The Dog Town Collection Page 6

  During small talk about their dogs, the school event and the forthcoming parade, Flynn’s pencil flew. Finally she looked up and offered her sketchbook to Remi. Her own face stared out at her from the page. In the illustration, Leo lolled in her arms, tongue hanging out of one side of his mouth, and his eyes were alight with mischief. His slim tail almost seemed to move. Remi smiled, and it was reflected back from the sketchbook. Her illustrated counterpart was wearing the same suit jacket and standing against a bank of lockers. Around her neck was a long vine with pointed leaves. It draped over her shoulders like a vibrant boa, twisted around Leo’s tail, formed a heart and then ran off the page.

  “What’s with the vine?” she asked.

  Flynn shrugged. “I just go where my pencil takes me.” Grabbing the sketchbook, she touched up and shaded a few things before adding her initials in the bottom right corner. Tearing it from the book, she carefully rolled it into a tube and then handed it to Remi. “I figured you could use a pleasant memory from high school. I know I could.”

  Their conversation ended as Principal Coxwell’s voice crackled over a microphone. “I have an announcement. One of the entries in the art contest has gone missing. Brianne Eaton’s sculpture has apparently been stolen from the display table. I will give the perpetrator half an hour to do the right thing and return it. Otherwise, we will cancel the contest.” There was a groan throughout the crowd that sounded decidedly adolescent. “Thirty minutes,” she continued. “Or prepare for a very long year, students.”

  The next half hour passed rather pleasantly for Remi, as a couple of teenaged girls came over to see Leo and ended up asking a few good questions about fundraising. She got so caught up that it startled her when the principal piped up again.

  “I regret that the statue in question is still missing,” she said. “The contest is therefore postponed until it resurfaces, which I am quite sure it will. You’ll all have time to reflect tomorrow night, because the annual opening dance and party has been cancelled.” Now the groan was deafening. “Go home, everyone. I am very disappointed, and you’ve embarrassed yourselves in front of our wonderful guests.”

  To clear everyone out of the auditorium, the principal cranked classical music so loud that no one could hear themselves.

  Remi followed Arden past the bleachers where they’d sat last night. Teens had filled the stands, and judging from the din, no one was taking the cancelled dance lightly.

  The top row was filled with the same sorts of faces that had been there years ago. There were athletes and pretty girls that probably knew how to cartwheel and cheer. In other words, the cool kids still got top tier.

  If she hadn’t been looking up, she might have seen the outstretched sneaker. Instead, she hit it hard and tripped. Luckily her arms released Leo in time for him to land on his paws. She was on all fours, too, and Arden helped her up. One pant leg was torn and blood drops formed on her scraped knee.

  Teens scrambled up and away. There was a flash of blue hair and laughter.

  Arden grabbed Remi’s jacket to stop her from pursuing. “It’s not worth it,” she said.

  “If she puts my dog at risk again, I will have my first ever fist-fight,” Remi said. “Now, where’s the rest of that truth serum?”

  “You can’t go to the parade drunk,” Arden said, collecting Remi’s bag and Leo’s leash. Flynn’s sketch had unfurled and Arden stared at it curiously.

  Remi glanced over her shoulder. In the illustration, Flynn’s last edits had given Leo a unicorn’s horn, just like Brianne’s missing statue.

  “What’s with the horn?” Remi asked.

  “I guess it means he’s a dog in a million,” Arden said, rolling the sketch back up. “And that his owner is about to get lucky.”

  Chapter 8

  The mayor’s box in Bellington Square should have been empty when Remi arrived an hour before the parade was scheduled to start. Instead, she found Tiller Iverson slouched on a folding chair, fiddling with his phone.

  “Hey,” he said, barely glancing up. He was still in the dark jeans and T-shirt he’d worn earlier, which meant he was woefully underdressed for a parade in Dorset Hills. Lawn party attire was more appropriate. He didn’t seem aware of his faux pas, despite the fact that he was practically in the shadow of City Hall, with its glittering gold brick and imposing clock tower.

