The Chesapeake Diaries Series 7-Book Bundle: Coming HOme, Home Again, Almost Home, Hometown Girl, Home for the Summer, The Long Way Home, At the River's Edge (67 page)

“Great. Thanks. I’ll see you later …”

Berry and Cody were already home when Dallas returned with her bottle of champagne, which went right into the refrigerator. She chatted with Cody about the book they’d read at story hour that morning, then, after lunch, went back to work after sharing her news with Berry. Dallas wasn’t sure which bit of news—that of the imminent divorce or obtaining the rights to the book—had pleased her aunt more. For her part, it was all Dallas could do not to spill what she’d learned about Berry’s mystery man, or at the very least, use the word “archer” in a sentence, but since nothing fit into the conversation, she went into the library and returned to work.

It’s going to be mine
, she gleefully reminded herself as she opened the last file she’d worked on. Pretty Maids
is going to be mine, all mine … and what a glorious film it’s going to make
.

Dallas’s phone rang later in the afternoon, shaking her out of her work zone. She found the phone in her pocket and checked the caller ID. Page One Animal Rescue Shelter flashed on the screen.

“Hi, Grant. Thanks for calling me back.” She forced a casual note.

“Hey, is everything all right? The dogs are both okay?” He sounded concerned.

“Yes, they’re fine. Sorry, I should have said that there was no emergency.”

“Glad to hear it. I got a little worried when I got your message.” He paused. “So what’s up?”

Dallas took a deep breath.

“I was wondering if you might be free this evening.”

“Depends on what you’ve got in mind. Flight to Paris might be tough—I have a full book tomorrow. On the other hand, I might be able to fit in hot monkey sex.”

“Could you fit in something that falls somewhere between the two?”

“Hmm. An entire range of possibilities …”

Dallas laughed. “I have a bottle of champagne that needs to be shared, and I thought if you weren’t busy …” She let the thought trail off.

“Oh? Special occasion?”

“Two special occasions, actually.” She spun a paper clip around on the end of her pen. “One, my divorce is supposed to be finalized today. And two, my offer for the film rights to
Pretty Maids
was accepted.”

“Wow. Doubleheader. Good for you.” He sounded impressed. “I’m not sure which one I should ask about first. And do I say ‘congratulations’? Is that the appropriate response?”

“We can talk about both, if you’re free tonight.”

“Ahh, actually …” Grant hesitated, and her heart sank.

“It’s okay if you’re tied up,” she hastened to say, and tried to keep it light and casual, as if it didn’t really matter. “We can get together another time. I’ll be here all summer.”

“Here’s the thing: I have some dogs that are being
brought in from a kill shelter down south. I expect them around seven, and once they arrive, they’ll need to be walked and watered, and I’d like to examine them before I bring them inside and pen them alongside the dogs that are already here.”

“Well, as I said, we can get together another night.”

“Dallas,” he said with greatly exaggerated patience, “this is where you’re supposed to say, ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ ”

“Oh. Sure. Is there something I can do?”

“Now that you ask, yes, there is. You can walk the dogs when they’re let out of their crates. Paige usually gets that duty, but she’s working with Steffie tonight. There was some big group in town today and my sister couldn’t keep up with the crowd, so she called Paige in to help. They’re open till eleven, so Stef will drive her home after they close. Paige loves working at Scoop, but it means I’m shorthanded with the dogs. So what do you say? You’ve had some time to perfect your dog-walking skills.”

“If I were more of a cynic, I’d say that’s one hell of a line you’ve got there, Dr. Wyler.” She lowered her voice. “ ‘Want to come over and walk my rescue dogs?’ ”

“Yeah, I know. It hasn’t worked very well in the past, but since you haven’t said no yet, maybe things are looking up.”

“What time do you want me?”

“Anytime you can come over would be fine. I’ll be seeing patients right up until around seven, so I’ll be cutting it close if they’re on time. Which they usually are not.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Great. Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

For the second time that day, Dallas hung up from a call with a smile on her face. She was going to celebrate her happy day with Grant, and who knew where that could lead?

“It looks like flea baths for everyone,” Grant announced to no one in particular.

“What?” Dallas stood in the doorway, holding a young beagle on a leash. “Flea baths?”

“Yeah.” He nodded and flashed her a smile. “We’ll start with you.”

