Chapter Eleven
Take Daisy in and out of businesses all over Bitter Bark? Shane slowly shook his head when Chloe told him this plan on the way to Waterford.
“You think it’s a terrible idea?” she asked.
“It’s so brilliant, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it myself.”
She laughed. “That would be high praise for any idea.”
“I did suggest she be your partner, but I was thinking some walks in the park, maybe stop and talk to some people. But, yeah, you take her into shops and restaurants. We’ll know who’s going to fight it and who’s on our side.”
“Our side.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm. “Thanks for being on mine.”
“How could I not?” Easily, he reminded himself for the tenth time that morning. He was digging himself deeper every minute with this woman, and like a crazed dog with a hole, he couldn’t stop. Sex wasn’t guaranteed. And messing with her, like he wanted to at first, had started…messing with him. “The whole idea of a dog-friendly town can only help Waterford,” he added, as if that were his excuse for staying so close to her.
“Well, it’s good to have the support of the whole Kilcannon family.”
“Uh, not so fast. You still haven’t met Gramma Finnie.”
She blinked at him. “You don’t think your grandmother will like the idea? I understand she’s an institution around here.”
“An institution in Bitter Bark and an Internet sensation with a blog and Twitter account that make her an official old Irish lady celebrity.”
“That’s right, so I really do want to present the idea to her today.”
“Unless she knows already,” he said. “If you were the talk of the ten-thirty service at the Presbyterian church, then you were probably on the lips as much as communion at the Catholic Mass. Gramma Finnie’ll tell us.”
She nodded, thinking about that. “If the idea is good for Waterford, why wouldn’t your grandmother like it?”
He pulled his truck into the drive and didn’t see any other cars, so they were first. “She tells a story—well, she tells a lot of stories, so brace yourself. She also speaks in Irish proverbs and with a pretty thick brogue.”
“Okay. What’s the story?”
He laughed a little, thinking of the thousand or so times he’d heard it. “I’m sure she’ll tell you one of many variations she has,” he said. “But the short version is that when she and my grandfather came here from Ireland in the fifties, they drove into Bitter Bark, saw the sign, and the setter du jour—Kilcannons always have one—started howling off-key. Gramma called it a ‘bitter bark’ and decided it meant they’d found their forever home.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet.”
He chuckled. “The first hundred times you hear it, yeah.”
He parked and climbed out, and Daisy jumped up and barked, but stayed in the truck bed.
“And you think that emotional tie to the town’s name would be a reason she’d be opposed to changing it?” Chloe asked as she got out of the passenger side.
“It’s possible.”
“Wait, wait.” Chloe came sprinting around the truck to where he was. “Let me tell Daisy to get out of the truck,” she requested. “I want her to listen to me.”
“Okay. Hit it.” He pulled down the tailgate.
“Do I need a treat?”
“Probably not. Remember, eyes, command, then name, maybe snap your fingers, if you like. Reward her with a big hug and kiss.”
She threw him a look.
“Okay, a little hug and pretend kiss.”
She stood right in front of Daisy and locked gazes. “Daisy. Down.” She snapped, and the dog jumped out, barked once, and looked only a little bit more proud of herself than Chloe did.
“Reward,” he reminded her.
She took a breath and bent over, awkwardly rubbing Daisy’s head. “Good girl,” she murmured, then wiped her hand on her crisp, ironed khaki shorts.
“My little dog whisperer,” he teased, giving Chloe’s hair a playful rub like he would a favorite pet. Keeping it light, as he’d promised himself last night when he went to bed aching for what he hadn’t had. He wanted to be around her, but if she needed things to be platonic, fine.
Maybe better even, considering the way she managed to get under his skin and he didn’t seem to knock so much as an eyelash out of place for her.
“Hardly a dog whisperer,” she said. “But we did okay, right, Daisy? She slept on that dog bed in my room and, wow, does this dog snore.”
“Better watch out, Chloe. Next thing you know, she’ll be eating off your plate.”
She gave a throaty laugh, the sound somehow playful and sexy at the same time. “That would be my line in the sand. Unless…” She gave him a questioning look. “Would that win your grandmother’s heart?”
“Like I said, she could go either way,” he said. “Gramma Finnie is a stubborn old Irish woman with a lifelong connection to this town. Just give her a chance to get to know you.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close to encourage her and also because he couldn’t keep his freaking hands off her. “She’s going to like you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.” Oh man, he was killing it with the keep it light technique. Too bad. He tucked her closer, nestling his nose in her hair to inhale the fresh fragrance of it and whisper the rest. “Should never have left you last night,” he confessed.
