Who Rescued Who

by Victoria Schade

  “‘But I’m distracting you, distracting you, come dance with me, my Trud-a-loo,’” he sang as he took her hand and moved her toward the dance floor.

  She tutted at him but gave in, and they joined the other couples moving on the floor. The crowd parted and made a fuss for the man of the hour, clapping as he twirled Trudy. It was obvious they were adored.

  Elizabeth downed her champagne and watched James Holworthy from a distance. He was never without a smile, a full pint glass, or a crowd of admirers. She pulled out her phone to look for his socials only to remember that she was in the Barnes dead zone, which made her feel like she was about to be tested on material she couldn’t study. How could she casually strike up a conversation with him if she couldn’t stalk him first? To compete with the pack of hair models already gathered around him, she’d need to use her secret weapon, the one that made people think she was a brilliant conversationalist even though she typically sweated through her wrap dresses at events: on-brand questions. No one could resist answering questions that played into their preferences, but without her phone she had no way of knowing what his were. She grabbed another drink from a passing waiter so that if the opportunity presented itself and she said something stupid or embarrassing to him she could blame the alcohol.

  The party raged on with such force that the first raindrop felt like a mistake, and no one took the weather seriously until the wind whipped a few tablecloths off empty tables, sending dinnerware crashing to the ground.

  Elizabeth started to follow the throng to the largest tent when a gust yanked the Hargrave hat from her head. She turned to run after it and collided with a gorgeous Regency-romance chest. James Holworthy steadied her with his free hand, then jogged a few steps after the hat as it cartwheeled away.

  “Stay there, I’ll get it,” he said to Elizabeth over his shoulder. He set his pint down on a stone wall and took two giant steps after the hat, and when it danced out of his reach he dove for it like he was stealing home. He ended up on one knee and stretched to grab the hat, snagging it by the delicate tulle. He stood up and held the hat over his head in triumph as the rain pelted him, exposing a sliver of his stomach beneath his white shirt.

  Wet Regency romance James Holworthy looked positively pornographic.

  James picked up his pint on the way over and handed the hat back to her. She stared at one of his ridiculous muttonchop sideburns because she was afraid to look directly at him, like he was a solar eclipse that might blind her with his perfection.

  “My hero,” Elizabeth said, and instantly regretted it.

  “At your service,” he replied with a heel click and bow.

  She plopped the ruined hat on her head in a trance, not caring that it looked like a dishrag. “You’re . . . uh.” She realized that if she said his name he’d know she’d been stalking him.

  “John Constable.” He offered his hand to her.

  She tilted her head. The name was familiar, but he was James Holworthy, not John Constable. Then it hit her. “The landscape artist. I see it now. Nice to meet you, I’m Elizabeth Barnes, aka Morning Mist.” She reached out and shook his hand. The shock of his warmth in the cool rain felt like foreplay.

  “You’re the American Barnes. Yes, Reid mentioned you, of course. Nice to meet you.”

  The accent sounded different coming out of James Holworthy’s mouth. Deeper. More mysterious. It was the first time she understood what people meant when they talked about the sexy British accent.

  “I guess everyone in this town knows everything?” she asked as they followed the crowd to the tent even though the rain was letting up.

  “Basically, yes. Except I don’t know that much about you. Reid only mentioned how you met. Great first impression, by the way.” He grinned at her and it looked wicked.

  Elizabeth worried what else Reid might have said to James. Had he already called dibs? Would James step back if Reid bro-coded that she was spoken for?

  “I’m going to be working with Reid.” She stressed the word working.

  “Fantastic! Reid needs all the help he can get.” It sounded more like a brotherly jab than a true insult.

  They walked along in silence for a few minutes, and Elizabeth felt James staring at her feet.

  “Shoe accident. Probably a good thing I’m barefoot.” She shrugged and pointed up at the drizzle. “My heels couldn’t handle a Fargrove typhoon.” She was convinced that he was disgusted by her muddy toes.