  The box itself sat six feet above Main Street—around parade float level—and was decorated with the green and yellow coat of arms and matching streamers. Inside, there was a row of folding chairs and nothing else. Maybe the champagne would arrive later.

  “You’re early,” Remi said. She’d counted on some quiet time to gather her courage. Without Leo, this event was going to be tough. Panic was shimmering on the fringes of her consciousness, biding its time. Her fall in the school field had left her sore and rattled.

  “Early bird gets the donor,” he said. “Joking.”

  “I hope you’re joking, Tiller, because I really want this promotion. You can’t just swan in here on the mayor’s recommendation and steal a job from under me. I’ve been working for the foundation for eight years.”

  “Who says I want to steal it?” He pushed up his sunglasses to stare at her. “But if the job was yours Marcus probably wouldn’t have given the empty office to me.”

  Remi gasped. That office should have been hers. “Well, I see you’re still a jerk.”

  His eyes ran over her and she crossed her arms. She felt oddly naked although her white eyelet dress was conservative and it was a warm, sunny day. It wouldn’t have mattered what she was wearing; she felt completely exposed without her canine shield. Her palms were already damp.

  “And I see you still think you know it all,” he said. “When you don’t.”

  “Well, I know how to dress for a parade, at least.” She perched on one of the folding chairs, leaving an empty seat between them. “How about we don’t speak unless we have to?”

  “That was certainly my hope. And yet you keep speaking.”

  “Idiot,” Remi muttered under her breath.

  “Granny,” he muttered back.

  Her head snapped around. “Excuse me?”

  He dropped his glasses over his eyes and grinned. “You’re acting like a prissy old lady.”

  Remi moved one more seat down the row, wishing she’d listened to Arden and chosen a dress with more flash. Striking the right note with clothes was half the battle in being comfortable socially. Thanks to Tiller, she now felt in dire need of a bonnet. At least the dress covered the big bandage on her knee.

  “I’ll leave room for your best friend, Mayor Bradshaw,” she said. “With any luck he might have another job you can parachute into.”

  Tiller moved one seat closer. “Maybe I’ll end up liking this job.”

  Remi moved down yet another seat. She was at the end of the row now with nowhere else to go. “You’re infuriating. Why couldn’t you just stay wherever you went after high school?”

  “You mean the Big Apple? I’m sure you followed my career closely.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” She glanced at him. “Your career must have taken a serious nosedive if you’re back in Dorset Hills accepting political handouts.”

  Tiller’s tan face flushed and his lips tightened. It didn’t feel as good as Remi thought it would. That was always the problem with cheap shots, she figured. They tasted delicious in the imagination, soured in the mouth, and probably sounded bitter to everyone else.

  “Being here is a comedown,” he said. “Maybe you can tell me how you stand it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m afraid you might stay.”

  “No chance of that. I’ll be gone just as soon as—” He stopped abruptly. “Never mind.”

  Remi stole a sideways look at him. Why had he come back to Dorset Hills anyway? His parents moved away years ago. They were nice people—so nice they must be crushed about how he turned out.

  After a few moments of silence, they both spoke at once: “
Listen—”

  Remi permitted herself a small smile. “You first.”

  He lifted his shades and for the first time his eyes weren’t fierce. “I just think we should dial things back in front of Hannah, that’s all. For the sake of the foundation.”

  “Of course. I’m always professional.”

  “Of course.” His eyebrows rose skeptically.

  “I am. We just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all.”

  “Wrong paw, you mean. When your dog attacked mine.”

  She stood for the sake of towering over him. “Tiller. Let’s start dialing it back right now. By the time the others get here, we might even be pleasant.”

  “Deal.” He turned away and started fiddling with his phone again, and Remi sat down. After another minute he glanced back at her. “You talk more than you used to. A lot more.”

  “Dialing back, now.” She put her fingers to her lips and closed her eyes. There was something to be said for his annoying distractions. Anxiety had barely had a chance to get a foothold. Still, she drew in deep breaths and tried to clear her mind. Even after years of practice, mindfulness was hard.

