In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

  “From what I’ve heard, he didn’t have any reason to hate you,” Jocelyn said. “He took your money and your family land and then left you and Liam to fend for yourselves. What’d you ever do to him?”

  “It’s never that simple.” The mischievous sparkle in Nora’s eyes dimmed. “I did plenty.”

  Jocelyn leaned in. Carmen pricked up her ears. “Like what?”

  “I was very young when I got married.” Nora cleared her throat. “Too young, in retrospect. But I wanted to feel important, and here was this confident, older man who swept me off my feet.

  “It was infatuation, not love. At least on my part. Peter did love me. No matter how much anyone wants to rewrite history, I know he loved me once upon a time. That made everything harder in the end.” Nora paused. “He wasn’t one for grand gestures or romantic displays.”

  “Oh, I’m aware.”

  “But the day we got back from our honeymoon, he planted a tree in our yard. A big, sturdy sapling. He carved our initials in a heart and said he’d love me as long as that tree lived.”

  “That . . .” Jocelyn struggled for words. “Doesn’t seem like him.”

  “It was his one and only grand gesture.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “I did.” Nora lowered her gaze. “I fell in love with someone else, a boy I’d known since high school. He came back after college, showed a little interest in me, and I lost my head . . . and my heart. It was platonic for a long time, but it was still wrong. They have a term for it these days—an emotional affair.”

  Jocelyn could feel the shame and remorse emanating from the other woman.

  “I told Peter that I wanted to leave, that I’d given my heart to someone else.”

  “What’d he say?”

  Nora lifted her gaze, her expression pensive. “You know that expression, your money or your life?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “Well, he wasn’t going to let me go without making me pay. He wanted to hurt me the way I’d hurt him. So in the end, I let him have my family land in the divorce. He got a lot of the family money, too. I thought I was getting the better deal. I thought love was worth more than money. The day I left him, I took off my wedding ring and threw it at him. We were standing outside. It bounced right off that sapling he planted and it’s probably still in the dirt where it landed.”

  Jocelyn waited to hear the end of the story. Now was not the time to interrupt Nora with the news that Mr. Allardyce had squirreled that wedding ring away.

  Nora smiled ruefully. “When the other man found out I wasn’t rich anymore, he didn’t want me. Then I found out I was pregnant with Peter’s child and he really didn’t want me.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “Are you sure Liam’s father is . . .”

  “Oh, he’s Peter’s son, no doubt about that. I did a DNA test after Liam was born. I sent the results to Peter, but he never responded.” Nora cringed at the memories. “The day I told him I was pregnant, he looked at me with such contempt. I gave him my money and my family land, but it wasn’t enough. He could never forgive me for falling out of love with him.”

  “He never wanted to see Liam grow up?”

  “He knew where we were.” Nora sounded harder now. “It’s not as though we ever left home, really. After Peter sold the ranch, I went back and started working there. It was the only home I knew.” She smiled wryly. “And when Peter left, he ripped up the sapling with our initials. Left a giant hole in the ground for all to see.”

  Jocelyn sat up straighter as a thought occurred. “What do you think he did with the tree?”

  “Chopped it up for kindling, I’m sure.” Nora sighed. “Now I see that I was wrong letting him punish Liam as part of punishing me. I should have fought harder for Liam’s sake. I should have made Peter be a father, whether he wanted to or not.”

  “You can’t make anyone be a father if they don’t want to,” Jocelyn said with total authority.

  Hester got to her feet and whined in greeting as footfalls crunched on the sand-dusted deck. Jocelyn turned around to see Liam approaching, bleary-eyed and barefoot in jeans and the rumpled T-shirt he’d slept in. He held a mug of coffee in each hand, one of which he gave to Jocelyn.

  “Morning.”

  “Look who’s finally awake!” Nora teased. “You’ve gone soft, living in the city.”

  “It’s six fifteen,” Liam pointed out.

  “Practically lunch hour on the ranch.”

  “Check it.” Jocelyn pointed to Nora’s artwork. “She’s really good.”

