“Oh…” Heads nodded, cameras rolled, and pens scratched on notebooks.
The reporter broke into a genuine smile. Yep, she must have written the line.
Another man with a shoulder cam moved in, this equipment larger and more expensive-looking than the one used by the Charlotte stringer. “I’m shooting B-roll for cable news feature departments,” the man said. “This story has a lot of potential for a national feel-good piece. Anything you want to say to the country about this dog?”
Connor looked right into the camera and slowly lowered himself to a crouch next to the dog, draping an arm around his neck to show him love and also make sure he didn’t body-launch at the costly camera. “Frank is smart, strong, fearless, and gives a damn about his fellow man. He’s what Bitter Bark, North Carolina, is all about. Good people and good dogs.”
The reporters reacted with a smattering of spontaneous applause, taking some more pictures and notes. The Banner lady stepped closer and studied him, then the dog, for a moment.
“Named for Frank Wilkins, huh?”
“I’m a fan of the former mayor’s,” he said, standing back to his full height.
“Me, too.” She tucked her notebook in her bag and eyed the dog, keeping a respectable distance. “Well, you’ve got my vote, Frank. Pretty sure you’ve got the whole town on your side after today.” With a nod, she walked away with the other reporters, leaving him to turn and look into the dog’s freakishly intelligent eyes.
“You got her vote.” He blinked at the dog and inched back. “Holy…wait a second. Frank! That is the best idea.”
Frank barked once, sharp and loud, knocking that fuzzy tail so hard from side to side his whole butt wiggled. Connor got down on his haunches and ruffled the dog’s head and gave him a quick kiss on the fur. “How would you like to be mayor of the world’s greatest town, Frankendog?”
He picked up the mitten from the ground and rolled it in his big teeth like he was literally chewing on the idea.
“After what you and I pulled off today? We could sail into the mayor’s office together, riding the hero wave. You get the glory, and I’ll do the job.”
Frank gnawed an actual hole in the mitten, giving a wary eye to one more person trying to take a picture.
“Okay, maybe you’re not mayor material yet, but my cousins can train any dog to do anything.” He threaded his fingers into the dog’s furry neck and let their noses touch. “Let’s drop-kick old Mitch Easterbrook into the jaws of defeat. With your name on the ticket, there is no way we can lose.”
Frank dropped the mitten, smacked his paw on top of it, and lifted his head for more love.
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
Chapter Three
Sadie blinked, trying to clear her eyes and head, but the LinkedIn screen full of job postings still all blurred into one big uninspired mess. Research assistant. Speechwriter. Special projects coordinator. Senior office manager. Blah, blah, blah, blah.
Not a single position that would be right for the former deputy chief of staff and legislative director for a United States congresswoman. Not one that would renew her faith in the people who made up the world of “government” she’d once believed in so fervently.
Trust and idealism—and her heart, to be honest—had been dealt a crushing blow by the people she’d trusted most. She rolled over and pushed away thoughts of the man and woman who dealt that blow.
“Coffee,” she muttered. “I cannot hunt for a new job or a fresh start in life without coffee.”
She stretched her foot over the blankets and used her toe to stroke under Demi’s chin, waking her slowly. “But I do not want to walk into Nana’s sewing club meeting alone and face those ladies and all their questions.”
In the month she’d been here, Sadie had managed to avoid most of Nana’s friends, thus avoiding the questions.
Why did you leave your big Washington job? Because my boss and my boyfriend had an affair.
What was it like working for Jane Sutherland? Amazing…until it wasn’t.
Might she be president someday?
God help us…yes.
She rolled over and groaned. She couldn’t avoid people forever. “At least if I bring you, Demi, I have a distraction.”
Demi slowly rose to all fours, making a striped orange arch before gazing across the sofa bed with an expression of pure disgust. It sure hadn’t taken this cat long to establish who was the boss in this relationship. And after that weepy road trip from DC to Bitter Bark together, their roles were set.