  The silence lasted maybe four minutes before she heard heels on the stairs, and then, “Hello! Oh my, Remi, you’re napping.”

  Remi’s eyes popped open as she jumped to her feet. “Hannah, hi!”

  Hannah was wearing a simple yet striking halter dress that showed how white should be done. She offered what probably passed for a hug in billionaire circles. It was more like a leaning in and pressing of air. “What a pretty dress,” she said. “Where’s my little buddy, Leo?”

  “He’s been detained on foundation business, I’m afraid.” Stepping aside, Remi gestured to Tiller, who was now standing. “Hannah, this is my colleague, Tiller Iverson. You might remember him from school.”

  Remi had rehearsed the introduction a dozen times, yet it still came out sounding stilted. Neither Hannah nor Tiller seemed to notice. They were staring at each other, wide-eyed. A flush rushed up Hannah’s neck to flare in her cheeks. Tiller tried to smile but his lips didn’t quite get the message.

  “Tiller. I’m… surprised,” Hannah said, shaking his outstretched hand. “I thought you were in New York at that tech firm.”

  “Just came back to town. It’s temporary,” he said. “The hospital foundation was short-staffed and I was happy to step in.”

  “Well, they’re lucky to have you.” Hannah sat down so hard the folding chair wobbled. “I hear you’re a marketing guru.”

  Leaving a seat between them, he sat, too. “I was very sorry to hear about your mom’s passing. But you’ve done amazing things in her name. She’d be proud of her legacy.”

  “Thank you.” The flush deepened in Hannah’s cheeks. “It’s hard to be back.”

  He nodded. “I know. But you have friends here.”

  She offered her fingertips with a faint smile and he took them. For minute, Remi thought he might kiss them like a knight. Instead he placed her hand gently in her lap.

  Meanwhile, Remi stood perfectly still, taking erratic, shallow breaths. She hadn’t known what to expect from their reunion, but it wasn’t this gentle intimacy.

  Hannah’s hazel eyes lifted and her face had brightened. “Remi, sit, please.” She patted the seat on the side opposite to Tiller. “I want you to talk me through this parade.”

  Perching, Remi said, “The mayor will want to do that, I assume.”

  “He’s been detained too,” Hannah said. “He’s decided to ride a float. With his poodle.”

  Hannah looked at Tiller and they burst out laughing.

  “Princess,” Remi said.

  Hannah’s laugh stopped abruptly. “Pardon me?”

  “The mayor’s standard poodle is named Princess. She’s a great dog.”

  “Of course,” Hannah said. “I’m just surprised he’s riding on a float with her.”

  “It’s tradition.” Remi pulled in another deep breath and tried to sweeten her tone. “The mayor usually closes off all parades in Dorset Hills.”

  “Parades… plural?” Hannah asked. “How many are there?”

  “Lots,” Remi said. “Easter, May Day, Independence Day, and of course Hallowe’en. Dog Towners love an opportunity to dress up in costume with their dogs.”

  “But Labor Day?” Hannah pressed. “Isn’t that a stretch?”

  “Not for City Council. They’re skilled at finding a theme. You’ll see.”

  Hannah turned and chatted quietly to Tiller about people they both knew from New York. Remi felt excluded—the hick town girl who never made it out of Dorset Hills, where people got excited about parades. Worse, her hopes of winning a donation from Hannah were waning. How could she compete with Tiller? The two had an old bond and current connections. Perhaps he’d even timed his return to see Hannah again.

  At last, the parade began. The first float carried the Labor Day Queen. There was always a queen and she was always a dog. In this case, a working dog. Molly, a Labrador retriever, stood on the back of a flatbed truck, perfectly poised in her red service dog vest. Molly’s handler, Nell Trowbridge, stood beside the dog, wearing a matching vest over short-shorts people would talk about later. That never bothered Nell. She happily raised her hemlines to raise the profile of her organization.

  “Is that Nellie Trowbridge?” Hannah asked. “We were in gymnastics together.”