  “She’s exaggerating, but I’ll take it.” Nora obliged as Curtis pushed his whole face into her lap for an ear scratch. “You should bring her down to the ranch soon.”

  “I’d love to see it,” Jocelyn enthused. “I’ve heard so much about it, I’m all invested now. Literally.”

  Liam looked a bit uneasy. “You two sure are getting along.”

  “She got up and made coffee and fresh OJ for everyone. And she took the dogs out,” Jocelyn said. “What’s not to love?”

  “She let me stay the night and drink her vodka even though she thought I might try to steal her house away,” Nora said. “And she has all these adorable puppies.”

  Liam backed up a few steps. “I’m going back to bed.”

  “You’d think he’d be happy we’re getting along,” Jocelyn said to Nora.

  “You’d think.”

  Jocelyn nibbled her lip for a moment, considering the implications of the words she was about to voice. “So this tree, with the initials. Do you happen to remember what it looked like?”

  Nora shrugged. “Just a regular tree. Trunk, bark, leaves. The usual.”

  “Was it an ironwood tree, by any chance?”

  “You know, now that you mention it, that does sound familiar.” Nora tilted her head, puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

  “Did Liam happen to mention what his father left him in the will?”

  “He said he got nothing. Repeatedly.”

  “Yeah, well, as with so many things about your ex-husband, there may be more to the story.” Jocelyn got to her feet and invited Nora to do the same. “Humor me. Let’s take a little stroll around the grounds. Tell me if any of these trees ring a bell.”

  “I’m happy to oblige, sugar, but I don’t think I’ll be any help.” Nora put down her art supplies.

  They started right where they stood in the patch of shade on the back patio. “Nope, nope, no.” Nora pointed out and dismissed trees with rapid-fire rapidity. “Jocelyn, I have to tell you that if you need an expert opinion on a fourteenth-century Tuscan altarpiece, I’m your girl, but I know nada about trees.”

  “Keep going.” Jocelyn led Nora toward the side of the house.

  They didn’t have to go far. Nora froze midstride and stared up at a huge, twisted tree that overlooked the window of the master bedroom. “Oh my goodness.”

  Jocelyn felt a little frisson of triumph. “Is that it?”

  “It can’t be.” But Nora stepped forward, her eyes welling, and traced a scarred, warped, barely recognizable heart carved into the tree’s trunk. A heart that had literally been broken by the ravages of time and weather, but a heart that remained nonetheless, after all these years.

  And beneath the weathered, warped old heart was a fresh carving, two letters still white and sharp against the coarse bark: L. S.

  Nora was silent for a moment, resting her fingertips on the gnarled edges left from the pocketknife. Then she whispered, “Liam Sheridan.”

  “Mr. Allardyce must have added that,” Jocelyn said. “Right before he passed.” He knew Liam was his son. This was his ultimate acknowledgment of family—contrary and ornery and utterly dysfunctional. But still . . .

  Nora turned and yelled. “Liam! Liam!”

  He strode out the back door, his expressi
on alarmed at the urgency in his mother’s voice. His pace slowed as he saw Jocelyn.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Jocelyn reached up to cup his cheek, then stepped away to let mother and son have a moment of privacy. “It’s your inheritance.”

  chapter 30

  The breakfast dishes were still soaking in the kitchen sink when Polly and Roger Derridge arrived to begin the process of picking their new puppy. Liam had helped to bathe Hester, and Jocelyn had done everything she could to prepare for the famed breeders who were essentially royalty in the Labrador world. Mr. Allardyce had been smug and self-satisfied about brokering this deal with the Derridges, crowing that it would vault his dogs to the next level of prestige and showmanship.

  But Hester had apparently missed the memo re: prestige and showmanship, and she insisted on rolling in freshly raked sand the moment she escaped from her shampooing. After a second rinse, she galloped into the laundry room and frolicked in a pile of soiled, staticky sheets.

