Charlotte Moore

Charlotte remembered why she was here—to dry her clothes.

“Sure, it’s wool but it’s washable. The jacket can go in, too.”

He held her clothes in one hand but didn’t move away. “So what’s this about leaving your sister’s bitch here? Didn’t she get my message?”

“Message?”

“I left her a message, let’s see—” he ran one hand through his already dishevelled hair “—just about a week ago.”

“My sister and her husband are in Belize on holiday. A week ago?” Charlotte paused, trying to think back. So much had happened in a week!

“Whatever. Your sister called here quite a few times, tried to talk me into breeding her bitch, but I told her I wouldn’t consider it.”

“You’re joking.” Charlotte didn’t mean that at all—joking. She was shocked to her core. “Laurel said she had it all arranged!”

“She lied.” He glanced toward the stove, where the kettle had just begun to boil.

“My sister doesn’t lie,” Charlotte said stiffly. She had to defend her own sister, for heaven’s sake! But she’d been suspicious of Laurel’s sudden enthusiasm at discovering that Charlotte was not only traveling to Prince Edward Island on business, but wanted to meet Liam Connery. Had Laurel set her up?

Liam cracked a smile, which frayed Charlotte’s jittery nerves even more. “Must’ve changed, then,” he said easily, taking a step toward the stove. He put her sweater on the counter. “She sure knew how to tell a tall tale at Dunwoody High.”

“But I have to leave Maggie here. I have other things I have to—”

“Sit down.” He indicated a chair at the kitchen table, then poured water over the tea bags and put the teapot back on the stove. He deposited a thick ceramic mug unceremoniously on the table, before picking up her clothes again and disappearing into another doorway that led off the kitchen. She wondered why he hadn’t offered his mother tea. She heard the slam of a door—the dryer—and then the sound of the machine starting.

“Psst!” Startled, Charlotte looked toward the corner where Liam’s mother was gesturing. “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s awful particular about who he breeds his dogs to, the Labs and the Chessies both.”

“But—” Charlotte began, then thought better of it. The tea was starting to simmer. She got up to take it off the stove and bring it to the table. It was already black as tar. Honestly! Didn’t he even know how to make a pot of tea?

“So, in the area tourin’, are you?” Ada Connery asked in a friendly tone, resuming her knitting.

“Actually, I’m here for a few weeks. I’ll be doing some work on the Rathbone estate. I’ll need to find a place for Maggie first, though, now that there’s been a mix-up.” Now that Laurel had screwed up royally! “I understand the estate is nearby.” The tea was hot and welcome. She wrapped her cold fingers around the mug, then took some sugar from a graniteware bowl that stood on the table, and stirred it in.

“Yes, indeed. Matter-of-fact, it’s right next door, just through the woods. You can’t miss it. There’s not much around here but the post office and the store. There’s the lobster supper in summer, over at Cardigan River. That’s all closed now.”

“I see,” Charlotte murmured. She sat down gingerly on a kitchen chair. The soles of her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor, and the woman across the room looked up.

Ada Connery shook her head. “Old Mr. Rathbone was always quite a gentleman, you know. Until he took his turn, that is. He became fairly hard to handle then, from what I’ve been told, always skulking about, springing up on people to surprise them. Boo!” She waved one hand quickly, as though imitating her deceased neighbor. “Couldn’t be trusted with a match in the end. Dementia, they say.”

She glanced in Charlotte’s direction with her sightless eyes and pulled another strand of yarn from the wicker basket by her side. Charlotte could count at least four completed mittens from where she sat, and wondered how many were in the basket and why Ada Connery kept knitting more.

“My late husband did odd jobs over there sometimes—gardening and what not. The old gentleman was very fond of huntin’ dogs. Liam has a couple of ’em now. But I do believe the neighborhood has improved since the old fellow has passed on. He was what they called a philanderer in my day—Miss Charlotte will be working at Gerard Rathbone’s place, did you know that, Liam?”

Liam had returned from disposing of her clothes and was carrying a sweater—not hers. “No, I didn’t, Ma.” He didn’t sound that interested. “Here— If this fits, you’re welcome to it.”

“Thanks.” Charlotte took the sweater and removed his jacket. “I’m assisting with the estate appraisal for the heirs,” she explained. “Art, furniture, that sort of thing.”