He felt her shudder at the admission. “Shane, you’re going to complicate things.”
“I like complicated.”
She slowed her step. “And when I disappear and go to Roatán?”
“That’s where you’re off to next? Some two-bit Caribbean island?”
“Might not be two-bit when I’m done.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll take what I can get,” he said, not nearly as casually as he’d have liked. “Couple of days. Couple of weeks. Couple of…nights.”
She looked hard at him, her gaze as serious as he’d ever seen her. “Let’s get the town council vote first.”
“That’s what it’s going to take?” He drew back, feigning shock. “Chloe Somerset, is there no end to your bribery and corruption?”
“I’m not bribing you,” she said, elbowing him. “I’m setting a timeline.”
“By telling me I can sleep with you if I influence everyone on the town council to vote in favor of Better Bark?” He crossed his arms and shook his head. “That is bribery.”
A soft flush darkened her cheeks. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say that.” Holding on to that, and her, he led her into the side kitchen door, pausing for a second before he opened it, bracing for what he knew was going to hit his heart.
“Shane?” Chloe asked, slowing her step when he did. “Are you okay?”
How could he answer that? How could he tell her that every single time he opened this door and walked into this house, the familiar and unwelcome smack of grief almost knocked him over? Not outside on the farm, not anywhere else, and not usually when he had to run into Dad’s office or get something from the house.
But Sunday dinners without Mom? It usually took a few minutes and a Bloody Mary to bury emotions that threatened to ruin the day.
“Fine,” he told her, pushing the thoughts away with the same ease that he breathed every day. “Just want to be sure you know that my dad gives the housekeeper the day off, so it’s more about the company than the food.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “I’m happy to be here.”
“Yeah, me, too,” he lied. “I’m happy you’re here.” But that wasn’t a lie. Not in the least.
A minute later they were in the kitchen, greeting Dad, getting Daisy acclimated, and settling in on the empty barstools in front of the kitchen island where Dad was cooking.
“It smells delicious,” Chloe said, looking around. “And this is a beautiful home.”
“Thanks to my dearly departed wife,” Dad said, setting down the chef’s knife he was using to chop carrots.
That didn’t take long, Shane thought.
“I grew up in this home,” Dad continued. “And this kitchen was little more than a corner in the house, though it functioned. After Annie and I had a few kids, and we took over ownership, my parents moved to town and my wife got the remodeling bug and never stopped fixing up this or gutting that. Took down all the walls and added this fancy granite.” He gave an expansive gesture. “She was the real cook, though.”
Shane heard the hitch in his father’s voice, reminding him that he wasn’t the only one who missed Mom on Sundays. And that reminded him that if a man doesn’t let himself get too far gone in love, he never has to have his throat close up when he thinks about her.
“Did you make Bloodies, Dad?” Shane asked, pushing away from the island.
“In a pitcher in the fridge.” He added a wink to Chloe. “Sunday Bloody Marys are another tradition.”
“We’re Irish,” Shane said. “Drinking is a tradition.”
“Traditions are nice,” she mused, resting her chin on her palm.
“Did you have them in your family when you were growing up?” Dad asked.
As Shane brought the pitcher from the refrigerator, he stole a glance at Chloe and could have sworn she paled. “Not too terribly many,” she said. “I was raised by a single mother, and we just kind of got by.”
“And now you live in Miami, right?” Dad looked pleased with himself. “See? I was paying attention at my first meeting of that committee.”
“Amazing,” Shane said, coming around the island to stand next to his father and steal two celery stalks for their drinks. “Considering you spent that meeting trying to figure out a way for Liam to take your place next to Andi Rivers.”
Dad chuckled, knife in action again, knowing he was busted for his matchmaking ways. “I’ve always liked that young woman.”
“I like her, too,” Chloe said. “I had dinner with her last night.”
“And then…” Shane leaned into his father. “Andi left Bushrod’s on the arm of your oldest son.”
Dad stopped chopping, and his eyes grew wide. “Really.”
“All without your help,” Shane teased.
“Well, he was here in the kennels before the sun came up, working with Jag and, whoa, he was in a foul mood,” Dad said. “Liam, not Jag.”
“How could you tell that from his normal mood?” Shane joked, but deep inside, his gut wrenched for his brother. Foul mood meant no dice with Andi, and Liam really liked her. He’d barely looked at another woman since Andi broke up with him and it had to be two years now.
