Charlotte Moore

“You bring her on into the kitchen, why don’t you. I’ll get Jamie to see to her when he comes home from school, if Liam’s delayed.”

“Are you sure?” This was a break! She couldn’t do an end run around the absent son to get what she wanted—an agreement to board Maggie—from the mother, but it was a start. Charlotte had no doubt that Ada would fall in love with Maggie once she was on the premises, and so would Liam if he gave the dog half a chance. Charlotte would come back later and discuss the details.

“Oh, yes!” Ada waved her hand in a throwaway gesture that was becoming familiar. “Don’t give it a thought. My son’s growl is worse than his bite, you know. This is a lovely dog, Charlotte. A lovely, lovely girl!” She smoothed Maggie’s broad head, and Maggie responded with that happy confident Labrador look Charlotte knew so well. “She can stay right here by the fire with me and Chip!”

Chip must be the cat. Luckily, Maggie tolerated cats well. Laurel’s horse barn was always full of them.

“If your son objects, I’ll have to make some other arrangement.” Charlotte closed her eyes in silent prayer. Please, let that not happen!

“Nonsense! This is the perfect place, next door to where you’ll be working. Why didn’t I think of it the other day? You can visit her anytime you want. Have you been over to the estate yet, dear?”

“I’m planning to do that this afternoon or maybe tomorrow,” Charlotte said, taking a step backward toward the path that led to the house. “I’ve been busy. I just found somewhere to live and—”

“Where’s that?”

“A place they mentioned at the store—”

“Not Clara Jenkins’s!”

“Yes, as a matter-of-fact.”

“Oh, that won’t be suitable, not at all. She just has bachelors staying there, folks who aren’t a bit fussy. She’s certainly no cook. Why, I hear all she puts out for breakfast is a pot of porridge and a spoon.”

Charlotte had noticed that the room she’d taken for the week was very sparsely and boringly furnished, with a worn lino floor, sagging single bed and a monstrous television in the corner, which she had no intention of using. Lucky she’d only be in Petty Cove a month, because she didn’t think she could stand the color of the walls for too long, either. They weren’t periwinkle or aqua or even last year’s seafoam but a plain all-out fifties-or-bust turquoise. She hadn’t enquired about the meals, which were included.

“I’ve taken the room for a week,” she said. “I’ll give it a try.” If worse came to worst, she could always find something in Charlottetown, although a commute of an hour everyday, both ways, didn’t appeal.

“If only I’d known,” Ada said fretfully, looking rather lost again.

Perhaps it was the empty stare of her sightless eyes, but Ada’s expression often took on a vague, bewildered look.

“I just hope you’re comfortable there, dear. And you put your foot down about the breakfast. You can always come to us if you’re not happy.”

“You mean—” Come to us?

“We’ve got all kinds of rooms upstairs,” the older woman said, brightening. “Nice rooms, too, all with their own plumbin’ and lovely sea views. It’d be like old times!”

It was rather sad, really, Charlotte thought as she drove back down the lane. Ada had obviously loved playing hostess in her own little guest house. With her sight gone and her husband dead, those days were past. And with a son who didn’t seem to care about anything but his dogs, they would most likely never return.

“I WON’T HAVE that damn dog here.” Liam poured milk over the cornflakes in his bowl, his regular evening snack, and carried it to the table. Ladling sugar onto the crisp cereal, he looked up. “You hear me, Ma?”

There was no answer from the corner, where his mother sat knitting, her needles clicking noisily. The Labrador at her feet gazed at him, sighed and put her big head down on her paws again.

“Look, will you, Liam? Even Maggie thinks you’re rude. Of course I hear you!” She leaned down and patted the Labrador’s shoulder. “There’s a sweet girl.”

Liam began eating. The sound of the spoon hitting the bowl added to the click-click of knitting needles, the tick-tick of the kitchen clock on the wall and the occasional crisp snap-snap of the wood fire in the parlor stove.

“I don’t have a good feeling about it, that’s all. Plus, that bitch is bound to come into heat while she’s here, according to Laurel Moore’s reckoning, and I’m not prepared to deal with that. It’s nothing but trouble. Her sister should’ve left her home.”