He raised one eyebrow briefly as though to underline his indifference. Her damp T-shirt was stuck to her breasts and belly, as she’d suspected. She was seized with an enormous shiver, the kind you felt right down to your shins, and quickly tugged on the garment he’d handed her, a Nordic-patterned sweater in greens and blues.

He’d turned away the instant she pulled off the jacket. Her earlier fit of modesty hadn’t been necessary. This man clearly had no interest—whatsoever—in her as a female. As a shapely woman wearing a revealing garment. He hadn’t even sneaked a peek, from what she could tell.

“I believe Bertie’s boy, Nick, is taking care of things over there for the family. I saved your dinner in the oven, Liam.” It took Charlotte a few seconds to realize that the family Ada was talking about was the Rathbones.

“I’ll have it later, Ma.” Liam went to the window that overlooked the path they’d taken to the house. “Here’s Jamie now.”

“What about my dog?” Charlotte stood quickly. Poor Maggie.

“I’ll make sure she’s all right.”

Without another word, he left. Charlotte took a gulp of the sweet tea. What she’d meant, what she wished she’d said, was, Aren’t you going to take her off my hands, as my sister supposedly arranged? Surely Laurel hadn’t been so foolish as to think that if Charlotte just showed up with Maggie, she’d be able to convince this man to breed the dog to one of his prize animals….

Frankly, Charlotte didn’t give a damn. It was Laurel’s problem, not hers. What she cared about was finding a place to board Maggie until her sister and brother-in-law got back from their holiday.

“You’ll want to have a look at the puppies before you go. Liam says they’re the best litter he’s had from Bear, and that’s sayin’ something.”

“Bear is—?”

“His Chesapeake Bay retriever daddy dog. Scout’s daddy is Old Jimbo, Liam’s Labrador daddy dog. He’s gettin’ on, poor fella.”

Charlotte’s head was spinning with dog details.

“Darn that old Scout! He’s quite a scamp.” The older woman chuckled again. “Yes, my son gets near a thousand dollars for one of Bear’s pups and he won’t sell to just anyone. He’s very particular. Very particular, indeed.”

Indeed. Her sister—or perhaps Maggie—obviously had not passed the test.

“You go on out, miss. Take any one of those jackets hanging there in the mudroom.”

“You’re sure you’ll be all right? You want some tea?” That was a silly thing to say, obviously Liam’s mother did just fine on her own. She’d been alone when they arrived.

Ada Connery laughed. “Of course I’ll be all right. If I want tea, I’ll get it. I’m not crippled up or anything, you know—it’s just that my eyesight is poorly these days.”

According to Liam, his mother was stone-blind.

Charlotte went out. Her Suburban was safely parked in the driveway. The wind caught her hair in cold gusts and the sunshine that had broken through the clouds earlier had vanished. The sky was very dark.

Jamie emerged from a shed at the back of the property, where there were several barn-red outbuildings. “Want to see the new litter?”

Everyone here was pup-crazy! That was okay by Charlotte. She liked pups, too. Who didn’t? “Sure.” She made her way over to the boy. “Where’s Maggie?”

Charlotte could see several chain-link runs out behind the sheds. Four or five dogs stood at attention behind the fence, regarding her alertly. They were all shades of brown. Some were black. One barked, but the rest were silent and watchful. Labradors and Chesapeake Bay retrievers, Ada had said.

Jamie gestured toward the driveway. “Liam told me to leave her in your truck, since you’d be going soon, anyway.”

She walked beside him as he led her into the closest building.

“This here is Sammy,” the boy said proudly. “She’s one of Liam’s top bitches.” Charlotte couldn’t help wincing. She just wasn’t used to hearing that word all the time.

“Oh, wow,” she said softly, kneeling down. Five chocolate-brown pups with the bluest eyes she’d ever seen poked their noses out between the slats of their pen and sniffed at her ankles.

“Want to hold one?” Jamie held the pen door wide open and a tan-colored dog—obviously the mother—came toward them, wagging her tail. Jamie scratched her ears.

“Look at their blue eyes!” Charlotte said. She’d never seen pups with eyes like that before.

Jamie gave her an indulgent look. “All Chessies have blue eyes when they’re babies. Then they turn green and then finally yellow, when they grow up. Amber, Liam calls it.”

Liam, Liam, Liam. A major case of hero worship here. Where was he?

Charlotte bent to study the pups. They’d clustered around her feet, and one had its tiny teeth in her shoelace. She picked it up. The puppy had tons more skin than it needed, which gave its face a dozy, wrinkly look. Just like a little bear. Its little candy-pink tongue came out for a few seconds when it yawned. How adorable. A thousand dollars!

