Bold and Blue in Dog Town: (Dog Town 9)

by Sandy Rideout

  When Sasha gave her the all-clear, she opened her eyes and gasped. The so-called shaping had lopped a good eight inches. She’d barely be able to scrabble a bun together. “It’s too short,” she said.

  Evie shook her head. “It’s gorgeous. Once you get a good blowout, it’ll be spectacular.” She opened a drawer in a little cabinet and pulled out a palette of makeup. “Let me give you a few pointers, for bringing out your eyes.”

  Kinney tried to bat her away but Leo was clinging on for dear life on the slippery salon robe. “My eyes are fine.”

  “Better than fine, but people don’t do enough with dark eyes,” Evie said. “You can totally go dramatic.”

  There were quick footsteps outside and the curtain drew back. It was Andrea MacDuff, more commonly known as Duff. Of all the Mafia associates, she was the most sophisticated. Her auburn hair fell in a sleek bob and her navy suit was both polished and functional. As always, she had stylish pumps, and no doubt a matching bag, although it was concealed in an armful of clothing.

  “I was cleaning out my closet and brought over a few things,” she said. “We’re about the same size, Kinney, and I know you prefer not to be showy. I’ve got a few things that might fit the bill.”

  Kinney let out a huge sigh that nearly blasted the eyebrow comb from Evie’s hand. “Oh my god, are we in high school again? I feel like the ugly duckling getting a makeover to win the handsome prince.”

  Evie yanked out a few errant hairs, causing Kinney to yelp. “Oh honey, you’ve already won James, the handsome prince. But you’ve still got to worry about the prince of darkness. Or more specifically, the Mayor of Mayhem.”

  Remi handed Kinney a cup of coffee. “Remember, even Cori dresses for the cause when needed.”

  Somehow, that helped quell Kinney’s nerves. “True. If Cori can be a hypocrite for puppies, I certainly can.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Evie said, applying eyeliner with a steady, heavy hand. “This is just a trial run for the meeting. We’ll review everything again when it’s set, and go over strategies, too.”

  “It’s such a great opportunity,” Remi said. “Maybe you can bat those eyelashes and find out what’s happening with the missing puppies.”

  “Eyelashes are a powerful weapon,” Evie said. “Don’t ever forget that this town is more about style than substance. But substance wins in the end.”

  Kinney groaned as the wand poked the corner of her eye, and Leo licked her chin to tell her it would all be okay.

  Chapter 14

  “Where are you taking us?” Kinney asked, bracing herself with one hand on the dashboard of James’ SUV. It turned out, perhaps unsurprisingly for a billionaire, that he had vehicular options. The little sports car from their previous Magical Makeover class had been replaced with something that allowed the dogs to be separated. Rocky lay in lionlike repose in the back seat, while Whiskey watched the town whiz past from the gated cargo area. He’d suggested they carpool after Cori released them for their latest class assignment, and she couldn’t think of a good reason to say no, other than that she always preferred being behind the wheel.

  “It’s a surprise,” James said, with an enigmatic smile that looked foreign on his normally open face. He wasn’t a man of mystery, and she liked that about him. There was enough uncertainty at work and in the world at large. She’d had her fill of complicated men and planned to stay single for the foreseeable future. A nice, simple friendship with a good guy was exactly what she needed.

  “I don’t like surprises. There’s a lot to be said for predictability.”

  He gave her the side-eye. “You’re joking, right? You jumped into a creek to save a Chihuahua the other night. You just adopted a traumatized dog after he bit you. Hardly predictable.”

  She looked out the window to hide her grin. “I guess.”

  “And then there’s the dangerous antics you and the Rescue Mafia take on. If the war stories I hear are true—”

  “Highly exaggerated. The Mafia is shrouded by urban myth. We’re just a group of nice women. Kind of like a book club, but no reading required.”

  He laughed. “You might as well admit you’re a thrill seeker like the rest of them. After your exploits at Hannah’s farm, I think you’re all superheroes, or celestial beings.”

  Kinney’s laugh came out like a sputter. “That’s gotta be the first time Cori Hogan’s been called an angel.”

