Chapter Seven
Chloe looked at Waterford Farm through the eyes of a tourism expert, and it was a dream. The property just got prettier and prettier. From the classic entrance that led to a winding paved road lined with oak and maple trees, right up to a lovely buttercream-colored farm-style house with a row of charming dormers and green shutters on every window. The whole place had a quintessential Southern magic that made her want to swing on a glider with a glass of sweet tea.
“You do run tours through here, I hope,” she said to Shane as they parked in a wide circular drive that already had a collection of trucks, cars, and one particularly mangy yellow Jeep.
“Not usually. Clients come to check the place out all the time, and we get a lot of professional trainers, therapy trainers, and law enforcement.”
They walked around a huge grassy area to the back, where she could see that the house was built on a slight rise, overlooking acres dotted with clapboard buildings, that looked like they might be kennels, classrooms, and a small veterinarian office. Beyond the circle of buildings were more grassy areas with several dogs wandering about, some taking commands from people she assumed were trainers, some lying in the sun by themselves.
The entire facility was surrounded by rolling hills, woods, trails, and a large pond that sparkled in the sunshine.
“Shane,” she said, unable to hide the awe in her voice. “This is absolutely beautiful.”
“Thanks.” He looked around, as if seeing it through her eyes. “It’s home, of course, because I grew up here. But it also represents so much hard work and sweat equity. Sometimes I forget how damn nice the place is.”
“You could make it a real travel destination.”
“Not sure that’s what we want to do, but I’ll let you take that up with my dad. You know.” He gave her a playful elbow. “The old guy.”
“I prefer to think of him as the Dogfather,” she replied. “And I really hope he loves the idea.”
“He might, the way you present it. Anyway”—he gestured toward the central penned in area—“this is our main training ground,” he said. “All the dogs on-site spend some time here every day, or in one of the smaller pens. And over there are the kennels, where all the dogs, no matter why they’re here, live, eat, and sleep. Want to go meet Daisy?”
“Sure.” But she slowed her step as they headed to the kennels. “Shane, what if she senses that I’m not, you know, a dog person? They can pick that up, right?”
He shrugged. “Dogs are super sensitive, and they’ll smell fear or any kind of trepidation.”
“Should I be afraid of her?”
“God, no.” He put an arm around her, pulling her closer to a place that was warm, strong, and solid, leading her forward. “I would never give you a dog that might hurt you. I talked to my brother about it last night, and he agrees that Daisy needs to be in a home and yours is perfect. You even have a fenced-in backyard.”
She nodded, giving in to the comfort of his voice and strong body.
“How many dogs are usually here at one time?” she asked as they passed the training pen.
“It varies. We give training classes for individuals with dogs, and we also bring in classes of people who want certification to become trainers. And we have special programs for therapy dogs. If all those are in full swing, we could have thirty or more dogs boarding here or coming through for day classes. Liam’s law enforcement dogs come with police officers and sheriff’s deputies for training, and he always has one or two German shepherds he’s training for high-protection duty. Plus the rescues.”
As they reached the entrance to the kennels, the door popped open, and a tan and white dog came bounding out right at them, making Chloe leap back in shock.
“Down, Lola!” Shane ordered the dog, who immediately fell to her haunches and looked up at him, all obedience.
“Lola!” Another man called from inside the kennel, coming out with a woman with shoulder-length red hair, the two of them laughing at something. “Hey, Shane,” the man said. “Jessie and I were checking on Daisy. I hope this is her foster mom, ’cause she’s itching to get out of that kennel.”
The man gave Chloe a wide smile that nearly matched Shane’s. He had deep-blue eyes and long black hair that fell over the collar of his shirt, but the stamp of brotherhood was easy to see.
“Liam or Garrett?” she guessed.
“I’m Garrett.” He shook her hand, then gestured to the woman next to him. “This is Jessie Curtis, my fiancée.”
“Hi, Garrett, Jessie. I’m Chloe Somerset and….” She smiled at the dog who was still sitting, waiting for a command. “I take it that this isn’t Daisy?” Which was too bad, because this dog looked so sweet and…clean.
“Oh, no,” Jessie said. “This is Lola. She’s all mine.” At the sound of her name, the dog stood and gave her full attention to Jessie. “That’s right. All mine.” Jessie bent over and hugged the dog’s head, adding a kiss. Full contact, lips on fur.
Oh, that might be a barrier too far.
