Dixie welcomed the barking and baying that greeted her in the morning. She’d been distracted all night and slept badly. How could one overgrown dog and his non-owner have slipped so easily into her head and refuse to leave?
She scooped kibble, opened cans and fed her own dog, Folsom Blues, and the six dogs currently in her care.
Dagger, the escape artist, was a favorite. Nothing says “I’m free” like a dog that can open kennel gates. Then there was Champagne, the Goldendoodle who was afraid of his own shadow. And his tail, blowing leaves, etc. Dervish, who was just stubborn enough to ignore a zombie apocalypse, along with Webber, Duke and Baby, all in need of learning some manners.
Champagne was going to be a challenge. Especially if that Jet Ski rental place opened up next door. She had no idea how long it would take to get something like that up and running but hoped it was months and months. Years, even. With her luck, the gas-engine fanatic would store his skis on the pretty, Gulf-facing porch and be open in two weeks or less.
She growled at the thought and Champagne slunk into his dog house. “Come on. I wasn’t growling at you.” She talked softly, teased him with his favorite rope tug toy and the big guy finally came out to eat.
Dixie stayed with him while he crunched his way through his kibble. He threw her several glances as if to say, “you gonna stay and watch me eat?”
“Yes, I’m going to stay here. You need to know that not everyone is going to steal your food.” Imagine how far back Champagne would be thrown if jet skis started belching noise and smoke right outside his kennel. How Webber’s aggression would manifest if strangers poked their noses into his space.
This type of training wasn’t Dixie’s favorite. She believed the owner should be involved from the beginning. But Perry wanted the owners to get a break from their problem child. Perry had a long list of rules for her to follow: Don’t let the dogs run loose on the beach. Don’t let them on the dunes. Don’t… Don’t… Don’t… That wasn’t the way Dixie operated, but it was his kennel. Dixie knew she could help the dogs. But unless the owners were in on the training, the dogs could revert the minute the owners showed up. Perry finally caved and agreed the owners would spend one three-hour session with their dog before they left her care. She sighed.
She’d promised Perry DeWalt she would work for him when his kennel manager/trainer left suddenly. And she’d promised her parents she would help their old friend. The job came with a salary plus room and board, so she could save up for her own kennel and set the rules herself. For now she’d work for Perry and save her pennies.
Deciding to build on yesterday’s success with Baby, she got his leash and led him outside. Baby had the Chihuahua’s clichéd Napoleon complex. He was a dictator at home and had his silly, elderly owner completely cowed. The outfits didn’t help build the dog’s confidence either. As a result, he was manipulative with his owner and aggressive with everyone else.
Baby pranced on his lead. Dixie turned and went in the opposite direction as soon as he pulled on the leash. He pulled, Dixie turned. Around and around they went until, once again, Baby pranced next to her instead of ahead of her. Satisfied, Dixie put him back in his kennel and went in to dress for the Council Meeting. She was determined to stop the ski rental shop from opening, and she was determined to get the Council to side with her.
The kennel was at the southern edge of Barefoot Bay. The strip of land separating the kennel property from the water held a beach house and empty land—land someone intended to build as a commercial property. A noisy, obtrusive commercial property. She glanced over at the beach house as she got in her hybrid. There was movement at one of the windows but she couldn’t identify who or what it was. With a sneer, she started her small, efficient car and drove toward town to save the beach and her dogs.
The Mimosa Key City Hall wasn’t a huge, impressive building but it had dignity. The island’s history was celebrated and revered by all the residents. Dixie respected that and hoped it would help her cause. She’d only been here for ten months but already felt at home. She parked her car and walked into the Council Chambers. She filled out the speaker’s card, turned it in and found a seat comfortably in the middle of the room on the aisle. People filed in and took seats, conversations rose and fell, and laughter abounded. One thing you could say about Mimosa Key was it was a happy town.
The clock struck ten, a gavel banged and the meeting was called to order. Dixie listened as the members debated road improvements, more traffic lights and drinking water prices. As the Council voted not to raise the water rates, a commotion from the back of the room had heads turning.
It was Mr. Oh-so-attractive-but-he’s-not-my-dog. What the heck is he doing here? And why does he look so good? And why can I still feel him snugged between my legs?
“Sorry,” he announced to the room as he ducked his head full of wavy, slightly long hair.
Damn it. She liked long hair.
Dixie looked away but it was too late. He’d caught her eye and noticed the empty chair next to her. He arrived at her row.
“Hi, again. Excuse me.” He stepped over and around her legs and took the seat right next to her. “What are you—”
“Shh! You’re disrupting the meeting.” She kept her eyes on the council members.
“Oh. Okay.” He settled on the hard metal chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His impressive chest. She just bet he had a cool six-pack under the blue oxford shirt. And a narrowing arrow of thick, curly hair pointing south. She barely held back a shudder.