“But she’s no trouble at all. She’s beautifully trained—look at her! She hasn’t moved a muscle all afternoon, just stayed by my chair, good as gold. Liam, I want to do that poor girl a favor,” his mother said stubbornly. “Travelin’ all that way, arriving here plumb tired out, and then nowhere to leave her puppy while she works? Even Chip gets along with our visitor, don’t you, Chippy?” The cat, sleeping in a basket by the stove, didn’t move.

Liam stood and took the bowl to the sink, where he rinsed and dried it and put it back in the cupboard. He was in jeans and a plaid work shirt and stocking feet. The pendulum clock on the wall struck eight chimes.

“Damn sneaky, if you ask me, coming around this morning when I was away.”

“She has a name, you know. It’s Maggie. And the girl’s name is Charlotte. And you weren’t home. How was she to know? And besides, the sign out there on the road does say boarding kennel, doesn’t it?”

“Matter-of-fact, it doesn’t, Ma. It says, Training and Boarding.”

“Well, there you go—”

“That means the only dogs I board are dogs I’m being paid to train. This dog isn’t here to be trained.” He glanced over at the Labrador, who had raised her noble head again to give him an injured look. “She probably wouldn’t know a pheasant from a stick of firewood. Labs like this have had all the starch bred out of them. They’re show dogs!”

“Old Jimbo’s a Labrador,” his mother shot back. “And a darn fine one, too. One of the best dogs you’ve ever had—you’ve said so many times yourself.”

“Jimbo’s different. He’s a working dog. There’s not a show animal in his pedigree, not one. Folks like Laurel Moore, and there’s plenty more like her, have ruined the breed, as far as I’m concerned. I’m not having that bitch of Laurel’s around, and that’s that.” He headed toward the outer door of the kitchen.

“Davy get his boat out of the water?” Ada enquired mildly.

Liam stared at his mother. “He did. And don’t you go changing the subject, either—”

“Changing the subject! The subject is closed, that’s what. Maggie is staying right here with me. I need a companion, don’t I? Home alone all day with you here and there and people coming to the door and what not—”

“You’ve got Chippy, Ma.” Liam smiled slightly.

“Oh, pooh! Chippy’s just a cat.”

“And Bear.”

“Bear’s always with you. He’s stuck to you like a piece of lint.”

Liam signed and reached for his jacket. “You haven’t convinced me, Ma, but I guess she’s here now, like it or not. If you say you want her, I’ll keep her. When did you mention the woman was coming back?”

“She said she’d come to talk to you this evening. Arrange the particulars, if you were agreeable.” Ada picked up speed with her needles. “Oh, and Liam?”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What’s that, Ma?”

“Thank you, son.”

Liam sighed again and went out, closing the door quietly behind him. He started his rounds in what he and Jamie always called the Maternity Ward, where Sammy and her five pups were housed. He had another bitch ready to whelp in a couple more weeks— Sunny, a young Labrador with her second litter on the way. He’d move her in soon.

Liam handled each puppy and checked it over carefully, as he did every evening before observing them for ten or fifteen minutes. He liked to get to know each animal’s personality, keep an eye on every stage of a pup’s development. These little guys were just four weeks old but the chase-and-fetch instincts came early, and it was important to find out which pups were go-getters and which ones liked to snooze an extra five minutes if they could.

Then he went over to the kennel where Old Jimbo was housed with his pal, a neutered male called Spindle. Spindle was a mixed-breed, a weird-looking animal, the result of a Labrador mating with a weimaraner, a visitor he’d had one fall who got mixed-up with one of his best bitches when no one was looking. Spindle and Old Jimbo—who’d been called that since he was two years old—were inseparable. If they weren’t such close friends, Liam would have retired Jimbo to the house and a life of ease by the fire. The dog was getting too arthritic to go out in the boat the way he once had, but Liam knew it’d break his heart to be sent to the house. He seemed to know that house dogs weren’t real dogs—and Old Jimbo was a real dog, through and through.

If Liam hadn’t decided not to breed Jimbo any more and if he hadn’t made up his mind long ago to draw the line at breeding any kind of show animal, he’d have used Old Jimbo on Laurel’s bitch.