“So maybe I made the right decision not sending Liam to the committee,” his father mused, looking deliberately from Shane to Chloe.
Shane rolled his eyes. “This one’s all me, Pops. Although the Dogfather will no doubt take credit.”
Chloe laughed. “I heard about that nickname.”
“Irish style,” he joked, eyeing them both. “And you two make a fine couple.”
“Oh, we’re not…” Now she was uncomfortable, shifting on the stool.
“Chloe’s a temporary addition to our town,” Shane said, helping her out. “But I’m happy to help her win the Better Bark cause.”
“Ah, yes, the name change,” Dad said, lifting his dark brows. “What an idea, young lady.”
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Very much,” he assured her. “A family that can travel with their dog is a happy family indeed.”
“That’s what I was thinking and why it makes so much sense from a tourism standpoint.”
“When’s the council meeting?” Dad asked. “I’ll want to call in a few favors.”
“Call them in fast,” Shane said. “They moved it up to Tuesday or Wednesday of this week.”
“Any advice for me?” Chloe asked.
Dad thought about that, scraping his chopped veggies into a large pan. “It’s a big council,” he said. “Maybe thirteen on it now? They’ll all love you.”
“We’re hoping they love Daisy,” Chloe said. “My aunt thinks I should be taking her into local businesses around the square to meet people and make them fall in love.”
Dad looked up, nodding. “Good idea. She’s a great dog.”
“And she could go a long way to dispelling some really stupid preconceptions,” Shane added.
Dad gave him a sharp look, but just then, Molly’s twelve-year-old daughter, Pru, came in. Chloe turned to greet them, but Dad leaned closer to Shane. “You can’t change the world’s opinion, Son,” he said under his breath.
He didn’t get a chance to argue that as the whirlwind that was Prudence Kilcannon blew deeper into the kitchen, swirling around Chloe. “Oh, you must be the tourism lady. Mom and I were talking about you on the way home from church. And your big doggie idea.”
“Chloe, this is my niece, Pru,” Shane said. “And if you want to get on my grandmother’s good side, this is your girl.”
“Hi, Pru,” Chloe said.
“Oh, everyone’s right,” Pru said, openly assessing the new arrival. “You do look like Vanessa on The Bachelor.”
“I do?”
Molly and Darcy blew in next, delivering hugs, hellos, and generally increasing the noise level.
“So why didn’t anyone call Darcy and me to tell me there was a Kilcannon drink fest at Bushrod’s last night?” Molly demanded with a playful fist on Shane’s chest.
“It wasn’t a drink fest,” Shane said.
“And word is there was kissing.” Darcy put her hands on her hips and looked from Shane to Chloe, who started laughing.
“Who was kissing?” Dad asked, frustrated that he didn’t know this tidbit.
Molly poured a Bloody Mary from the pitcher into a glass Shane handed her in a move they’d done so many times, it felt choreographed. “Who wasn’t kissing would be a better question.” Molly took her own celery stick for the drink and pointed it to Dad. “In fact, our very own Liam—”
“Left with Andi Rivers,” he finished for her. “Don’t even have to go to church to get that gossip.”
On his other side, Darcy elbowed him. “You shoulda gone, Dad. Molly said Cassandra Michaels was there.”
“There and looking good,” Molly added. “She dressed to impress somebody and it wasn’t Father John, based on the number of times she looked back at Gram and me.”
Dad shot her a deadly look. “That’ll be enough of that,” he said gruffly, turning from the island and heading into the pantry, far enough away to end the conversation.
“Enough of what?” Liam asked, coming in from the living room, rolling up a sleeve of his white dress shirt.
“Did you go to church, too?” Shane asked, not quite able to keep the disbelief out of his voice. Raised as Catholic as any Irish brood, most of the Kilcannon kids hadn’t stepped inside St. Cecilia’s since the day of Mom’s funeral. Molly took Pru sometimes in her effort to be a better mom, and Darcy drove Gramma but rarely stayed for the service. Shane, Garrett, and Liam never went.
“I did,” Liam said, starting on the other sleeve.
Except never say never.
“Things so bad with Jag’s training you have to pray for him now?” Shane teased.
Liam ignored him. “Hello, Chloe, how are you?”
“I’m good, Liam. Thanks for walking Andi home last night.”
Molly and Pru shared a look and Darcy plopped both elbows on the island and stared at her oldest brother. “Spill it, big guy.”
“Shut it, little girl,” he fired back.
Darcy just grinned and flipped her long, blond hair, a wicked smile on a face too beautiful for its own good.