  “No, your leg. You’re bleeding.” James put a gentle hand on her arm, which stopped her like a jolt of electricity, then knelt beside her. “Cripes, what happened here?”

  The rain had dislodged the bandage and turned the trickle of blood from the scrape into bright red modern art on her calf.

  “It looks worse than it is. It doesn’t hurt,” she lied. The area around the scrape was already turning black and blue.

  “I don’t have any plasters on me, but I do have this.” He unknotted the white scarf from around his neck.

  “Oh no, don’t ruin your costume,” Elizabeth protested as he unwound it.

  “Costume? This is cut from an old shower curtain. This whole outfit is thrifted and thrown together. These are my dad’s old riding boots. Pretty convincing, huh?” He held his arms out and did a half turn with the shower curtain scarf trailing from his hand.

  “Yes, you look incredible,” Elizabeth replied more breathlessly than she meant to. “I mean, the outfit is really impressive. Sideburns, even.” She willed herself to shut up.

  James knelt beside her and Elizabeth realized that he meant to bandage her himself.

  “No, no, I’ll do it!” she exclaimed, jumping away from him. As much as she wanted to feel James caressing her leg, she didn’t want him getting up close and personal with blood and filthy feet.

  He handed the scarf to her and watched as she mopped up the mess with a quick swipe, hastily triple-wrapped it around her calf, and tied it with a bow.

  “That’s not going to stay,” James said with concern in his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do it?”

  “It’s fine.” She waved her hand to dismiss the idea. Elizabeth was desperate to change the subject from blood and bandages to something more flirty. “So, what do you do?” She cringed after she said it. Since she hadn’t been able to assemble a James Holworthy profile it was all she could think of, and it was such a San Fran thing to ask. In Fargrove it was probably the equivalent of asking how much he made.

  They were near the tent, standing at the back edge of the throng of people trying to squeeze beneath the meager shelter.

  “Me? I do this.” He held a full pint up in front of him as if he’d conjured it from the air. “I’m the co-owner of Lost Dog Brewery, so I do a little of everything. Selling, promoting, and lots of drinking. Now to you.” He shifted his stance. “What do you do for a living, Bess?” His take on an American accent was laughable.

  She accepted his unspoken challenge and responded in perfect Fargrove-ese. “Well, when I’m not in Blighty I faff about with computers.”

  “Whoa,” he responded with eyes wide. “You sound native. I’m impressed.”

  They stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for everyone to find space under the tent. Elizabeth hoped they’d wind up at a table together in a dark corner. Based on the way his arm kept grazing hers, it seemed likely.

  They were nearly under the tent when a rogue gust swept through the crowd and ripped the Hargrave hat from Elizabeth’s head again. The rain picked up and the people around them surged forward so that James was propelled farther into the tent as Elizabeth fought her way through the crowd to chase the hat. She ran after it and looked to where she’d left James, throwing a “one second” finger in the air so he’d know she was coming back to him.

  She fumed as she chased after the hat, the scarf-bandage slipping down her leg with each step. Was it the Georg
ina Hargrave curse at work, ensuring that she would also end up lonely and alone? By the time she made it back to the tent she’d not only be a swamp creature, she’d probably have to compete for James Holworthy’s attention with a perfectly dry duchess or countess. Or a pack of them.

  The hat finally came to a stop tangled in low branches at the edge of the field. The rain was starting to come down harder, but she refused to turn back until she’d recaptured it. She untangled the netting from the branches, swearing under her breath as she heard the delicate fabric rip.

  She started to jog back to the tent with the hat clasped against her chest, her bare feet slipping on the wet grass, when a shrill noise stopped her. She couldn’t place it. Was it one of the sheep? She waited a moment, standing under the meager shelter of a tree, but heard nothing. She started to move and once again heard the desperate sound. The single note was impossible for Elizabeth to ignore. She waited to hear it again and had almost convinced herself that she was imagining it when the keening sounded off closer than before. She squinted into the darkness at the base of the tree, peering into the twisted roots and gulleys that would trip the most surefooted sober person. The noise repeated, beckoning her to locate it.