“Daisy’s inside,” Garrett said. “And I really appreciate you taking her for a while. She’d be fine here, of course, but she’s been a well-loved house dog owned by a woman who knows what she’s doing. Problem is, Daisy doesn’t want to sleep in a cage. I suspect she’ll be jumping in your bed with you before long.”
Chloe managed not to let her eyes pop in shock, but Shane laughed. “I don’t think Chloe’s going to be sharing her bed with Daisy,” he said.
Garrett’s eyes flickered at Shane, and immediately Chloe knew how he was taking that comment—like her bed sharing was going to be with Shane.
“I’m not…” She put up a hand. “I’m not going to be sharing my bed.”
Garrett laughed. “That’s what they all say.”
Did he mean Shane’s women or dog sitters?
“She’s super sweet,” Jessie said, probably picking up on Chloe’s discomfort. “And I’m sure she’ll be very happy in a dog bed next to yours.” Then she laughed guiltily. “Though I can’t stop Lola from climbing in when there’s a storm.”
Before Chloe could react, Shane put a hand on her back and guided her past them. “Come on, I’ll take you back,” Shane said. “It’s time to end the suspense and meet her.”
She didn’t know exactly what suspense he meant, but she let him usher her inside a maze of white-walled and gated doggie abodes, all brightly lit by skylights and windows. The halls echoed with all different kinds of barks, but the area was wide and cheery. It didn’t smell bad, and it was remarkably clean.
So she relaxed a little.
“It was really important to us that the kennels be a great place for the dogs,” Shane said, as if he sensed her mood shift.
“I did expect something more like a prison.”
“Everyone does, but that’s one of the many things that makes Waterford so special.”
She paused along the way to smile at different dogs who greeted her, each one unique enough to hold her attention. “A Dalmatian,” she said, proud she recognized at least one breed, even if it was from a Disney movie.
“That’s Spot.”
She laughed. “Seriously?”
“Liam named him, and I tell you, the guy has zero imagination. Spot’s in training to be a therapy dog for a deaf child.”
She leaned in toward Spot, who instantly came over and attempted to lick her jeans. “Oh.” She backed away, making Shane laugh.
Next was something small and white and insanely cute. “Who’s this?”
“Gumby. Her owner is training here and staying in our dorm for a few weeks to take intensive classes.”
“People really do that? They live here to learn how to train their dogs?”
“Some do. Listen, people are nuts about their dogs, Chloe. That’s why your idea for the town is so smart.”
She really relaxed then. “You really think so?”
“I honestly do.” He angled his head toward her. “And you look like you’re feeling a little better about having a dog.”
She looked down at Gumby, who gazed up with adoring brown eyes and waved her fluffy little tail furiously. “A little,” she confessed. “That one right there looks downright pettable.”
“Don’t go crazy now.” He grinned at her. “And I better warn you, Daisy is a little less precious. But still great.”
He guided her a little farther, pausing at a kennel with a yellow dog like the one they’d seen in the park, then a sweet hound-type with floppy ears, then they turned the corner to a row of larger kennels.
In the first one, a dog lay in the corner, looking up from a two-toned face with intense brown eyes rimmed with the slightest bit of pink.
“Meet Daisy.”
She stood and slowly came to the gate with a few loud, deep, deafening barks.
Chloe stared at the dog, taking in the power of her small but muscular body, looking a little like a fighter with an intense gaze. Her eyes…those eyes were so distinct.
Wait, she knew that breed. Had seen stories on the news. Heard people talking. Saw it from behind fences with Beware of Dog signs.
And then she realized what she was looking at. This dog was a pit bull. On instinct, she took a step back, hitting the hard muscle of Shane’s chest. He put his hands on her shoulders, as if steadying her. As if he’d known she’d need some support.
She just closed her eyes and let her head drop back against the man behind her.
* * *
“Shane,” she whispered his name, the back of her head still pressed against his chest, the curves of her body against his torso.
But that wasn’t a sigh of arousal or desire or surrender. Maybe she knew more about dogs than he was giving her credit for.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she added.
He squeezed her shoulders. “You don’t even know her yet.”
“I know…”
Don’t say it, Chloe. Please don’t say it and be like everyone else.
“Enough,” she finished. “I thought you said she was a Staff…something.”
Daisy barked again, and Chloe flinched as if the noise terrified her. But Shane knew she only wanted to be let out. “She is a Staffordshire terrier.”
“I was expecting…Toto.”