  After that came floats celebrating all kinds of working dogs. There were farmers with cattle dogs and sheepdogs, police officers with German shepherds and bomb-sniffing hounds. The most popular float of all, judging by the applause, held handsome firefighters with dalmatians.

  “Here comes Bridget Linsmore, our rescue dog matchmaker,” Remi said. Bridget sat on a stack of hay bales, alongside Beau, and a few other dogs she’d rescued and made over. She looked uncomfortable in the limelight, but two other women riding with her were whooping and waving. “Every Thanksgiving Bridget holds a pageant to place rehabbed rescue dogs in the best homes. She matches up people, too.”

  “A matchmaker for dogs and people? Fascinating.” For the first time Hannah actually sounded interested.

  After that came a float for Beta Dogs, a popular dog day care and social club. Tonna Rafferty, the tall, lithe owner, got a big cheer—probably more for her tireless volunteering for canine causes than her business.

  Near the end of the parade came the hospital float. Staff in scrubs sat on a couple of gurneys swinging their legs and waving. Between their feet stood service dogs wearing the same red vests as Nell Trowbridge’s dog. Nell and her fleet of volunteers were in and out of the rehab wing all the time.

  Remi jumped to her feet, cheering and waving. On the float, Mim saw her and waved back, grinning. “That’s Mim Gardiner,” Remi told Hannah. “An amazing nurse. She visited my grandfather at home every single day for months when he was sick.”

  After that, Remi stayed on her feet, applauding till her hands felt raw. Hannah and Tiller remained seated, murmuring and laughing. Remi didn’t care. It was her town and silly as it might look to ex-pats, she was proud to be a part of it.

  When the mayor’s float came into view, she finally sat down. Now, Hannah and Tiller rose. Mayor Bradshaw sat on a makeshift throne that had been spray-painted gold. He looked the part, with silvery hair and an angular face that was over-tanned from his time on the links. Tiller pounded out claps hard enough to break his elbows, and Hannah tapped her palms demurely. Looking over at Remi, Tiller jerked his head to indicate she should stand. Reluctantly, she did. She wasn’t a fan of Bill Bradshaw’s vision for Dorset Hills. He’d proposed cutting funding for public institutions and pouring it into parks and landscaping. Still, he’d won in a landslide victory, so she was clearly in the minority.

  After the mayor’s float passed, they sat down. “Well,” Hannah said. “That wasn’t at all what I expected. There was nothing like this when we were in school.”

  “Everything’s changed,” Remi agreed. “And in other ways,
nothing has changed.”

  She was trying to decide whether Hannah’s expression was mocking or bemused when a wide smile erased the evidence.

  “Jay! You made it,” Hannah said. “Remi, Tiller… meet my brother.”

  Remi turned and then gasped. “Oh no,” she said.

  Chapter 9

  “Oh yes,” the man said. “We meet again.”

  It was James, the owner of the Tibetan mastiff from the boardwalk, looking even more handsome fully clothed. His fitted blue checked shirt and taupe slacks were precisely on point for a parade.

  “You’ve met?” Hannah asked.

  “Remi whacked me with a beagle yesterday,” James said. “She was doing some sort of dance with the dog and nearly knocked me out.”

  “It was an accident,” Remi said. “Obviously I wouldn’t put Leo at risk on purpose.”

  James laughed. “Still more worried about your dog than my face, I see.”

  “Your face is fine,” Remi said.

  His face was actually perfect, like something you’d see on a marble sculpture in an art gallery. Not the Barton Gallery, mind you. The only sculpture in the building was of Cerberus, the mythical three-headed hound of hell, created by an artist from Pemsville, the next town over. The curators were desperate to exhibit anything dog-related, even something that didn’t exactly fit with dog-friendly Dorset Hills.

  “Thanks. I think.” After shaking Tiller’s hand, James turned to his sister. “I caught most of the parade from street level. Wasn’t it charming?”

  He sounded sincere, and Hannah seemed surprised. “Charming? That’s not the word I’d use.”

  “But it was.” He shook his head and looked at Remi. “I apologize for my cynical sister. She’s lost the taste for small towns, but I remember Dorset Hills as sweet.”