  Then she saw it.

  Huddled in the gnarled roots was a tiny filthy puppy, soaking wet and trembling. When they locked eyes the puppy took a tentative step toward her and rolled onto its side into the mud. Elizabeth looked around, unsure of what to do, but there was no one nearby to help.

  She considered running away and pretending that she hadn’t seen the thing. Perhaps the mother dog was nearby and would be back soon? Based on the puppy’s sorry state, it didn’t seem likely.

  She stood a few feet away from it. It looked helpless, head down and shuddering. It tried to make its way over to her but seemed too exhausted to move more than a few steps. Elizabeth walked to the puppy slowly. It seemed to understand what was happening and froze in place so that she could pick it up without a struggle. It was freezing and trembling uncontrollably, and she knew she had no choice but to take it back with her.

  Elizabeth held it under its front legs with her arms outstretched, and it dangled from her hands like a frog. Its tiny legs swam through the air and its little body shook as she ran through the rain back toward the tent. They bounced along awkwardly until Elizabeth realized that the whole production would go more smoothly if she held the animal against her chest. She stopped under another tree, adjusted her hat so that it was tucked more securely beneath her arm, and moved the dog so that it rested against her chest, mud and all. It immediately stopped trembling, as if all it needed to be comforted was contact with another living being, and adjusted its tiny body so that its nose rested against the bare skin on her neck.

  The dog let out a shuddering sigh and surrendered against her body. Elizabeth ran on, wondering what other drama the Hargrave curse had in store for her.

  chapter twelve

  It’s bad luck, you know,” William Burke said as he gently wiped the mud off the puppy with a thick linen napkin. “If you find a dog, it was meant to be yours. You can’t just pass on what nature has gifted you, Bess.”

  A cooing group of a half-dozen people had gathered around them under the party tent, and a few murmured in assent. She strained to see if James Holworthy was among them, but he’d vanished, along with the scarf-bandage he’d given her. Georgina Hargrave strikes again.

  “Maybe it belongs to someone? Maybe it ran away?” Elizabeth said.

  William shook his head. “Someone considered this puppy a mistake,” he said as he gently turned the loaf-sized thing over in his hands. “It’s not a full border collie, you can tell by the coloring, so it was either left to die in the elements or it managed to escape before it was to be drowned in a sack. You saved its life and now it’s yours.”

  She switched into political mode. “I’m happy I could help, but I can’t keep it. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon and I have a week of travel in front of me. Plus, to be honest, I’m not much of a dog person. They don’t seem to like me.” She smiled sadly, looking around the crowd for a kindred spirit amid the trees, flowers, and rivers.

  William shielded the dog from her, placing a hand over its tiny ears. “What does that even mean? ‘Not much of a dog person’? That’s like saying you’re not much of an oxygen person. Dogs and people together . . .” he sputtered, trying to find a way to express undefinable emotions. “Dogs and people together are . . . everything.” He gestured emphatically with his free hand and cradled the puppy in the crook of his other arm as a lone yellow leaf drifted down from the brim of his hat. The puppy’s fur was matted and its stomach looked disproportionately large compared to its head, but it seemed at peace in William’s care.

  The dozen people standing around them “hear, hear-ed” in drunken agreement, and Elizabeth held her tongue, aware that she was outnumbered.

  “Take the puppy,” a voice in the crowd said. Another joined in, until they were all chanting, “Take the puppy, take the puppy,” in gleeful, drunken unison.

  William looked her in the eyes and held the sleepy brown, black, and white lump out to her. Nestled in his hands, the puppy looked like a tribal offering, and with the crowd intoning around her it was clear she had no choice but to take it from him. The puppy mewled as he handed it off to her, then settled back to sleep immediately. The crowd cheered in victory. Elizabeth could almost feel the acceptance and support coursing around her.