The council rallied and called for speakers. Dixie and Mr. Oh-so-attractive-but-he’s-not-my-dog stood at the same instant. She glared at him.
“Hey, Brand,” Mayor Sam Lennox said. “And Ms. Dixie Rose Wallace, I believe you put your card in first. We’ll hear from Mr. Taylor next.”
Wondering how the mayor knew the interloper by name, she shot him a smug smile then approached the podium and microphone provided for guest speakers. Whatever he had to say wasn’t half as important as her message.
“Good morning Mr. Mayor, Council Members. I want to discuss an issue that has recently come up. The development of a jet ski rental shop near Barefoot Bay. This blatant attempt to commercialize beachfront property is an affront to the small town atmosphere coveted by the residents of Barefoot Bay and Mimosa Key. We pride ourselves on the beautiful beaches and free access to the Gulf waters. By putting a ski rental shop right on the beach, residents and visitors lose some of that access.
“Jet skis are gas powered, which opens up the possibility of gasoline fouling the water, exhaust filling the air and noise pollution. None of that increases the appeal of the town or the island. My thought is the town has prospered without Jet Skis racing up and down the beach and into the Gulf and should continue to do so.”
She took a moment to look directly at each Council Member and the Mayor. She nodded.
“Thank you for your time and I hope for a decision that benefits everyone here.” She stepped back and returned to her seat.
“Uh, thank you, Ms. Wallace for your presentation. Um, next, ahem, we have Mr. Taylor,” the mayor said.
Mr. Taylor—Mr. Oh-so-attractive-but-he’s-not-my-dog—stood up. And looked at her.
With a sigh, she swung her legs into the middle aisle allowing him to pass without climbing over her again. He nodded and approached the podium with a troubled look.
Maybe he wants to open a topless bar on the island. That’ll go over big. She barely suppressed a giggle.
“Mr. Mayor, Council Members. I appreciate you meeting with me over the last few weeks. After your warm welcome, I didn’t know there would be opposition to my idea, and I’m sorry there is some disagreement.”
Meetings? Warm welcome? Disagreement?
“My Jet Ski rental shop, as I’ve said before, would attract active, sports-minded tourists to Barefoot Bay.”
“What?” Dixie said.
Taylor glanced at her and she sank down realizing she’d spoken out loud. The buzz and whine of gas engines filled her stomach as she stared at that thick, wavy, overly-long hair.
“The plans for gasoline storage have been approved by the state, as well as sheds to house the skis and equipment. Yes, there will be some noise but nothing that breaks any local or state laws. Jet skis have been around for decades with very few problems. I just came here today to thank you for your support and advice in getting the business off the ground.”
He glanced around at her again with a grim smile.
“I’d like to address one comment on Ms. Wallace’s presentation. I don’t know of any place to put a jet ski rental shop but on the beach. Thank you.”
Laughter followed him as he stepped away and headed for his seat. Next to her. She stared straight ahead and didn’t move. He lifted a leg and climbed over her to settle right back in the chair next to her. More laughter.
“I’d like to call for a vote on a recommendation to the Planning and Zoning Board in favor of the ski rental shop proposed by Mr. Taylor,” the mayor said in a rush.
Looking down, each and every council member mumbled “Aye.” The gavel banged.
“Meeting adjourned.”
“I didn’t know you were against the ski rental shop.”
“Oh, shut up.” Crushed, Dixie stood and marched through the doors and out to her car. Before she could turn the key, he was at her window. The mayor came out followed by George Masterson. They spotted her and Brand, pivoted in lockstep and double-timed it back inside.
“Ms. Wallace, really, I had no idea.”
“Well, Mr. Taylor, now you do.” She started the car and backed out, making sure not to run over his feet. Even as she yearned to squash them flat.
Anger and embarrassment kept her company on the drive home. Tears met her there.
* * *
“Well, that’s just great. I screw up with her even without the dog.”
Brand stalked over to his SUV and climbed in. Seeing the teeth marks in the passenger seat had him breaking the speed limit on the way to the beach house. He was mildly pleased to see the laundry room door still shut when he came in the front door. And it was quiet.
Too quiet.
He peeked inside the laundry room to see the window he’d left cracked open one measly inch was now wide open.
“Damn!”
Brand hotfooted it to gather up the leash and doggie treats before he headed out to find the miscreant dog. He looked up and down the beach. No luck. His whistles and smooches went unanswered. Trudging through the sand he first cursed the dog then prayed he was all right. Never mind telling his cousin he’d lost the damn dog, he didn’t want Galli to get hurt. The meeting had ended around noon and it was now almost one. One last look along the beach and he climbed back in his car. Leaving the windows down, he drove slowly along winding roads whistling out the windows. Several times he had to pull over to let traffic pass him since he was averaging ten miles an hour.