He had to admit Maggie was a good-looking specimen—like the woman who brought her. It was just that she was useless. An animal bred to be trotted around the ring in front of a judge. He had no interest in breeding useless dogs. There were already enough of them in the world.

Lights approached from the lane, and Liam paused on his way to the boarding kennels. The white older-model Suburban, Laurel’s sister drove, broke through the trees.

He watched her drive slowly into the yard and then jerk to a sudden stop. He shook his head. What he’d told his mother was true: he didn’t have a good feeling about this woman.

He drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and took a step toward the vehicle, as she opened the driver’s door. Might as well get it over with. She could thank his mother for the good news he was about to hand her. If it’d been strictly up to him, they’d both—she and the dog—be hitting the road.

CHAPTER FIVE

BY HALF PAST EIGHT, it was dark. Charlotte had already slowed, when she spotted Liam standing in the yard, in the glare of her headlights. She hit the brake hard, an automatic reaction.

Oops. She got out and zipped up her jacket. Well, never mind. Begin as you mean to go on with this man, she reminded herself. She jammed her hands deep into her jacket pockets. “Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there.”

Naturally, he said nothing. Don’t let him rattle you. “I guess you know about Maggie being here.”

He nodded.

“Is that going to be okay? I mean, can you take her as a boarder for a few weeks?” she rushed on. “Your mother says it’s all right.”

She stopped about ten feet from him. He was dressed very much as he had been the first time she’d seen him. Very casually, in working man’s clothes—jeans, boots, jacket.

“My mother doesn’t run the kennel.”

“Oh.” Charlotte knew her sudden blush wouldn’t show up in the deepening gloom. The yard lights were on, but at this time of night they made little difference. “Well, I’m sorry about that. You weren’t here when I came around or I would have spoken to you—”

He made a movement, as though to walk in the direction of one of the kennels. “I’m checking on the dogs. Maybe we can discuss this while I finish my rounds.”

Oh, definitely, Charlotte thought, hurrying toward him. Why waste time talking to a customer when you could be doing two things at once?

He held open the door to an outbuilding and waited for her to enter, then followed her in, flicking on a light as he closed the door behind him. The raucous sound of barking assaulted her eardrums. He whistled loudly, and the noise stopped.

“They don’t know you. That’s why they’re barking. It’s the Chessies, mainly. They’re natural guard dogs.”

She followed him as he walked along the length of the kennel, stopping to speak softly to each individual dog and to fondle its ears and run his hand down its sides. The dogs responded with big “grins” and wagging tails. Charlotte noted that the kennels were very clean, with raised sleeping platforms and cement runs that led to a door that opened to the outside. The scent of a mild disinfectant hung in the air. Along the wall were miniature brass harness hooks, with a collar and a lead hanging from each and a neatly printed card inset into a plastic sleeve with the animal’s name. Chester. Minnie. Kate. Scout. Sunny. Hunter. Ben. Two runs were empty.

“Are these all yours?”

“The two at the other end are young dogs I’m training, Chester and Minnie. Hunter’s mine, and so are Scout and Sunny. They’re brother and sister from two different litters. Kate’s mine. I got George and Spinner, those two Chessies over there, from next door.”

“Oh?” Charlotte noted the two light brown dogs, standing stiff-legged in one of the kennels, each on high alert, watching the humans.

“When the old man died, there was no one to look after them, so I brought them here.”

“I see. I notice they’re a different color than Bear.”

“He’s what they call a ‘dark brown.’ The breed comes in any color, as long as it’s brown,” he said. Charlotte expected a smile, but there wasn’t one. His gaze was steady on the two Rathbone dogs. “They’re what is called sedge. The color of dry grass.”

“What kind is that one?” She pointed to a spaniellike dog, quite different from the others. She was pleased to hear Liam so voluble. At least this was one subject he didn’t seem to mind talking about.

“A Clumber. A very old spaniel-type hunting dog, although the exact origin of the breed is unknown. Some think they’re French, originally. Whatever they are, they’re great gun dogs. Very calm. Belongs to a buddy of mine.”

Charlotte looked significantly at the two empty runs at the end of the building. “So, it looks like you’ve got room for Maggie, then?”