“So, this Sammy—the mom—is this her first litter?”

“Her fourth. Sammy’s the best. I helped train her,” he added proudly.

“I’ll bet that’s quite a job,” she said, tickling the pup under its chin.

“Not really. Liam says I’m a natural. I got a talent for it. But you don’t have to do much with these little fellas,” he said modestly. “They got the instinct. Liam trains gun dogs for other folk—Labradors, weimaraners, goldens, you name it. He’s got five boarders now, but mostly he trains his own Labs and Chessies and sells them started.”

“Started?”

“Partly trained. I’ve got a pup of my own,” Jamie went on enthusiastically, his blue eyes meeting hers. “Buster. Liam gave ’im to me. One of Old Jimbo’s pups. A brother to Scout. Liam says I can set up with my own dogs now, but my ma says I got to finish school first.”

“How old are you, Jamie?”

“Fourteen.”

“Shouldn’t you, uh—” Charlotte paused and winked “—be in school today?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a jaunty shrug. “I can catch up.” Then he sighed and stood. “Man, I hope there’s some dinner left. I’m starving, and that damn old Scout knocked our dinner into the bay.”

Charlotte walked slowly back to the house—no sign of Liam—gradually piecing together the events of the afternoon. Liam had taken out his dog and his cousin’s son for a training session. Where was the boat? Scout had caught scent of Maggie—must have, what else?—and thrown himself over the side, knocking their lunch into the water, and then struck out for shore, either to defend his territory or to make a new friend. Maybe both. Jamie had been sent to get him back. Liam had secured the boat and then followed to see what was going on, accompanied by the far more obedient Bear.

None of this was quite how she’d planned it—not dropping off Maggie as supposedly arranged by her sister, not meeting her first crush after all these years. She’d meant to be cool, collected, hair perfect, looking her best. The day was a complete mess all around.

Jamie took his meal out of the oven and sat down at the table. He seemed completely comfortable in the kitchen, as though he spent a lot of time there.

“Do you mind if I check on my clothes, Mrs. Connery?” Charlotte asked. Ada was contentedly knitting in the corner, the radio beside her turned on low.

“You go right ahead, dear.”

“Where’s Liam?” Charlotte asked nonchalantly on her way through to the room that housed the washer and dryer. She hadn’t expected him to disappear without a word.

“Probably went down to bring back the launch,” Jamie said with his mouth full. He chewed for a few seconds and forked up a lump of potato, which he held midway to his mouth. “We ditched the boat when Scout bailed, and now with this storm blowin’ up, Liam no doubt went to bring it in. Could blow away.”

No doubt. Well, it would’ve been nice to thank him in person. But then, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would care all that much. She would’ve liked the opportunity to talk to him a little more about boarding Maggie. She’d be back in the area on Monday; maybe if she didn’t find another kennel, she could approach him then.

Her clothes were dry. She whipped off the borrowed sweater in the laundry room, folded it neatly and set it on top of the dryer, wondering whose it was. It was a youthful, Icelandic style, not the sort of garment an older woman like Ada Connery would wear. Her own sweater felt wonderfully warm. She was feeling a lot better.

“Jamie, when you see Liam, will you thank him for me?”

“Sure.” The boy continued plowing through his meal, which looked pretty complete—meat, potatoes, gravy, green beans.

“Thank you, Mrs. Connery, for letting me use your dryer. Plus the tea was very nice.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, girl! I love having company. Don’t get so much of it, now that we don’t have regular guests anymore….”

“Regular guests?” Charlotte slowly pulled on her windbreaker.

The older woman waved one hand at the ceiling—painted tongue-and-groove, Charlotte noted. “My late husband and I ran this place as a bed-and-breakfast for a short time, along with my brother, Clement. Then, well—” She frowned and bent her face toward her knitting again. “Fergus passed away and Clement died a couple of years later, and my eyes began to bother me, so Liam came home to take over. He’s got no patience for visitors, so I just let it go. You didn’t think we needed this whole big house for just the two of us, did you, Charlotte? My land, no!”

A bed-and-breakfast. That made sense. The house was definitely perfect for it, size-wise. The modernized kitchen made sense now, too. And, no, she couldn’t quite see Liam Connery in the hospitality business. The fact that Ada’s husband had died and her son had no interest would account for the generally run-down air. The house and yard, anyway, if not the dog kennels.

“Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Ada waved cheerfully but made no attempt to get up. Charlotte wondered if she wasn’t bothered by more than poor vision. Arthritis?

It had started to rain. By the time she reached the highway over the muddy, rutted red-earth road, the rain was coming down in sheets and Maggie was whining piteously. She smelled like wet dog.

“Miss Maggs, what are we going to do with you until that rotten sister of mine gets back?” Charlotte muttered, peering through the windshield when she came to the end of the lane.

Charlotte spotted a sign on the road, waving in the wind, lashed by the rain: Petty Cove Retrievers. A painted head-and-shoulders picture of two dogs, one brown, one black. Bear and Old Jimbo? And another sign, very faded, above it: Petty Cove Bed-and-Breakfast. With a crudely lettered Closed sign nailed over it. How depressing.

First things first. Find a nice, cozy place to stay for the night. Next, consider calling Laurel to give her a piece of her mind. At the Belize Hilton, if necessary.

“All arranged,” was it? Not according to Liam Connery.

CHAPTER FOUR

Dear Lydia,

P.E.I. greetings from us both! Yes, Maggie is still with me and I’m writing this from the Bluefish Inn at Souris, up in the northeast corner of the Island. It’s raining here and I’m sick of traveling. And, yes, I’ve already met the man I used to dream about in grade five and have put that particular little fantasy to rest. He’s not at all the way I remembered him—so cold, so standoffish. Scary, almost. Still handsome, though, if you like rough and rugged.

There’s worse news. Wait until I see that sister of mine! Laurel set me up. Turns out there was no arrangement to have Maggie bred at Liam Connery’s kennel, after all, so now I’m faced with having to talk that terrible man into taking her on as a boarder, at least until Laurel and Frank get back. I can’t ship her home yet and I can’t keep her with me while I’m working. Speaking of which, guess what? I’m going to the Rathbone mansion tomorrow afternoon to get started. Really looking forward to it….

Love, Charlotte

P.S. Has Zoey gone west to British Columbia yet?

P.P.S. Will send an address when I rent a room somewhere. B&Bs are mostly closed already for the winter.

THAT’S RIGHT, Charlotte thought as she rounded the corner at Poplar Point on the return trip. I’m going to have to convince that unfriendly, annoying, unpleasant man to keep Maggie for a few weeks. Simple, really. He ran a kennel. He had boarders. Five of them; Jamie had said so. Well, here was another one. She was happy to pay whatever he charged. And she’d make damn sure Laurel paid her back.

The sky was clearing—an omen?—as she drove into Cardigan River, which was a tiny knot of buildings at the narrowest part of the small bay that opened to the east, to Northumberland Strait. As Ada Connery had said, there wasn’t much to it.

Bristol’s Store, with a faded Firestone banner draped in the window and one gas pump outside on the graveled lot, looked as promising as anything. The interior was dark and cluttered and smelled of cigarette smoke and hot dogs. A four-stool lunch bar ran along one side of the L-shaped counter. A large, dull-looking man, his tongue squashed pinkly between fleshy lips, occupied a wooden chair by the cash register. He wore a name badge that read Abner. A woman with her hair tied up in a kerchief and an apron around her thin waist scrubbed the counter with a rag.

She raised her head. “Help ya?”

Charlotte took off her sunglasses. “I’m looking for a room to rent. Do you know of anything around here?”

The woman left her cloth on the counter and stood straight, staring at Charlotte. “Room to rent? What for?”

“I’ll be working at the Rathbone estate for a few weeks. I need a place to stay.”

The cloth got picked up, slopped into a sink full of soapy water, pulled out, wrung and vigorously applied again to the cracked Formica. “Uh-huh. Round here, eh? Petty Cove? Nothing much there. Cardigan River?”

“Yes.” Charlotte waited through the long silence that followed, looking around a little desperately. The boy-man hadn’t changed expression and was twirling the dials on a transistor radio near the cash register. Electronic squawks filled the air.

“You could try Clara Jenkins. She takes tourists in the summer. Don’t know if she’s got any rooms free now. Quit fiddlin’ and put down that radio, Abe, y’hear!” She turned back to Charlotte. “You want me to call?”

“That would be very kind.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. Anything else for ya?”

“Bottled water?”

“Over by the pop cooler. Bottom shelf. Should be a few left from the summer folk. We don’t get much call for bought water from the reg’lars.”