  “At least you’re feeling good enough to be naughty,” Jocelyn told Hester as the doorbell chimed. “Do me a favor and pretend to be obedient for twenty minutes. Please? There’s a leftover pancake in it for you.”

  Jocelyn opened the door expecting to greet the perfectly put-together couple in matching plaid sweaters pictured on the Derridges’ kennel website. But without Photoshop and expert lighting, Polly and Roger Derridge looked like unpretentious, everyday dog lovers. And bonus, they were already covered in dog hair so Jocelyn didn’t have to apologize for the tornado of post-bath shedding they were about to step into.

  She apologized, anyway. “Welcome! Come on in! Sorry in advance about the shedding.”

  Roger offered a hearty handshake, and then Polly engulfed Jocelyn in a hug. “It’s so good to finally meet you in person!” Polly gushed. “Peter bragged about you so much, I feel as though I already know you.”

  “He did?” Jocelyn hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous.

  “Oh yes, he went on and on about you. He said you were so good to the dogs. Always went the extra mile to make sure they were happy and healthy.”

  “Oh.” Jocelyn blinked. “Well.”

  “It’s no wonder he chose you as their guardian.” Roger’s voice boomed through the foyer. Down the hall, Curtis and Carmen went nuts. “He was lucky to find you.”

  “Don’t we know it,” Polly lamented. “We’re always on the road for shows, and we worry about the dogs we have to leave at home.”

  “In fact,” Roger added, “if you’re ever looking for another employer . . .”

  “No business talk today,” Polly admonished her husband. “We’re here for the puppies.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Lead the way.”

  Jocelyn obliged, opening the door to Mr. Allardyce’s office, where she had sequestered Hester and the four puppies. Hester managed to detach herself from her brood long enough to get to her feet and give a proper, polite greeting to their visitors.

  “Good girl.” Jocelyn stroked the dog’s head. “She’s such a good mama, too.”

  “I’m sure. Hester was always the sweetest and prettiest of Peter’s kennel.” Polly cooed into Hester’s face. Hester reveled in the attention.

  “Are these all of them?” Roger sounded disappointed as he inspected the quartet of pups.

  “Yes. I’m no dog expert, but the vet said it was a small litter,” Jocelyn said.

  “Very small.” Roger stood back, studying the wriggling little fur balls.

  “Well, dear, what do you think?” Polly winked at Jocelyn. “He takes this very seriously.”

  “Puppy selection is serious business,” Roger replied. “If we’re going to devote our time and money to a dog—not to mention the Derridge name—he or she needs to be worthy.”

  Jocelyn smiled, thinking he was kidding. But he wasn’t kidding.

  “Hmm.” He walked a few steps to the right. “Hmmm.” And now a few steps to the left.

  “What are you—?”

  “Shh.” Polly put a dramatic finger to her lips. “This is the most important part of the whole process.”

  Jocelyn couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, and she wasn’t allowed to speak, anyway, so she watched and waited.

  Roger hunkered down on his knees and picked up the puppies one at a time. He checked their teeth, their paws, the inside of their ears, and then he rubbed them as if kneading little balls of bread dough.

  Little George Clooney he put aside after mere moments. “This one needs to be neutered as soon as possible.”

  “Why?” Jocelyn asked. “He’s adorable. Everyone loves him.”

  “He’s a silver Lab.” Polly spoke these words as though she were going to follow them up with and he should be drowned in the river.

  “What’s wrong with silver Labs?” Jocelyn asked.

  “They’re not breed standard,” Polly declared.

  “They’re an aberration,” Roger agreed. He thrust poor George at Jocelyn without another glance.

  Pat Benatar was also quickly eliminated from competition. “Her topline is faulty.” Roger pointed out a dip in the tiny dog’s spine.

  “How can you even tell?” Jocelyn asked. “She can barely stand up.”

  “Shh!” Polly hissed.

  The third puppy, J. K. Rowling, a peppy little girl who was slightly bigger and more rotund than her siblings, merited a more thorough inspection. “Good bones, good musculature.” Roger stopped kneading long enough to place the puppy on the rug.