Dallas crossed her arms over her chest.

“Kidding,” he told her. “I was referring to the dogs. One in the bunch had fleas, they’ll all have fleas. If we don’t knock that out right now, every dog in the shelter will be scratching by the weekend. Anyone know where Janelle is?”

“She went to pick up a pizza,” Mimi Ryan, one of Grant’s assistants, told him.

“No eating on the job. I thought we had posted that in the kitchen.”

“Ha ha. Good one, boss.” Mimi whispered something to the dog Grant was examining, and patted its head.

“I get no respect. I’m thinking about changing my name to …” He looked over at Dallas. “That comedian who got no respect. What was his name?”

“Rodney Dangerfield,” Dallas replied.

“Yeah, him.” Grant continued his exam of the greyhound. “What do you think, Dallas? Rodney Wyler?”

Dallas offered a thumbs-down.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Grant ran his hands along the dog’s back. “You’re looking good, Champ. Take a walk with Mimi and she’ll give you a bath.”

“How come I have to do all the flea baths?” Mimi complained.

“Because it’s in your job description.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It is now.”

Mimi laughed good-naturedly and walked off with the greyhound.

“So tell us, Dallas MacGregor, international superstar. How did you celebrate the outstandingly good news you received all on one day?”

Grant waved on Janelle, who walked in with a pizza box in one hand and a tan mixed-breed pup in the other arm. She handed the pup to Grant, who stood it on an examining table. “ ‘Well, Oprah, I just totally went to the dogs that night,’ ” Grant said.

Dallas rolled her eyes. Janelle took the pizza into the kitchen, then came back and took the beagle from Dallas, who traded for the foxhound that was next in line.

When Grant finished with the puppy, he moved on to the beagle while Dallas walked the foxhound.

“I’ll bet you can’t remember the last time you had this much fun,” Grant said to her when she came back into the barn after walking the dog.

“Actually, I can,” Dallas deadpanned. “August 2001. The
Tarzan
remake. Up to my chin in quicksand. Well, actually, it wasn’t
real
quicksand, but it felt like it.”

“Because you know what real quicksand feels like,” he scoffed.

“If it’s soft and mushy and wet and you’re in it up to your chin …”

“All right, I’ll give you that one.” Grant turned and called to Mimi. “If you’re done with the greyhound, I have a beagle here that could use a bath.”

“You’re going to have to hold him for a minute,” Mimi called back. “This guy still needs to be dried off.”

“I’ll take her back.” Janelle reached for the beagle and led it to the room off to the side of the barn where the dog bathing was taking place.

“How often do you do this?” Dallas asked Grant.

“As often as someone brings me dogs,” he said simply. “When someone in the network gets a call that a bunch of dogs at XYZ shelter are going to be put down, if they can get a volunteer to pick up the dogs quickly enough, they’ll drive them north. I take a few, other shelters take a few. We save as many as we can.” He looked across the examining table and met her eyes. “These are all good dogs, Dallas. They deserve a chance to have good owners and good homes. Forever homes.”

He knelt down to take a look at the foxhound, then smiling up at Dallas, he said, “I don’t suppose you’d want to …”

She held up one hand and laughed. “Hey, you’re two for two. Don’t press your luck.”

“No harm in asking.” He examined the foxhound, who licked his chin. “Nice girl here. Beautiful dog. Yes, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? And young.” He checked her teeth. “Maybe eight, ten months at the most. And so well behaved. We’re going to find a good home for you, baby girl, and someone is going to thank me.”

Grant had been charming and fun on Friday night, but the Grant who calmly and gently examined each dog, speaking softly and with affection, was the Grant who Dallas knew she’d be unable to resist. She thought of the champagne that she’d brought with her and that Grant had placed in the ice maker in the old refrigerator in the shelter’s kitchen, and wondered if resistance was going to be an issue.

When he’d looked over the last dog and handed it off for its bath, he wiped his hands on his lab coat, which had long since ceased being white, and told Dallas, “Give me ten minutes to grab a quick shower. I’m really pretty doggie. Do you mind waiting?”

“Not at all. Oh. The champagne …” She dashed into the kitchen, and returned with the bottle.

“Good call.” He nodded and started for the back room. “I’m just going to check in with Mimi and Janelle, see if they need anything before I leave.”