  “Maybe not her. Is a vengeful sprite celestial?”

  “I’ll ask next time book club convenes.”

  He gave her another sideways glance. “You look awfully nice, tonight. Did Cori implement a dress code without telling me?”

  Sighing, Kinney smoothed her already smooth hair. “The girls spruced me up for meeting with the mayor. But he’s already postponed it.”

  “A meeting with the mayor? About what?”

  She managed to dodge the question when something caught her eye in the side mirror. “James, take evasive maneuvers. Madison’s on our tail.”

  “With pleasure,” he said, turning right at the Dalmatian and slipping quickly into an alley behind the fire station. They stayed there until her funky little red car passed and then he backtracked for a bit.

  “She should pick a tamer ride if she wants to sneak around,” Kinney said. “But it works in our favor.”

  After a few moments of silence, James continued, as if they hadn’t been diverted. “Just try to take it easy on my sister for now, okay? I worry about the baby. On the other hand, she’s totally transformed since she moved home, and it’s not just farm life. It’s like she’s burning with a fiery purpose.”

  Kinney nodded. “She does look celestial, or at least what I figure that looks like. I attributed it to pregnancy.”

  “I guess it’s a perfect storm of baby, farm animals, Mafia craziness, and true love. Nick practically follows her around with outstretched arms, ready to catch her if she falls.”

  Kinney’s face lit up now and she smiled. “That’s pretty darned sweet.”

  “The love of a good woman does that to a man.” His blue eyes flashed in her direction. “That’s our fiery purpose.”

  Tingles rolled up her spine. At the same time, her stomach clenched in fight-or-flight mode. She held her breath till both subsided. The last time someone gave her tingles, she’d ended up heartbroken… and broke. Her ex-boyfriend had secretly spent their scanty savings on shady investments before he packed up and left. He’d tried to take Kali, too, but she’d prevailed in the end, only to face the dog’s eventual illness and expenses alone. He wasn’t the only deadbeat in her past, either. So, no… she wasn’t open to tingles anymore.

  “Look at that,” she said, swivelling in her seat. “There’s a Kerry blue terrier.”

  The bronze statue was already behind them when James said, “How can you tell? Half of them look the same to me.”

  “It’s all in the groom. Most purebreds have an approved cut, even the Tibetan mastiff. The mayor’s personal bronze artist deserves a lot of credit for getting it right most of the time.”

  Pulling into a parking lot, James said, “We can walk from here.”

  She looked around and the light dawned. “Craven Road. What a great idea! It’s closed to street traffic and we can walk the dogs up and down easily.”

  Cori had assigned them to use what they’d learned about motivation to get their dogs to meet their eyes on request and focus. Attention was the absolute building block of the bond, she said, and until it came naturally, they had to establish the habit and reinforce through repetition. She’d told them to find someplace to practice with moderate distractions. Everything depended on a slow build.

  “I’ve loved this street ever since Remi gave us the tour last Labor Day,” he said, letting Rocky out and putting him into a sit, while she released Whiskey from the back. “It’s everything I wanted Dorset Hills to be—quaint, quirky and warm.”

  Kinney loved it, too. The Craven Road Committee really pushed their luck with th
e City. They flouted many official neighborhood regulations and all of the unofficial ones. Where most of Riverdale had uniformity in terms of gardens, decorations and even architectural design, Craven Road was a riot of color year-round. One side of the street had a tall fence separating it from the railway tracks. Residents constantly created new art on the fence—painting, mosaics and even textile. Often, there was a subversive tone to the art itself. Today there was a painting, two panels wide, with Noah’s ark sinking under the weight of huge bronze dogs. That one wouldn’t last, Kinney knew. A lot of good work vanished by night when saboteurs visited with pails of white paint.

  The street was still fairly quiet, as families in the mishmash of renovated cottages finished dinner and homework. Before long, kids and dogs would pour back outside to enjoy the long evenings. Parents on Craven seemed to limit electronic devices and encourage kids to join games like street hockey, basketball or even skipping contests. Some parents sat on porches keeping an eye on everyone, but mostly the kids were left to be kids.