  “What will you call it, Bess?” someone asked.

  She still had no plans to keep it, and she didn’t want the weighty task of christening it. “I don’t even know what it is.” She looked at the crusty dog in her hands, then at William. “Boy or girl?”

  “That’s a lass. Name her well.”

  The sound of breaking glass and a shout at the far end of the tent interrupted them. The crowd scattered and ran toward the sound, and by the time Elizabeth got there, puppy still in hand, she had to stand on her tiptoes to peer over shoulders and see what everyone was looking at.

  Trudy was on her side on the ground, clutching at her arm and trying to hold back tears. Rowan knelt beside her, his face white, while Reid crouched in front of them. Elizabeth couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could tell that they were attempting to assess the severity of her fall. Trudy nodded her head and squeezed her eyes together. Rowan, Reid, and a few other men gently helped her stand up. Her forehead was a map of pain.

  They walked her slowly out of the tent and into the rain, and Elizabeth heard a few people murmur “hospital.” Should she go with them? She worked her way through the crowd, trying to get more information from people closer to where the fall had happened. “Tripped on a tent line,” a moss man informed her. “Probably a broken arm.”

  She reached the car just as Reid finished loading them in. “Stay here. I’ll let you know,” he said.

  Elizabeth watched Rowan as he gently dabbed at the blood on the side of Trudy’s forehead with a handkerchief. Her eyes were clamped shut.

  “What can I do, Rowan?” Elizabeth had the same tingly feeling she used to get when her mom had a bad spell, like she had all the energy in the world and could lift a car or insert an IV line in a hard-to-find vein in order to help. She’d always been too young to do anything more than worry, but now the ready feeling could actually be put to use.

  “We’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” Rowan chanted softly, and rubbed Trudy’s shoulder. “I’ll ring you when we know more. Don’t worry, dear.”

  The car took off down the lane. Elizabeth and a few other guests stood in the rain watching the taillights disappear in the blackness. Major chased after the car until a sharp whistle changed his direction. He ran back to William, and the pair walked off together.

  Elizabeth realized that she was still holding the tiny dog. She shifted it so that it was again in the curve of her neck without a thought about the dirt getting o
n her dress. She was ruined, soaked through. She welcomed the puppy’s warmth.

  Elizabeth had once heard that a bad fall could mean the difference between a healthy old age and a rapid descent into helplessness. She hated to imagine sturdy Trudy turning frail, like her mother had as the cancer consumed her.

  The little dog inched in closer, as if she could sense Elizabeth’s inner turmoil. Elizabeth rested her cheek on the tiny body, shielding her from the rain as they walked back to the house.

  chapter thirteen

  Elizabeth awoke to something attacking her.

  The puppy was pouncing at the lumps created by feet beneath the duvet. She watched it pause and track the movement, then belly-flop onto her feet. She shrieked when one of its needle teeth penetrated the layers of down and found a toe.

  The puppy froze and looked at her. It stared at her for a second, then seemed to smile in recognition, then ran full-tilt at her face. Elizabeth pulled the blanket over her head and the puppy pulled at the strands of hair poking out, making little rrrr-rrrr noises and tugging hard. She shrieked and the noise seemed to encourage a greater show of canine force.

  William had taken Major home for the night, leaving Elizabeth to deal with the sleeping lump of puppy on her own. He nodded solemnly toward the puppy in Elizabeth’s hands before he left. “Take care of her, Bess. At this moment you are her everything. She needs you.”

  Elizabeth had brought the puppy to bed with her because she had no idea what else to do with it. It was barely moving and wouldn’t open its eyes, so she’d placed it at the far end of the bed, hoping that it would remain comatose until someone took it off her hands. They’d both slept soundly, but now she was seeing a completely different side of the dog.

  She rolled over, keeping her head under the blankets while the puppy battled her hair. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand out of habit, even though there was no hope of connectivity. It was seven forty-five. How was she going to find out what was going on? She felt adrift without Rowan and Trudy nearby.