” he said, grinning. “It’s a tough environment, Butterfield. That’s why I need to run so much.”
“And another thing. If you see me outside of work, call me—”
“Kinney,” he said. “Got that, too.” He turned and loped off, calling over his shoulder, “For the record, I’m not a bad guy.”
“I know,” she called after him. “Like I said, nothing personal.”
When he was out of sight, she proceeded out into the street. The houses were sparse in Tattle Creek, with plenty of property. She would be unlikely to encounter many people at this early hour, but enough to do some initial research. In the meantime, she was to focus on leash protocol. Whiskey had already proven to have better leash manners than she did. He walked calmly by her side, but she clenched the leash and tightened up at the slightest distraction, from a bird to a squirrel. Now she realized she had to observe herself as much as him. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed, so that she wouldn’t transmit her anxiety through the leash. That was critical, apparently. Master the leash walk and you’ve practically mastered the dog, Cori said. It laid the foundation of the relationship and established her as a trustworthy leader providing clear, reliable direction.
Within two blocks, she calmed right down. Whiskey’s performance was impeccable. He didn’t flinch at passing cars or bicycles. A man trundled by with a kid in a wagon and the dog wagged his tail in greeting. When a cat raced across their path, his ears pricked and his pace picked up, but when she told him to “leave it,” he settled right down.
She shook her head. This dog seemed perfect. He was far better behaved than her beloved Kali, despite all the classes and training she poured into her. Golden retrievers were among the smarter breeds, but Kali had nothing on Whiskey. You could see the intelligence in his eyes, even though those eyes rarely settled on her.
An odd feeling pressed on her chest. She wanted this dog to find her worthy of respect. It was strange, because she didn’t care nearly as much about what Cliff, Mayor Bradshaw or even Cori thought about her. But she did care about Whiskey’s opinion. It wasn’t logical, but it was true all the same. She’d seen him at his best and he was a dog whose good opinion meant something.
She found herself wondering if the episode at Myrtle McCabe’s had been blown out of proportion. There was no question he’d been nervous at the Barber home, but once he was out of it, perhaps he’d reverted to his old self. She had never been convinced that the nip on her arm had been intentional. He had probably been going for the shovel or the hoe. Nonetheless, with a big dog like this, biting a hoe wasn’t permitted either.
Coming around the corner, she barely had time to register the change in Whiskey’s posture. His ears pricked, his entire body stiffened and his eyes locked on a target. She looked to the right just in time to see a tiny wh
ite dog careening down a steep driveway. Whiskey darted in front of her to meet the fluffy snowball. “No, leave it,” she said, heart pounding. He could swallow this fluffy crumb in one gulp.
Whiskey left it. He stood stock still while the white puppy frisked around his paws, and started leaping into his face. His posture became relaxed, but Kinney’s didn’t. She was still clutching the leash tightly and had reduced his slack. With a deep breath, she loosened her grip.
Whiskey felt the slack and raced around her to pounce on the puppy. Twice they looped, while she called, “No, no.” Finally, she lost her balance and tipped over. Her head connected with something hard and she lay on her side for a second, stunned.
“Oh, my goodness,” someone called.
Footsteps slapped toward her and furry pink slippers appeared by her head. A woman in a pink plaid housecoat stood over her and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Get the puppy,” Kinney said. “Before he eats it.”
The woman laughed. “Take a look. It’s more like the other way around.”
Kinney rose on one elbow to see Whiskey lying on his back on the sidewalk while the puppy attacked his throat with high pitched growling noises.
“My dear, I’m so sorry. The puppy slipped out while I got the mail.”
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay. I’m just worried about my dog. He isn’t always sweet.”
“Looks pretty good to me,” the woman said. She had a chic brown bob, hazel eyes and a nice smile. “Which is more than I can say for you. You hit your head, I’m afraid, and it’s bleeding quite a bit.”
“I’m fine, really. I’ll just untangle myself and be on my way.”
The woman leaned over and took Kinney’s arm. “You’ll do no such thing. My puppy caused you an injury on my property. I’ll clean up that gash and make you a coffee. It’s the least I can do.”
“Really, it’s not necessary.” Kinney got to her feet clumsily, trying to unfurl the leash. “I have to get to work soon.”
“Well you can’t go to work looking like that. And I’m sure you need to be caffeinated.” The woman held Kinney’s elbow to steady her. “Besides, I really don’t think you should be driving quite yet.”
Her grip was like a tractor beam. Kinney found herself going up the driveway without realizing her feet were moving. Whiskey followed, and the pup followed Whiskey.
“Is that a bichon?” Kinney asked. “It’s very cute.”
The woman nodded. “I have a litter of six inside and they’re all crazy like this. I can’t wait to send them to their new homes. I love to see them come and even more to see them go.”
Kinney walked up the stone stairs, feeling a gentle push behind her. The woman was a natural herder. “So you’re a breeder?”
“I am. Prepare yourself for the onslaught. There are ten adults as well as the incorrigible litter.”
Kinney stopped abruptly at the heavy oak front door. “I can’t take Whiskey in there. I don’t trust him with other dogs. Or people.” She touched the trickle of blood on her forehead and stared at her fingers. “I just adopted him.”
The woman turned to look at Whiskey, who was nuzzling the pup with his long nose. “Trust your eyes. I’ve owned hundreds of dogs in my life and used to breed shepherds. This dog is completely relaxed. And you can trust me to know whether to risk my valuable puppies with him. As long as he’s had his shots, we’re fine.”
“If you say so. I guess.”
“I say so. And I’ll add that your worrying will create problems, not solve them. Dogs pick up on our thoughts and intentions before we even know we have them.”
Inside, they were instantly swarmed by white fluffy dogs, none standing higher than Whiskey’s belly.