  “Aw.” Polly melted. “She’s precious.”

  “I suppose.” But Roger seemed reluctant. “But I worry about her bite. Looks like it could be the beginning of a wry bite.”

  “What’s a wry bite?” Jocelyn asked.

  “It’s when one side of the jaw is longer than the other,” Polly explained in hushed tones. “The teeth won’t be in proper alignment.”

  “It’s the worst possible structural flaw a dog can have,” Roger concluded with great authority.

  “But her baby teeth haven’t even come in all the way.”

  “Her saving grace,” Roger stated. “Let’s have a look at number four, here.”

  “Number four has a name,” Jocelyn said as Roger eyed the final puppy, the sleepy, snuggly little boy. “It’s LeBron.”

  “No.” Roger dismissed LeBron without even picking him up. “Look at that tail.”

  Jocelyn looked. All she saw was a brown bit of fluff. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s kinked. He won’t last two minutes in the show ring.”

  “He’ll make some family a lovely pet, I’m sure.” Polly’s tone was consoling.

  “Yes.” Jocelyn’s voice was crisp. “He will.”

  “Don’t be offended, my dear. They can’t all be champions.” Roger all but patted her head in condescension. “And there’s only these four? Are you sure?”

  “Uh, yes.” Jocelyn crossed her arms. “I delivered them myself.”

  Polly looked startled. “You did? Why?”

  Before Jocelyn could reply, Roger was snapping his fingers in her face and demanding a blanket and a quiet room in which to continue his vetting process for J. K. “I need to get her away from her mother and her litter and all this chaos.”

  Jocelyn glanced around at the freshly vacuumed handwoven rug, antique furniture, and damask drapes. “Yes, of course. It’s a wonder you can hear yourself think.”

  Oblivious to her sarcasm, he picked up the puppy like a football and prompted, “Blanket, please?”

  “What do you need a blanket for?” Jocelyn asked.

  “An IQ test,” Roger said. “I can’t have any dumb dogs in my kennel.”

  “But Labs are dumb,” Jocelyn protested. “That’s their thing! That’s why everyone loves them!”

  “Correction: Most Labs ar
e dumb.” Roger exchanged a look of supreme superciliousness with his wife. “Not Derridge Labs. Derridge Labs are the valedictorians of the retriever world. And we keep them that way by weeding out the underperformers.”

  “Which is about ninety percent of the puppies we see,” Polly said.

  “So you’re saying if she doesn’t pass your Mensa blanket test, you’re not interested?” Jocelyn asked.

  “We’ll keep her under consideration, but the final purchase will be contingent upon her bite development.” Roger was already holding the puppy as though she were his possession. “We can’t waste our time and resources on anything less than the best.”

  Jocelyn looked at the tiny, exuberant little dog. “She’s a great dog.”

  “She is a great dog,” Polly soothed. “But we have to be sure that she’s perfect. A sweet disposition isn’t enough to make it in the big leagues.”

  “You should be flattered,” Roger said. “The fact that we’re even keeping her under consideration will raise the prices for your next litter.”

  Hester whined as she watched her baby wriggling in the arms of a stranger.

  Jocelyn reached out and reclaimed her puppy. “Well, you don’t have to keep her under consideration.”

  “Yes, we do.” Roger held out his hands, waiting for Jocelyn to come to her senses. “She’s the best of the lot.”

  “The lot is off-limits,” Jocelyn decreed. “You can’t have her. You can’t have any of them.”

  Hester’s tail thumped against the rug.

  “Excuse me?” Polly’s sweetness-and-light routine vanished. “We certainly can have her. We have a contract in place.”

  “My recent experiences in the legal world have taught me that contracts can always be contested,” Jocelyn said. “And if you’ll give me a second . . .” She rifled through the files in Mr. Allardyce’s desk drawer. “Here we go. Your rights to this puppy are contingent upon you paying a deposit fee.”

  “Which we did,” Polly informed her. “I still have the canceled check in my accounts.”