“I can help them if they want,” Dallas offered.

“Nah. Your job was to walk dogs, and you did that quite admirably. But flea bathing … ah, that’s an acquired skill. But thanks for offering.” He went into the back room and moments later emerged. “They’re almost finished and will lock up, so I’d say our work here is done.”

He reached for her hand, and they walked across the yard to the house.

“Beautiful night,” Grant noted. “Not too hot, not too cool. Stars overhead. Nice bright moon on the rise there.” He took a deep breath. “Nice to be alive on a night like this.”

She smiled and allowed herself to be led up the brick walk to his front door. It was nice to be with someone who noticed such things.

When he opened the door, three large dogs spilled out, all wagging their tails and making a fuss over Grant. He introduced Dallas, telling her, “These are the old folks, the dogs that got kicked out of their homes because they were too old to keep around. This is Schultz. Everyone expects rottweilers to be tough, but he’s a lamb. Probably because he’s forgotten he’s a rottweiler.” Grant gave the dog a scratch behind the ears.

“This is Sailor.” He pointed to a wizened bloodhound. “He has arthritis in his back legs and doesn’t move very fast these days, but he’s a good old soul. And this is Mamie, my number one girl. After Paige, that is. Oh, and you, of course.” He looked up from the dog and smiled. “Mamie is part retriever, and part shepherd, and all love. She must have been a sassy girl when she was younger.”

He leaned over and kissed Dallas on the mouth, a quick meeting of lips that was just enough to promise more later. “The dogs will keep you company while I’m in the shower. I won’t be long.” He handed her the remote control for the TV. “In case you get bored.”

“I won’t get bored.” Mamie followed Dallas to the
sofa and gave her a good sniffing. “Grant, is there a powder room where I can wash my hands? I’m a little doggie myself.”

“Right through this door, through the kitchen, door on the left.”

“Thanks.”

Grant disappeared into the hall and she heard him take the steps, two at a time, to the second floor. She found her way to the powder room, where she washed up. She took her time on the way back to the living room, wanting to see where he lived, what things were important enough for him to have in his home. She’d always believed you could learn a lot about a person by the things they keep near.

She found the kitchen to be quite old-fashioned, with wooden cabinets painted white, a worn linoleum floor, and ancient wallpaper with random bunches of cherries, the background of which had probably once been white but was now yellowed. The appliances were new, though, and she suspected that his renovations hadn’t gotten as far as the kitchen yet. A glass filled with cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace was placed in the center of a wooden table in the bay window—Paige’s contribution to the decor, she guessed—and near the open door that led to a back porch stood three bowls of water for the dogs.

She went back into the living room, the furniture of which was new, but the wallpaper as antiquated as that in the kitchen. On the floor was a large oval multicolored rag rug and in one corner was an old rolltop desk that appeared to be authentic rather than a reproduction. Paintings on the walls were mostly of boats and the Bay. A closer examination revealed they
were all painted by the same hand and signed A. Clanton. Most were of skipjacks or skiffs, the Bay’s hardworking boats, but there were a few of sailboats and one of a schooner. She walked around the room to study each.

“Not bad for someone who never had a lesson, don’t you think?” Dallas hadn’t heard Grant come down the steps, and was startled at the sound of his voice.

“Who’s the artist?” she asked.

“My mom’s mother did those. She raised nine children on a waterman’s income, and when the last of her kids left the house, she went back to school, got a GED, and decided she was going to be an artist.”

“I’d say she succeeded. These are lovely.” She turned to him. His dark hair was still wet and his cotton shirt was partially unbuttoned and clung to him in places that were still damp, and his feet were bare. Dallas thought she’d never seen a sexier man in her life.

“You should see the landscapes,” he went on. “They were split between my older sister, Evie, and Steffie. Most of the cousins got one or two, but we got the most because Gramma was living with my parents when she passed away and she gave them all to my mom.”

“I keep forgetting you had an older sister. Where is Evie these days?”

“She and her husband moved to Iowa about three years ago. That’s where he’s from originally, and he wanted to go back, work the family farm. Evie was okay with that—she’s into organic gardening—so off
they went. Stef calls them Mr. and Mrs. BOR-ing, but they’re happy and doing their own thing, so I say good for them.” He stood and just stared at her for a long moment. “So. Champagne.”