“What did I tell you?” the woman said, smiling. “All good.” She held out her hand. “I’m Marilyn Rossi.”
“I’ve heard of you. Apparently your bichons are the best in Dorset Hills.”
“They are.” She was more matter-of-fact than arrogant. “I worked very hard to make that true. Now, follow me.”
“We can’t leave the dogs alone,” Kinney protested.
“My house, my rules.” Marilyn’s tone inspired leadership. Whiskey would probably meet her eyes without a second thought. Maybe it took decades of work with dogs to win that honor.
She led Kinney first to the bathroom, where she told her to sit on the side of the tub. Within just a few minutes, she’d cleaned up the gash with antiseptic and covered it with a bandage. “You’ll live,” she said. “Now for the coffee and a few minutes to settle your nerves.”
Kinney gazed around from a stool at the granite island in the kitchen as Marilyn put on a pot of coffee. “You have a beautiful home.”
“I love this place more than I can say. Out here, we’re still beneath the mayor’s notice and we can ignore the worst of this Dog Town foolishness. At least most of the time. It would break my heart to leave it but—”
“Mom! Where’s my backpack? I gotta leave in— Oh.” A pretty teen with glossy brown hair in a high ponytail stood in the kitchen doorway. “Who are you?”
“Kinney Butterfield. My dog collided with one of your pups at the end of the driveway and I paid the price.”
The girl’s brow furrowed and she turned to her mom. “You can’t let the dogs outside, Mom. Ever.”
Marilyn took a deep breath. “Robin, dogs need to go outside. Obviously. That said, a puppy shouldn’t be racing into traffic. She slipped out when I got the mail.”
“You need to be more careful.” Robin’s voice rose and she sounded on the verge of tears.
“I know, I know. Just relax and get yourself some cereal before school, okay?”
The girl flounced off, ponytail swaying, and returned with a man who was still in striped pajamas. “Excuse me,” he said. “Robin didn’t say we had guests. I’m Keith Rossi.”
Kinney introduced herself again. “I tripped outside your house and Marilyn kindly patched me up.”
Keith tried to smile and failed. “Marilyn, did one of the pups run out?”
The confident breeder quailed a bit under her husband’s gaze. “Everything’s fine, Keith. The puppy’s safe, and Kinney’s brains didn’t splatter.”
Kinney caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. Whiskey had come to sit beside her stool, and the bichons streamed in after him like a parade of little white brides. Everyone else was too worked up to notice.
“Honey, we need to be extra careful with the dogs right now,” Keith said. “Who knows what could happen?”
Robin threw down the backpack she’d found. “I can’t live like this. High school is hard enough without being terrified all the time, Mom. I want to move somewhere safe.”
Marilyn pressed her lips together as she poured the coffee. “Can we have this discussion later, please? There’s no need to bring our guest into this.”
“No, it can’t wait till later.” Robin was working herself into a righteous rage. “Maybe you’ll actually listen to me when there’s a guest around. I keep trying to tell you that we’re not safe here.”
Pushing a mug of coffee toward Kinney, Marilyn said, “I’m so sorry. We had a break-in about six weeks ago and everyone’s still on edge.”
“That’s awful.” Kinney held the mug tightly with both hands, appreciating its warmth. “What was taken?”
Marilyn locked eyes with Robin to silence her. “Nothing was taken that wasn’t returned. We’re all fine and there’s been nothing amiss since then.”
A tremor went through Kinney’s hands as she made the connection, and she set the mug down with a clink. “Let me guess: someone stole a puppy. And then gave it back.”
There was a collective gasp and a second’s silence that confirmed her suspicion.
“How did you know?” Robin came closer to pin Kinney with a stare. “Is it happening all over town? Tell me it’s not.”
“It’s not happening all over.” Kinney’s voice automatically took on the soothing tone sh
e’d mastered in social work. “I just put two and two together from the conversation.” She tapped her forehead beside the bandage. “I’m good like that.”
“If you guessed, it must have happened before,” Robin persisted. “Our puppy can’t be the only one.”
“Robin, I work for the Canine Corrections Department. If this were a widespread issue, I would know about it.”
The teen put both hands on the counter and leaned in. “Are you saying it never happens?”
She was persistent, but Kinney was skilled at dodging. “Puppies and dogs go missing here and there in Dorset Hills, but it’s not a frequent occurrence. I’m sure you’re completely safe here. I noticed you have a security system.”
“It’s new,” Marilyn said. “We hoped everything would settle down after getting it, but as you can see, nerves are still frayed.”
“I think we’d be better off moving,” Keith said, pouring himself a coffee, since Marilyn didn’t offer one. “Dorset Hills was already getting cheesy. Now there’s this nasty twist. If a top breeder is getting targeted, what’s next?”
Marilyn pressed her lips together as she stirred cream into her coffee. The spoon made a loud clanking noise as everyone fell silent.
Putting her elbows on the counter, Kinney rested her chin on her hands and looked at Robin. “What would make you feel safer here?”
“Nothing,” Robin snapped. She turned and rummaged through the cupboard, and then pulled out a granola bar. Her eyes fell on Whiskey, who was now lying in the doorway to the dining room, literally covered in fluffy white pups. One was asleep between his paws. “Your dog looks like the wolf in Bellington Square.”
Kinney laughed. “I’ve thought the same. But he’s a sweetheart. Mostly.” Taking another sip of coffee, she asked, “Would a wolf like Whiskey make you feel safer?”
Her ponytail tail dipped to one side as she considered. “Maybe.”
“Personally, I feel better having a big dog around,” Kinney said.
Robin tore open the granola bar, started to take a bite and then changed her mind. “No one would break in if we had a huge German shepherd. Right?”
Bold and Blue in Dog Town: (Dog Town 9) Page 10