  “It’s like taking a trip in a time travel machine,” James said, urging Rocky along. The dog’s default gear was first, although he’d proven himself capable of speed during hide and seek the other night. Generally, he conserved his energy and his enthusiasm. “This is what it was like when Hannah and I were growing up. That’s why we both had a homing device that called us back when New York got too much.”

  “I know what you mean, even though I didn’t grow up here.” Kinney watched Whiskey trot along briskly, his eyes everywhere except on her. After their teamwork in Clover Park, she’d hoped they’d rounded a corner. Instead he was back to ignoring her as much as possible. “When I moved to Dorset Hills, it was still in its formative stage. I loved its eccentric charm and I found my tribe quickly. Then everything got weird, and we’ve been trying to recover those peaceful days ever since.”

  James told Rocky to “watch me,” and when that failed, tried to get the dog’s attention with various sounds, gestures and facial contortions. “Ever feel like you don’t exist?”

  Kinney laughed. “I flicker in and out of Whiskey’s awareness. It’s very humbling.”

  “It sure is. I can hold every eye in a conference room but I can’t get my own dog to look at me.” His expression was baffled and more than a bit embarrassed. “How did I not see that my dog doesn’t give a crap about me? And why does it sting so much?”

  She nodded in sympathy. “It does sting. I’m still on my honeymoon with Whiskey, but I had the same problem with my previous dog, Kali. She only acknowledged me at around age three.” She snapped her fingers at Whiskey and sighed. “The common denominator, unfortunately, is me.”

  “But you’re so good with other dogs,” James said. “Not to mention farm animals. I noticed that Alvina the alpaca can’t get enough of you. It’s like you rolled in clover, or whatever it is she eats.”

  “I take a lot of pride in being one of the few Alvina hasn’t spit on,” Kinney said. “But I can’t pass the Fourth of July test with an alpaca on a lead.”

  “I worry about that test,” James said. “If they ban Rocky from Dog Town, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t leave Hannah to handle a baby and the shenanigans at the farm. But I won’t surrender Rocky, either.”

  “It’s still early days,” Kinney said, pulling Whiskey’s tennis ball out of her pocket. “I truly put my faith in Cori, and if she says we can turn it around, we will.”

  At the rustle of the tennis ball, Whiskey looked up fast. His beautiful, intelligent eyes lit up, but they were fixed on the ball, not her. Holding the ball up to eye-level, she said, “Watch me.” Then she let him take the ball and carry it for a few moments before reclaiming it and repeating the exercise.

  “Good job,” James said, pulling a small plastic bag out of his pocket. Plucking a small square from the bag, he said, “Watch me,” to Rocky. When the dog obeyed, he gave him the treat. “Good boy.” He used the high-pitched enthused tone Cori recommended for praise, but it sounded odd coming from James.

  “Oh, wow,” Kinney said, moving away. “That reeks.”

  “Do you know what tripe is? Cow guts. I had to look it up. I guess that’s why it’s so foul.” He looked up at her, his eyes pained. “I have to shower after every training session. Even then I think it still impregnates my clothes. And my hair. Sometimes I wake in the night and smell it.”

  She tried to repress a grin and failed. “Have you tried latex gloves?”

  He nodded. “Rocky wouldn’t consider accepting it from latex fingers. Honestly. This dog destroyed my masculine allure in just a week.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Kinney said. “Evie said you get the most fan mail of anyone on The Princess and the Pig. Other than Alvina, of course.”

  “Well, they can’t smell me, can they? It would be a different story in person. Even you—my partner in crime—are walking ahead of me.”

  She fell back in step. “I can take it. I think you’re flattering yourself, actually, because I’ve smelled far worse.”

  “Thanks,” he said, grinning. “I think.”

  “You may have more trouble with the society belles,” she added, as her eyes watered from the stench. “Probably wouldn’t go over so well at the galas.”

  He shrugged. “I try to avoid those. I find a suit too constrictive these days. Overalls are becoming more my style.” He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m done with society belles, too. Give me someone authentic.”