“Oh, Liam,” Dad said, coming back in. “I heard you saw Andi last night.”
Everyone laughed, but Liam just closed his eyes and shook his head, stepping closer to Chloe who was perched on her barstool taking in all the verbal volley like she was on the main court at Wimbledon.
“Hope you’re ready for a Kilcannon Sunday dinner.”
“I’m starving,” she said.
“Don’t think that’s what he means,” Molly quipped.
“I can handle it,” Chloe assured them, then laughed. “I think.”
That cracked them all up and took the heat off Liam, and then Garrett and Jessie came in with Lola, and the party was in full swing. A house full of dogs, drinks, and lively discussions.
Shane was quiet, though, taking it all in.
Maybe it was the first kick of Dad’s supercharged Bloody Mary. Maybe it was the family teasing or just Shane’s leftover libido that was still taunting him, but as he watched Chloe navigate the always bubbling waters of the Kilcannon family, something felt a little out of sorts in his chest.
Was it just the way her dark eyes sparking in a way that reflected all the energy in the room? Or was it just that he wasn’t fighting that low-grade anger that bubbled up when he was in this house? And why wasn’t he? Something was different today.
“Don’t you think so, Shane?” Chloe asked, putting her hand over his.
Damn, he’d missed the question.
“Don’t you think that change will be great for everyone?” she added.
“Oh, yeah, definitely.” He turned his hand and threaded his fingers through hers, not caring that Molly, Pru, Darcy, and Dad were zeroing in on the gesture. He wanted to thank her for the distraction and the relief from a pain that had been around so long, it was part of him.
“All right, all right, I’m here.”
Every sound in the room instantly stopped, and all heads turned toward the living room. Around the corner came Gram, eighty-six years old, barely an inch over five feet, and just as mighty as ever.
“I thought you wanted me to pick you up in half an hour, Gram,” Darcy said, instantly popping over to put her arm around their grandmother’s tiny frame.
“I got a ride,” she said, looking hard at Dad. “Cassandra Michaels of all people.”
“Imagine that,” Dad said dryly.
Gramma came all the way into the kitchen and scanned them all with blue eyes behind rimless bifocals. She walked right up to her, crossed her skinny little arms, and stared Chloe down. “Are you the lass who wants to change the name of this town?”
Chloe visibly swallowed. “Yes.”
“Let’s take a walk, then. I have a story to tell you. It happened in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and—”
“Fifty-four!” Every single Kilcannon in the room said it in unison.
Chloe blinked. “Okay.”
“Brace yourself,” Shane whispered. “You might be getting the long version.”
Molly picked up Chloe’s half-finished Bloody Mary and stuck it in her hand. “Here. You’ll need this.”
Everyone cracked up except Chloe. She just took a big, deep gulp.
* * *
“They said you were a pretty one,” Gramma Finnie said, her Irish lilt as lovely as her sky-blue eyes and surprisingly creamy skin for a woman closer to ninety than eighty. “But then, I wouldn’t expect Shane to go for anything less. Rachel was a beauty, too.”
Rachel? First she’d heard of a Rachel. “Sounds like they’ve said a lot of things,” Chloe replied as they left the back patio, keeping her steps slow so she could maintain the older woman’s deliberate stride.
“It was a wonder Father John could preach a sermon today without mentioning you, lass. Seems like most other folks could talk of nothing else.”
Chloe had to laugh. “I think I’ve invaded all the churches in Bitter Bark this morning. So much for the confidentiality of the Tourism Advisory Committee.”
“Welcome to Bitter Bark and the news according to Jeannie Slattery.”
“So she’s the leak,” Chloe mused.
“I’m sure she’s leakin’ plenty when she climbs out of Mitch Easterbrook’s bed.”
Chloe coughed a shocked laugh. “I thought I sensed a little something between those two.”
“What’s between them is little for sure with that man.”
A laugh bubbled up, along with a memory. “That sounds like something my mother would have said,” she quipped. But Doreen Somerset’s caustic humor had also been cruel. Somehow, Chloe didn’t think Finnie Kilcannon had a cruel bone in her little body. “And good information to have in my back pocket.”
“Oh, I’m a fountain of information and, in case you haven’t heard, I’m Irish. Born there, you know. But the best part of my life started when Seamus and I pulled an old clunker off the highway for gas, and Corky, my setter, read the name of the town and started to howl like a sick puppy.” Finnie elbowed her. “You can tell Shane you got the shortish version. The long one always includes the fact that Seamus had to go to the bathroom so bad, I didn’t think we’d make it to the gas station.” She chuckled. “I like that version.”