As she spoke, the woman dialed an old-fashioned rotary wall phone. “Clara? Listen here, I got somebody in the store says she wants a room—what’s that? Okay, I’ll send her up. How’s John? Uh-huh. Oh, that’s a shame. Hope he’s feelin’ better soon. ’Bye, dear.” She hung up and turned to Charlotte without missing a breath. “You find your water all right?”

“Yes, thanks.” Charlotte opened her wallet. The bell over the door jangled and two men entered—young, handsome fisherman types, with longish hair and creased ball caps pushed back from their tanned foreheads. They both paused when they saw her, and Charlotte recognized the familiar, lightning-swift male appraisal. All men did it—almost all men, she corrected, remembering Liam Connery’s indifference. Then they swung themselves up onto stools at the lunch counter.

“Coffee, boys?” The store lady already had her hand on the coffeepot.

The cashier, Abe, took Charlotte’s money and made change slowly and accurately, counting under his breath. He wasn’t as young as she’d thought at first, with deep lines around his eyes and a little gray in his brown hair. She smiled encouragement and he smiled back, which seemed to amuse the newcomers.

“Coffee, Bonnie. And you can fill up my thermos jug, too. Say, got yourself a gal there, Abe?”

Abe shook his head. “Nope. She’s new. I don’t know her.”

“And of course you wouldn’t take a date with anybody you didn’t know, right, Abe?” The two men laughed again, but Charlotte could see it was all in good fun.

“Now, you go on up the hill and bear right at the first corner,” the woman called Bonnie said to her. “Second house on the left after you make the turn. Buff-colored, ya can’t miss it. Big lilac bush out front. Clara says she’ll be watchin’ out for you.”

“Oh!” Charlotte rapidly rearranged her plans. “I was going to go over to the kennel and then—oh, never mind, I’ll go up and see about the room.”

The two men exchanged glances. “Got a dog, have you? What kind?”

Charlotte nodded. It amazed her how perfect strangers here thought nothing of taking part in a conversation, but she was beginning to get used to it. There were no strangers on Prince Edward Island, she realized. There were only Islanders and People From Away, the “summer folk.”

“A Labrador retriever. It’s my sister’s, actually. I want to make arrangements to board her at the kennel.”

“That’d be Liam Connery’s place?” one drawled, his blue eyes interested.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.” He took a sip of his coffee, eyes narrowed.

The other shook his head. “Good luck to you, miss. Liam can be right tough to get along with. Especially when it comes to them fancy huntin’ dogs of his.” He smiled pleasantly.

“Thank you.” Charlotte headed back out into the sunshine.

So. Liam Connery definitely had a reputation, everywhere she mentioned his name. Ornery. Particular. Right tough.

Well, she could handle him. Begin as you mean to go on, she mused. She meant to board Maggie at Petty Cove Retrievers, which was, after all, a commercial kennel business—wasn’t it?—then get straight to work checking out the Rathbone estate. She was flexible, she was reasonable, she was sweet-tempered…and she was stubborn.

In the end, one way or another, she usually got what she wanted.

IT WAS A BIT DISAPPOINTING after all that, to discover Liam Connery wasn’t even home. Dogs barked from the direction of the kennels as she drove up, and Maggie started to whine in response.

Charlotte didn’t dare let her out of the truck.

“Yes?” Ada came to the door, her sightless eyes focusing somewhere over Charlotte’s head. “Can I help you?”

“Good morning, Ada. It’s Charlotte—remember me from last week? Charlotte Moore?”

“Surely I do! Come in, dear.” The older woman held the door open wide. “I’ll put on the kettle.”

“Thanks, but I can’t stay. I wanted to speak to Liam, if I could.”

“He’s not here. He’s, uh…” His mother had a confused look on her face, as though trying to remember just where her son was. “Let’s see, it’s Monday, isn’t it? He’s away this morning, miss.”

“I see.” Charlotte frowned. That was disappointing. “I wanted to talk to him about boarding my sister’s dog for a few weeks.”

“Oh, heavens yes, of course you can leave your puppy here. I haven’t even met her, have I? Why don’t you bring the little sweetheart in for a few minutes?”

Maggie obliged, leaping gracefully out of the Suburban and following Charlotte back to the door of the house, where she gently nosed Ada’s knee. “Oh, my. Isn’t she a dear little thing?” Liam’s mother bent to pat Maggie’s glossy black coat. At nearly seventy-five pounds and fully grown, Maggie wasn’t exactly a “little thing.”