“I know, I know. You hate to be used, and there is a coffeepot ten feet from me in that little kitchenette because Nana and Boomie are the world’s kindest people and have stocked this guesthouse to meet my needs, but…” She leaned closer. “Nana has that espresso maker I gave her for Christmas and…latte, Demi-cat. Mama needs a latte, and we are a long, long way from a Starbucks.”
Demi jumped off the sofa and sauntered to the window, her lean body moving like the catwalk was literally named after her, and she was selling something other kitties could only dream of having. With one graceful leap, she got on the sill, moved the lace curtain with her nose, then stared out at the driveway, barren garden plots, and wraparound porch they’d have to cross in order to get that latte.
Then she turned and delivered an Oscar-worthy you’ve got to be kidding me look with slanted, judgy green eyes.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Sadie whispered on a laugh. “I saved you from a life of crime on the streets of DC.”
Demi turned away.
Okay, then. There was only one thing that worked with this cat, Sadie had figured out in the very short time she’d owned her. Reverse psychology and temptations. A simple plea was never enough.
“So stay here.” Sadie closed her laptop. “I know you don’t care that Boomie made a bowl of Catnip Crumble for The Others.”
Demi yawned, making sure she communicated her utter indifference to treats, the sweet old grandfather who loved to share them, or his three lively cats who were fascinated by Demi.
“I’ll just go alone…” She rolled off the sofa bed and took a step toward the door, and Demi just watched, clearly waiting for the stakes to go up. “But rumor does have it that the Pins ‘n’ Needles ladies often bring yarn.”
She turned back to the window with a yawn. Yarn was so…pedestrian.
“And they bring…” Sadie walked to the door and twisted the knob, taking a breath. “Plastic grocery bags.” She sang the words and fluttered her fingernails against each other to imitate the sound the bags made in a happy cat’s paws.
Instantly, Demi leaped down from the windowsill and bounded to the door, so light on her paws it was like she was flying.
“You’re not as complicated as you like to let on, kittah. And we might have to find a new bribe when those bags are finally illegal.” Except some people in Congress were too busy banging their staffer’s boyfriend to focus on making new laws.
Damn, she had to let go.
It had been almost a month since that wretched night in Georgetown. A month since she inhaled that disgusting perfume in Nathan’s car and saw the guilt on his handsome features. A month since he admitted he was sleeping with her boss.
Actually, the words he’d used were in love with her. And “there’s more to this than you can understand, Sadie.”
What was to understand? Jane was gorgeous, respected, and a powerhouse in DC, already anointed and likely to be on the world political stage for her whole career. And Nathan was smart, successful, handsome, and the ideal partner for an unmarried congresswoman.
Oh, God, it hurt to lose them both.
The only thing that could heal Sadie’s wound would be a new job and new life, which was why, after a conversation with Jane, she’d quit her job, thrown some clothes in a bag, grabbed her brand new cat and a few personal items, and took off for Bitter Bark. Here, she knew no one but her dear grandparents and no one likely remembered her.
Bitter Bark was a stopping point, a place to regroup and find a job. Then she’d go back and officially move out of her apartment in DC and start over somewhere new.
But if she stayed here much longer…then she’d be unpacking and living in her misery. Those words of advice, given to her many, many years earlier, always floated into her mind when she got too settled in a bad place. And she always heeded that advice.
“Come on, Dem.” She opened the door. “We don’t unpack and live in misery. We move on and thrive.”
Demi took three steps, then whipped her head around and hissed as two older women climbed out of a Buick the size of the Titanic, followed by two little dachshunds, one tan, one…wow. Fat was the first word that came to mind. Chunky, round, and chubalicious were a few others.
The dogs heard the hiss and started to bark, but the taller, dark-haired woman held tight to the leash. “Whoa, pups.”
“Oh, Agnes, she’s here! Finally! We’ve hit the jackpot,” the tiny Q-tip-top whispered just loud enough for Sadie to hear…and wonder what jackpot they’d hit. “It’s Margie’s granddaughter. The one from Washington, DC, remember?” The older one glanced at Sadie and leaned into her friend’s ear to whisper something inaudible.