It was almost three o’clock when he drove dispiritedly back to the beach house. He shut off the engine and wondered what the hell he should do next. Notify the pound? Did they even have a pound on Mimosa Key? Maybe there was one run by Collier County. Was Galli even in Barefoot Bay? On Mimosa Key? Knowing the energy level of the puppy, Brand thought it was possible he’d swum over to Naples. He glanced over at the low buildings that made up Gulf Coast Dog Kennels. Maybe they’d found Galli.
He got out but stopped to scrape the dog poo he’d stepped in.
“Guess I have to clean up more often.” He lifted his head to get a whiff of fresh air and froze in place.
Approaching him along the kennel drive was Dixie. Great name, killer body. Long, slender legs that were stronger than they looked. He knew that for a fact from when he’d landed between her thighs and she clamped them around his waist. Whew.
Galli walked calmly at her side with the leash hanging loose. Galli didn’t walk with a loose leash. Ever.
Brand felt better when the dog caught sight of him and lunged. But a single word from her had him back at her side. He hadn’t even reached the end of the leash before she had him under control.
Under control and Galli in the same sentence. Will wonders never cease?
“I have your dog.”
“So I see.”
At least she was speaking to him.
“You need to keep him under control. He could get hurt, or worse, running around loose like that.”
Brand stared at the dog standing by her side. He had a contraption on his head with a band across his nose and was panting happily.
“How did you do that?”
“He knows I’m in charge. He knows you’re not.” She handed him the end of the leash. Galli noticed the change in command and leaped to put his paws on Brand’s shoulders. Not braced and not expecting it, Brand went down. Galli proceeded to clean his face for him. Even between swipes of sloppy, wet doggie kisses, he saw the smirk on her face.
“Help?”
She sighed but took the leash. “Galli. Heel, Galli.” She lifted the leash and Galli circled around her and sat next to her.
Brand sat up and wiped his face with his sleeve. “You have to show me how you do that.”
“I don’t have to do anything, Mr. Jet Ski Rental.”
Shaking his head, he got to his feet. “No, you don’t have to show me, but I’d appreciate it very much.” He gestured to Galli. “I think he would too.”
“I charge by the hour.”
“How much?”
She hesitated and he knew she was wondering how high she could go. “A hundred bucks an hour. And you have to be there.”
Ouch. “Done.” He held out his hand to shake on it.
Slowly she raised her hand and shook. Fast and short. “We’ll start tomorrow at seven.”
“A.M.?”
There was the smirk again. “Yup. See ya’ around.” She headed back up the kennel drive.
Walking away from him. Swinging her ass in his face. And what an ass it was. Must be all the running.
“Hey, do you live there?”
“Yup.”
“You own the place?”
There was an almost imperceptible hitch to her step. “Nope.”
“But you live there.”
“Yup.”
She hadn’t even turned around to answer him or stopped walking. Now she was far enough away that if he asked another question he’d have to yell at the top of his lungs. But, hey.
“Why don’t you want a ski rental here?” he shouted at her back.
She stopped but didn’t turn. When she started walking again, Brand took off after her. He wanted answers and she was going to give them. It took him ten strides to realize that Galli was right next to him. He wasn’t pulling or whining or dashing off after every moving blade of grass. Still, he wanted answers. He stepped it up to a jog and was pleased Galli stayed with him.
“Hey. Hold up.”
“No.”
“Why not? I just want a civilized conversation.”
She came to an abrupt stop and he just missed running into her.
“No. What you want is to bring in a bunch of rowdy college boys to race around disrupting the peace of this place. I don’t need that. My dogs don’t need that. And I don’t know what you did to make the City Council think it was a good idea.”
Her cheeks were pink with passion. Her eyes shot lightning bolts at him and her chest heaved with certainty. She was a sight to behold. A stir in the south had him clearing his throat. He was pretty sure showing her he wanted her in the worst way—well, any way if the truth be told—wouldn’t earn him points.
“Who owns the kennels?”
She threw her hands up. “What does that matter?”
“Is it Perry DeWalt?”
She looked wary now. Still pink in the cheeks but not passionate. “Yes. Why?”
He grinned. “We shared a few drinks at the resort when I first arrived. He said he owned a kennel on the island but I figure Mimosa isn’t big enough for two kennels so…”
“Perry told you about the kennel?”
“Yeah. When I told him about Galli.”
“Figures.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He sent you to me to fix your dog.”
“He didn’t say anything at all about you. Just mentioned he owned a kennel.”
She stiffened. He cursed himself. How do I manage to always say the absolute worst thing?
“Tomorrow. Seven.” She turned and stalked away.
Considering the way the tides had turned, Brand decided to quit the battlefield. He turned to go home but Galli wanted to go with the lovely beach lady. He held his breath and was pleasantly surprised when Galli turned without a struggle. Brand grinned when Galli lunged toward a sea gull but the band across his nose turned him around to stare at Brand who had to smile at the surprised look on the dog’s face.
Finally in harmony, he and Galli walked home both thinking about Ms. Dixie Wallace, the lovely beach lady. Both intended to see her again very soon.