Chloe smiled and put a hand on the woman’s narrow shoulder. “I’m honored to hear any version of this story, Gramma Finnie. It’s history and I don’t want to mess with that. I’m trying to change the future, not negate the past.”
“I like the dog idea,” Finnie said with a dry laugh. “Obviously. And I see that you want to lose the bitter, not the bark.”
“Of course, we can make Bitter Bark dog-friendly, and if we get businesses to agree and the committees to do events, that will help. It doesn’t have to be a permanent change, but in my experience, you have to package something and make it obvious. That’s the difference between moderate improvement and huge success.”
“I heard that about you, too.”
“That…being…”
“You’re a persuasive one.” A smile threatened. “Good trait for a woman to have.”
She felt a little sigh of relief slip out. “I believe in what I’m trying to convince the town to do,” she said. “I’m sure you know that when you believe in something, it’s easy to persuade others to join your side.”
“It won’t be easy.” Finnie steered her off the path, away from the wide areas where a few dogs were running around with one person, toward the shade of the overhang of another building with a shingle that read Kilcannon Veterinarian. There was a bench that was probably for clients to wait with their dogs, and Finnie gestured to it, ready to sit. “This is as far as I want to go.”
Chloe sat next to her, crossing her hands on her lap, sensing that this wasn’t the time for small talk or idle conversation. Gramma looked up at her, searching her face as if looking intently for something. A flaw? The truth? Chloe didn’t know, but she didn’t look away.
“I hear you kissed my grandson at Bushrod’s last night.”
Chloe laughed softly and shook her head. “What did this town talk about at church before I showed up?”
“The undertaker and the redhead,” she answered without hesitation. “Shane’s a fine lad, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do. As evidenced by the well-documented kiss on the dance floor.”
“Damn fine-looking,” Gramma added.
“Gorgeous, really.”
“Smart as a whip, you know.”
“Georgetown Law,” Chloe said. “Obviously very intelligent.”
“He makes me laugh more than any one of my grandchildren,” she added. “He’s got a heart for animals, of course, and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for me if I asked.”
Chloe nodded. “He is an all-around great guy.”
Gramma lifted a white brow. “Is he a good kisser?”
She dropped her face into her hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Yes. One of the best ever.”
Gramma’s expression was pure satisfaction as she leaned back with a grunt as if to say, I knew it! “Course, he is Irish. Seamus could kiss my panties off faster than I could down a glass of whiskey.”
“So good kissing is a family trait?” Chloe joked.
Gramma just smiled and looked straight ahead, a little lost for a moment, maybe thinking about Seamus’s panty-stealing kisses. “If I support this idea of yours, it will help you. I’m small but mighty in this town. And on the Internet.”
“I understand that, and I would only want you to do what makes you happy and comfortable.”
She inhaled slowly. “I need to know why.”
“Why? The idea? Well, I’ve done this kind of thing for other tourism councils. A big idea that people rally around can really make a difference and will honestly bring a lot of money into the town.”
“But why do you want to do it?” she pressed. “To add this success story to your fancy résumé? To impress my grandson? Why does it matter to you, a young woman who lives somewhere else?”
“Blanche Wilkins is my aunt,” she replied without hesitation. “Her husband, Frank, put his heart and reputation on the line with the first phase of the gentrification of Bushrod Square.”
“Frank was a good man,” Gramma said. “A little better in the mayoring department than his widow, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe, but I have the ability to help her, and she’s my family.” Chloe leaned a little closer. “She’s my only family,” she added. “My mother is gone and my father died when I was a baby. I have no siblings. And Blanche didn’t have children. My whole life, she’s been a…a special aunt. My godmother, actually. I want to help her.”
Gramma Finnie turned, stunning Chloe with moisture-filled eyes. “You and Blanche? That’s it? That’s a small circle of strength. That’s what Irish say a family is, you know.”
She wouldn’t know. She had no idea. “Yours certainly is,” Chloe said.
The old woman studied her for a long, long time, thoughts brewing in those blue eyes that were still swimming with tears. “All right, then. I know all I need to know. Family matters to you. Even if you don’t have much of one.” She stood, putting a hand on Chloe’s thigh to get a push up. “Then we should try and do something to help yours.”
She looked up. “Does this mean you’ll support the name change?”
She gave a sly grin. “A name change is exactly what I’ll be supportin’, lass.”