He let go of her, inching her to the side to get to Daisy. “Hey, girl, it’s time to show off for Chloe. You ready?”
She barked and gave a friendly wag of the tail.
“Sit.” Instantly, she obeyed, and Shane unlatched her gate. “Stay.” She didn’t move, not so much as an eyelid.
Walking inside, he could practically taste Chloe’s fear. To show her how unfounded that was, he got down on his knees and leaned his head down, making himself completely vulnerable to the dog, who still wouldn’t move until told.
“C’mere, Daisy. Give me some love.”
She took a step toward Shane and nuzzled his neck. Shane bent over completely and let Daisy lick him thoroughly. Then, she got to the floor, turned over, and spread it all out for him.
Nothing but love.
He glanced up at Chloe, hoping for some warmth, some reaction, some softening. Who could resist a dog spread-eagle on her back?
Chloe stared, a mix of horror and disbelief in her eyes.
“Chloe, she’s the sweetest, most obedient dog you’ll ever meet.”
She swallowed visibly. “Shane, she’s a pit bull.”
His chest tightened on Daisy a little as a familiar resentment rose up in him, and he tried to remember she knew nothing about dogs and that people could be idiots when it came to this breed. Who knew that better than he did?
“I don’t have that experience with dogs. Especially a dog like that.”
“Like what?” Even Daisy startled at the sharpness in his voice, and he comforted her with a slow, steady stroke.
“Shane.” Chloe let out a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean. They’re…famous. Infamous. I’ve heard that they can be…dangerous.”
Couldn’t she see this dog was no more dangerous than a stuffed animal? “That’s like judging a person by the color of their skin,” he shot back, giving in to the low-grade anger bubbling up in him. “Do you do that?”
She paled and closed her eyes. “Of course not.”
“Well, this is no different. People make assumptions, wrong assumptions, because of things they heard that have very little basis in reality. This is known as a nanny dog. Does that tell you something about the breed?”
She didn’t answer but took a few steadying breaths. “You know I’m a novice,” she finally said.
“Which is why this dog is the right one.” Slowly, he stood, getting the leash that hung on the wall. “She responds to every command. She’s friendly, sweet, easygoing, and hasn’t done anything to earn your mistrust except be hung with a handle that gets a lot of bad press.”
“But she is a pit bull?”
“Pit bull is a loosely used term that experts disagree on,” he said, clicking the leash onto Daisy’s collar. “There’s a lot of confusion between an actual breed and a dog type. A pit bull is a type of dog, and obviously, it’s a type that has negative connotations. Staffordshire terrier or American bull terrier are breeds. When properly socialized and trained, not inbred and not trained by morons to be fighters, they are some of the friendliest dogs in the world. They’re famous for how loyal they are, good with kids, and absolutely brimming with enthusiasm. Which, I see, you are not.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”
The apology gutted him, mostly because he didn’t want to hear it right that minute. And because she was right—she had disappointed him, and obviously, he didn’t have the class to hide it.
As he brought Daisy out of the kennel, Chloe backed away, giving the dog a wide berth. “She’s not going to attack you,” he said quietly. “For God’s sake, give her a chance to prove what she is.”
She bit her lip, eyes on the dog, silent.
“I’m walking her, if you want to come. But if you don’t, I understand.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, heading around the corner to the kennel door, letting Daisy happily lead.
As he reached the sunlight, Chloe caught up to him.
“So is this some kind of test?” she demanded.
“If it was, you failed.”
“No, Shane, you failed.”
At the accusation, he spun to her, a little surprised to see her color was high and her dark eyes gleamed with anger of her own. She was angry? After judging a dog based on nothing but conjecture and assumptions and stuff she didn’t know?
“How’s that?” he asked.
“You could have warned me. You could have given me the little breed-and-type lesson in advance. I told you this isn’t easy for me.”
“And I told you that you don’t have to take her. I’m going to walk her and…”
“And cool yourself off,” she finished for him.
He tamped down a fiery response, because he knew, deep in his gut, she was right. “Maybe you’re not the only one trying to prove something,” he finally said. “It really frosts me when people automatically assume this type of dog is a killer. People who abuse them are monsters, not the dogs. Believe me, I know that.”
She took a slow step closer, but as she did, two therapy dogs in training came toward them, with Allison, a Waterford staff member, behind them. Instantly, Daisy reacted, pulling on the leash and giving one loud bark of warning.