He straightened from where he’d bent to fondle Hunter’s ears and stared directly into her eyes. She felt a funny little shudder inside.

“Not really,” he said slowly. “I’ve never got room for dogs I don’t want on the place. This is a special case, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried to keep her tone even. Conciliatory. Friendly. After all, she was the one who needed the favor here.

“I raise and train retrievers. Working dogs. Hunters’ companions. I don’t have time for show dogs, which is what your sister raises. And I especially don’t have time for show bitches that might be going into heat. Do you understand?”

He gave her a hard look and she nodded automatically. She had to admit that was a reasonable excuse for refusing to take Laurel’s dog. “It’d only be until my sister gets home and I can ship Maggie back. A couple of weeks.”

“As it happens, my mother’s taken a fancy to your sister’s bitch so I’ll keep her while you’re in the area.” He glanced over at the runs again, then continued softly. “But it’s strictly a favor for my mother, so don’t thank me.”

“Oh, I didn’t plan to!” Charlotte retorted, stung. “I’d like to know what you’ve got against me and Maggie, anyway. You don’t even know us!”

“You?” His eyes were wary on hers, then abruptly he looked away again. “Nothing. Your big sister needs her ass kicked, but that’s hardly your fault.”

“Laurel couldn’t possibly have known anything about this mix-up!”

“She knew. She’d contacted me before on this subject. She knew very well that I wouldn’t agree to breed a show bitch. I considered it briefly, as a favor to an old friend, but in the end I decided against any exceptions to my rule.” He began to walk slowly toward the door at the other end of the building, and Charlotte fell into stride beside him.

“And why is that?” Charlotte hurried to match her pace to his.

“Because the dog world is small. Because if other breeders heard I was breeding my top gun dogs to show bitches, they’d be after me to do the same with theirs. I don’t need the aggravation.”

“Maybe Laurel didn’t realize you’d changed your mind. Maybe she thought it was still on,” Charlotte persisted. Annoyed as she was about Laurel’s duplicity—and she was quite certain Laurel had misled her—she still felt a need to defend her sister.

“She knew,” he said again. He glanced at her. “I have a feeling your sister thought you might be able to sweet-talk me into changing my mind, once you showed up here with her bitch.”

“Laurel would never do that!” Charlotte was furious with the turn this conversation had taken—after all, her sister!—but she couldn’t resist the thought: could she sweet-talk him into it? She could be pretty persuasive when she put her mind to it. Would serve him right, Mr. Know-Everything Dog Guy!

He turned to face her. “Don’t even think about it. The answer is no. You can pay me for board by the week. Eighty dollars is what I charge without any training, in advance. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, I’ll take it. What choice do I have?” She was sure the irony was completely lost on him. “Can I go see Maggie now?”

Anything to get out of his company, since she was obviously so unwelcome! To think she’d been looking forward to meeting Liam Connery again, to seeing what had become of him. To think she’d actually dreamed about him more than once. She was annoyed with herself for the time she’d wasted, for all the tender thoughts and recollections she’d allowed herself to indulge in about her happy childhood years—especially her first feelings of attraction to a member of the opposite sex. The sappy sentimental fantasies she’d spun…. He was nothing at all like the boy she remembered.

“Maggie’s up at the house.”

Without another word, he disappeared into one of the outbuildings, and Charlotte went back to the truck to get her handbag, which contained her checkbook. With her appointment to meet Mr. Busby the next day and her need to get on with the job she’d come to do at the Rathbone estate, she didn’t have time to find anything else for Maggie. If she had the time, she’d scour the Island to avoid dealing with him.

What a man! Lucky for him he worked with dogs. Lucky for him his business didn’t depend on customer relations and people skills. He didn’t have any.

THE RATHBONE HOUSE—a mansion, really—was a large three-story building in the Second Empire style, popularized in the late 1700s in the United States. This house, built more than a hundred years later, had a mansard roof, slate in this case, and a huge wraparound veranda that didn’t really belong to the style and may have been added later. Out back, a glass conservatory was attached to one half of the south elevation, with doors leading from both the conservatory and the house to the extensive gardens, probably well over two acres and, sadly, in a state of serious neglect. Even some of the windows in the conservatory were broken.

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