“Oh, of course.” She might not have been much younger in years, but the dark-haired woman had clearly taken good care of her skin and maybe had indulged in a few injections. She waved to Sadie. “No worries, dear. Pyggie and Gala are harmless.”
Please, God, don’t let the fat dog be named Piggy.
“Well, my cat’s not a fan of dogs,” she told them.
The little white-haired granny came closer, a yellowed smile making her bifocals crooked, the chilly spring wind blowing her coat open to reveal black slacks and a polka dot cardigan.
“Mercedes Hartman, as I live and breathe.” Her brogue was rich and musical. “Your grandmother told us all about you comin’ to Bitter Bark all the way from the big city.”
Thank God Sadie hadn’t told her chatty grandmother everything.
“You’re the politics girl, right?”
“I don’t think that’s the way she wants to be described, Finnie,” the other one said quickly. “Some young women find it offensive to be called a girl.”
“No offense taken,” Sadie assured her. Nana’s club was mostly made up of sweet old ladies who were certainly allowed to think Sadie qualified as a girl at thirty-five, and her position in DC had certainly been political enough. “I go by Sadie now. And this is…” She looked down to Demi, but all she saw was the tip of an orange tail flicking from inside the doorway.
“Fraidy-cat,” the little white-haired lady—Finnie—joked.
Sadie laughed, closing the door when the tail disappeared, because two dogs would wreck poor Demi completely. “She really doesn’t like dogs. Even two as cute as these.” She bent down to greet the two doxies, getting wagging tails and a few friendly barks. “Hello, you little darlings. Piggy?” She gave the chunky one a stroke and looked up with a question in her eyes.
“Short for Pygmalion,” the younger-looking woman explained. “And the other is Galatea. I’m Greek.”
“That’s adorable.”
Just then, the back kitchen door opened, and Nana stepped out, wrapping a thick sweater around her generous bosom. “Oh, there you are, Finnie. Agnes. And you’ve met my sweet granddaughter. Mercedes, er, oh, she’s Sadie now.”
Sadie gave Nana a quick smile, loving her for always remembering the preferred name. It was something that her mother, who was Nana’s daughter, refused to do during any of the rare three-times-a-year conversations they had.
“And, Sadie, this is Finola Kilcannon and Agnes Santorini. We like to call them the Dogmothers.”
Sadie chuckled at that as they all walked toward Nana’s kitchen. “You two are just oodles of cute,” she said, holding out a hand to shake theirs. “So nice to meet you.”
“But I met you years ago, lass,” Finola said. “I believe you went to high school with my grandson.”
Sadie rooted for the name her grandmother had just used. “Kilcannon? Oh yes, Garrett Kilcannon was in my class.”
“I was referring to my daughter’s son Connor Mahoney.”
She kept her expression fixed, not reacting any differently to that name, the one she’d tried for the past ten days to wipe out of her memory. No, it wasn’t the name that had fueled her fantasies. She could forget his name…but hadn’t quite wiped out the rest of him.
“Of course,” Sadie said as they entered the warm kitchen together, the delicious aroma of coffee and pastries almost covering the memories both old and recent of Connor Mahoney. “I actually bumped into him at Bushrod’s right after I got here.”
The two women whipped around to share a look, like they were thinking they should have known about this meeting.
“And how did that go?” Agnes asked after a beat. “Did you two get on well? Reminisce? Set a date, er, I mean, another date?”
Cute and…meddlesome. “It was nice to see a familiar face,” she said easily.
“And a fine-looking face it is, donchya think, lass?”
Cute, meddlesome…and as subtle as a two-by-four. “He’s as good-looking now as he was in high school.” There was a non-answer that the communications staffers would be proud of. But she could not resist adding, “When he beat me for class president.” She put a hand on Agnes’s shoulder. “So, I’m afraid your matchmaking would be an uphill battle.”
“Matchmaking?” She put her hand on her chest. “Is that what you think we’re doing?”