Allison gave a command to her dogs, who slowed and kept their gazes straight ahead, undaunted by the new arrival. They received pets and praise, but Daisy’s bark grew louder, along with the pressure on the leash.
“Hey, Shane,” Allison said as she and her dogs walked by, barely looking at Daisy or Chloe. Allison was focused on her charges, ready for them to react, and the dogs knew there’d be a reward if they didn’t.
Daisy followed them with her eyes and another insistent warning bark.
“What’s wrong with her?” Chloe asked.
The barking stopped the minute the therapy dogs disappeared.
“Nothing. She barks at other dogs, but that doesn’t mean she’ll attack. She’s a good girl.”
As if to prove his point, Daisy sat and looked up at him, her eyes saying what her mouth couldn’t: Please stop talking and take me on a walk.
Chloe reached out her hand, tentative and slow, making Shane look at her in surprise.
“Give me the leash,” she said softly.
“Are you sure?”
She took a slow, deep breath, as if trying to keep from saying yes, which they both knew would be a lie. “I’ll try.”
He handed her the end of the leash, and as she took it, he closed his hand over hers. “Sorry to act like a jerk about it,” he said softly. “Prejudice against pits is a hot button for me.”
“Obviously.”
She took control of the leash, and Daisy pulled a little, starting to walk, a tad impatient with all the human yammering. “Oh.” Chloe let herself be pulled a little, then jerked the leash reflexively.
Immediately, Daisy turned with a look of dismay, uncertain of what she’d done wrong.
“See?” Shane said. “They don’t come any sweeter.”
“It’s okay, Daisy,” she said, lifting her other hand as if waving at the dog would make her point. “Just walk, girl. Walk.” She looked up at him. “Is that the right command to use?”
His heart squeezed a little at her determination to do this, even though she really didn’t want to. “If you walk, she will. Like this.” He took Chloe’s hand and started them both toward some open grass away from the training area.
He could feel how tense she was, her fingers stiff in his hand, her shoulders square, her gaze locked on the dog a few feet in front of them as if Daisy could turn at any second and attack.
“It’s hard for me to understand what that must be like to have never been around any dogs,” he admitted. “I haven’t spent a day in thirty-six years without a dog in my life. Usually way more than one.”
Daisy started to pull to the left, off the path. “Where is she…what is she…”
“She needs to pee.”
“Oh.”
“Or poop.”
“Poop? You mean…now?”
He fought a laugh. “This is not something you can command a dog to do or not. She’s going to go the minute she gets outside, most likely twice a day.”
She swallowed hard. “Okay. What do we do about that?”
“Let her. And then pick it up.”
She blinked in horror, making him laugh.
“If we didn’t pick it up, Waterford would be swimming in the stuff.”
“Pick…it…” She turned to Daisy, who was already in a squatting position. “Up?” Her voice cracked.
“We have stations everywhere. See?” He pointed to a small green can with a bag dispenser about fifteen feet away, tucked between two trees. “And look what’s on the shelf there?” He pointed to the large container of hand sanitizer. “Chloe’s happy juice.”
She barely smiled, sneaking a peek at Daisy, who’d finished her work and started toward the dispenser, already knowing the drill at Waterford.
“Come on, you can do it.”
“I can, but I won’t.”
“I swear you get so used to it, you don’t even think about it.”
“If you make me pick that up, I don’t think I’ll ever think about anything else as long as I live, which won’t be long.”
He laughed, relieved that her humor was back at least. “I’ll do the first one.”
“You’ll do every one.”
Still laughing, he went and grabbed a bag, cleaned up the mess in one move that he’d done so many times in his life, he didn’t think to explain how, knotted the recyclable plastic, tossed it, and made a show of pumping a gallon of hand sanitizer into his palms.
“Should I drink a little?” he asked, rubbing his hands together.
“Just tell me that’s the last time.”
“On this walk.”
He could have sworn she swayed, but didn’t have time to take note because, now that she was feeling lighter, Daisy picked up the pace and trotted toward the beaten path and grass that led to the lake.
Chloe strode fast to keep up, clinging to the leash as if it were a lifeline, marching on with her long dark hair swinging, her arm extended so far he could have sworn Daisy could pull it out of the socket.
For a moment, Shane stood there and watched, his gaze moving from one beautiful girl to the other.
Maybe he was trying to prove a point with her. Maybe Daisy and Chloe had just become his personal project.
He thought about telling her why, but then she’d never take the dog.