  The tingle went up her spine again and this time it exploded in a shower of tiny sparks. Why on earth would someone like James choose her? He might think he wanted the authentic girl next door, but he was high on nostalgia and farm manure. That would wear off soon enough and he’d need someone classy on his arm. That would never be her. Despite the new haircut and fresh face of makeup, she was still Kinney Butterfield, the girl who barely made it out of a dingy suburb to attend college on scholarship. She was the first person in her family to get a real education, and her mom’s eyebrows were still permanently raised in shock. Kinney often had nightmares of getting sucked back there.

  She turned to James and gave him her best “friendly” smile. “This stage will pass, and the stench will fade. The girls will be beating down your door.”

  He focused on Rocky, getting a consistently good response to his command. Finally he turned again. “I think I’m actually winning this battle. And if I can get Rocky to like me, I might win you over too.”

  She laughed. “If I weren’t so focused on Whiskey and work, maybe you could. Don’t take it personally.”

  He gave his billion-dollar smile. “Not at all.” He plucked another tidbit out of the bag and dangled it. “Would you like some tripe?”

  She dodged away, gagging. “James, stop.”

  He chased her for a few steps, hauling Rocky along. The dog made it clear that this wasn’t worth running for.

  Catching her sleeve in a hand sticky with tripe, he stopped her. The street lights flickered on, and at the same moment, the thousands of twinkle lights that Craven Road residents draped over trees, bushes, and everything else burst into glory as well. She stared up at James and saw a halo of lights around his dark hair. Blinking a few times, she found the halo still there. Everything else faded, even the smell of tripe.

  A child’s scream broke her trance. They turned almost as one and ran toward the sound.

  Near the opposite end of the street, where the fence ended and scrub bush began, a small girl with blonde pigtails stood crying. “My dog! He chased a squirrel and now I can’t find him.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll help.” Kinney held up her hand for silence as James knelt beside the child. “I hear him. Can you?”

  The girl stopped crying and listened. “Yes! That’s Buster.”

  “Okay, we’ll get him back. Don’t worry.” Parents gathered rapidly, and they left the little girl in their custody. Feeling a tug at the end of her leash, Kinney looked down to see Whiskey practically dancing. She
gave him some slack. “Find him, Whiskey.”

  The dog may not have known the command, but he did what came naturally. Pulling Kinney forward, Whiskey plunged into the bushes.

  James followed, tugging Rocky. “Why do I feel like I’ve been conscripted into the Rescue Mafia?”

  “Wrong place right time,” she said. “That’s how it usually begins.”

  Rocky collapsed on his side and let out huffing sounds of protest. “He’s not Mafia material,” James said. “Spontaneity isn’t his forte.”

  Whiskey didn’t need canine backup. He picked his way gracefully through the bushes, long nose to the ground. Apparently herding wasn’t his only talent.

  Kinney followed his lead until he stopped in front of a rusted metal culvert. He stuck his head inside and whined. A frantic yapping echoed back.

  “We’ve got ears on Buster,” Kinney called back to James, who was trying to push Rocky onto his paws. Dropping to her knees, she shone her phone flashlight into the tube. “And now eyes. There’s a Jack Russell terrier about ten yards in. From the way he’s squirming, I’d guess he’s stuck. Maybe his collar got snagged.”

  “We’d better call for help.” James finally resorted to tripe to get Rocky on his pins. “CCD or Animal Services?”

  She studied the culvert and then rose. “It’s almost dusk. By the time they get out here, he may have strangled himself.” Shrugging off the suit jacket she’d borrowed from Duff earlier, she unhooked Whiskey’s leash and after a moment’s thought, shoved it down her shirt and into her bra.

  “What are you doing?” James asked.

  “Going in. I won’t let a dog strangle on my watch.”

  “Kinney, let me.” He left Rocky to collapse again. “You went through enough in the creek the other night.”

  She shook her head. “You wouldn’t fit, James. Besides, this is my job. Or at least, it’s supposed to be.” She got down on hands and knees, and looked inside again. “It’s not that far. As long as the dog’s not hurt, it’ll be a piece of cake.”