“I was there, lass,” Finnie said before Sadie could answer.
“At Bushrod’s?”
“At the campaign speech you made in the high school auditorium. Yours was stirring.”
She tipped her head with a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t think the student body was too stirred.”
Finnie inched closer and peered hard at Sadie. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
Sadie had to laugh. How could she not with these two? “I finally peaked at thirty,” she joked, rooting around for a change of subject. “So, I heard Garrett did really well with a dot-com company. PetPic? The one that sold to FriendGroup.”
“Garrett’s fine,” Finnie said. “He’s married, but Connor isn’t.”
Well, that was a relief, considering how he’d flirted with her. “Nana, do you mind if I make some espresso?”
Little Old Irish Grandma was having none of a polite subject change, though. She simply leaned closer and used all of her four-eleven, hundred pounds of determination to get in between Sadie and her coffee. “Connor is a firefighter and EMT now.”
“A lieutenant,” Agnes added, as if this were somehow a godlike accomplishment that probably helped him collect phone numbers and trophy panties. It damn near got hers.
“He mentioned that.” She added a smile at the other woman, hoping maybe she could see Sadie wasn’t biting their bait. “So, Agnes, are you an embroiderer and cross-stitcher, too?”
“Please call me Yiayia, and this is Gramma Finnie. I just come for the gossip and pastries.” She frowned a little, not too deeply, thanks to Botox. “Connor’s in politics, too, you know. Just like you are.”
Politics? “He is?” She couldn’t hide her surprise at this news and cursed herself because the grandmas clearly read that as interest.
“Oh, he is now,” Finnie exclaimed, clapping age-spotted hands in front of her chest.
Sadie eyed the espresso maker behind them, imagining that she could just lift the tiny one and move her out of the way.
“You’ll read all about it in tomorrow’s paper,” Finnie continued. “Frank is running for mayor, which is the sweetest and most brilliant idea, and everyone is so excited about it.”
Sadie inched back, trying to put two and two together and coming up with… “Frank? Another Kilcannon or Mahoney?” She remembered that there were a lot of them.
“Not exactly,” Agnes said. “But it’s the big
gest news in Bitter Bark. You’ve been here a few weeks. How could you miss all the hoopla about Connor and the dog?”
“Oh, yes.” She had seen the gushy front-page coverage, and Nana and Boomie had practically burst when he was on CNN crowing about the town and a dog who’d been involved with a child’s rescue. None of it helped kill those pesky fantasies. “But I’ve been so busy.”
Nana put a loving arm around Sadie’s shoulders and guided her closer to the espresso machine, because she was a queen that way. “Frank is the dog, honey.”
“And not just any dog, lass,” Finnie added with a gleam in her blue eyes. “He’s a national hero! And so is Connor.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“He’s a stray,” Agnes added.
“Frank or Connor?”
The woman gave a sharp laugh, then looked at Finnie. “She’s perfect, really. Pretty, funny. I like a funny woman.”
Oh boy. Sadie had walked right into that. “So, help me understand this, because I’m confused. The dog is running for mayor?”
“Oh, it’s been done before,” Agnes assured her. “There’s a golden retriever with the title in California and…”
“A Great Pyrenees on his fifth term in Minnesota,” Finnie finished. “Connor found about six more all over the world. So, why not the hero Frank? It’s such a clever way to bring attention to our little dog-lovin’ town.”
Even if it made a mockery of the political system, she thought. How like the man who ran for office on a bet, without a single campaign promise or motivation other than to impress girls.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll win,” she said, taking the little coffeemaker from the stand. “He apparently wins at everything.”
“He does,” Finnie agreed. “But Frank has required some extensive training, though I say he’s made great progress. Connor has had Frank at Waterford Farm every day for almost two weeks.”
“Waterford Farm.” She remembered that’s where the big Kilcannon family lived. “Is that the dog farm Connor mentioned?”
“It’s the largest canine rescue and training center on the East Coast now,” Agnes said, sounding a little like she’d memorized the marketing materials.
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