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“If you did see Flanagan’s ghost, why now? What made him come back? Before all these curious events, did something significant happen on the estate? Some big change?”
“I—I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it.”
Rick didn’t believe in ghosts and he started to say that he’d never heard of one leaving footprints or breaking equipment by standing on it. But he was distracted by the sound of an engine. Both he and Cora turned to see a silver sedan pull up to the mansion. The driver’s door opened and a distinguished, silver-haired man exited.
“Oh, David—I mean Mr. Guildfren—is early.”
The man advanced to the trunk of his car and pulled out two suitcases.
“A guest.” Apparently one she knew by name.
“Yes, a regular. He’s an antiques dealer who appreciates the history of this estate. He’s been coming here for the past three years for a few weeks in the summer and again during the winter holidays.”
Color flushed Cora’s cheeks, and her avid expression suggested a certain fondness for the man.
“I can take it from here,” Rick said. “If you have other things to do.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“All right then. Call me if you need me.”
Rather than waiting for his response, she whipped back into the drawing room, a changed woman from the tired, nervous one of a few minutes before. The spring to her step informed him of her affection for the guest. Rick wondered if the feeling was reciprocated, and if so, if they had ever done anything about it. Cora had said the man was a regular, visiting the bed-and-breakfast twice a year. She hadn’t been able to hide her excitement at seeing him.
He needed to get to work. Luckily there was an outlet nearby, providing a source of electricity.
As he set the camera in place, he felt hollow. He’d never had a long-term relationship with any woman. Being military for nearly all his life, he’d never been in one place long enough. His on-and off-again romance with Megan had been the closest he’d gotten. And being part of a special ops team had brought him to some pretty grim places. None were so grim as the last. Once he’d landed back here in the States, he hadn’t known what to do with himself. The army had always been his home. Giving civilian life a chance had its own difficulties.
He’d been back for several months now, but no woman had even interested him.
Not until he’d met Heather Clarke.
* * *
TAYLOR COULDN’T BELIEVE Mommy could be so mean. First Daddy never came home like he promised. Now Mommy was going to give away Kirby.
“He’s my dog!” she said with a sniffle as they approached the counter. Dogs were barking and cats were meowing, too. She looked around and tears filled her eyes. “You can’t put poor Kirby in jail!”
“Sweetheart, he’s not your dog,” Mommy said. “And the Sparrow Lake Animal Shelter isn’t a jail.”
“Then why are all the animals locked up?” Tears slipped down Taylor’s cheeks.
Addison took her hand and squeezed hard. “They’re so sad!”
“Not so sad, honey.” The white-haired lady behind the counter smiled at them. “The animals don’t all get along with each other, so we keep them separated for their protection. But they all get some time out of the cages every day. We have several volunteers who come to take care of them and play with them. The animals here are treated very well.”
“Then I want to volunteer,” Taylor said.
“Me, too,” Addison added.
“I’m sorry, girls, but you’re too young.”
Her mom held up the rope she’d used for a leash. “We found this dog yesterday, and I was hoping you could take him and either find his owner or find a new home.”
“I’m very sorry, but we’re full at the moment. Actually, we’re usually full. So many animals lost or thrown away.” She sighed and shook her head. “But we can put him on a waiting list. You never know when one of our dogs will get his forever home. Here’s a form to fill out.” She slid a piece of paper over the counter. “We’ll also add him to the list of newly lost animals in case anyone is looking for him.”
Mommy started scribbling, and Taylor got down on her knees and hugged Kirby tight. “You don’t have to come here yet,” she whispered. “So you’re still mine.”
“What’s a forever home?” Addison asked.
The white-haired lady smiled again. “That’s what we like to say when we place one of our dogs or cats with a new family. That they’ve found the home where they will live and be happy forever.”
Taylor thought Kirby had already found his forever home. Now if only she could make Mommy change her mind...
She’d already lost Daddy. It wasn’t fair if she had to lose Kirby, too.
* * *
HEATHER ARRIVED AT Flanagan Manor early after dropping off the girls at school. She got out of the SUV, brand-new leash in hand, and the dog rushed for freedom. It took all her strength to keep Kirby from wiggling past her.
The dog, she corrected herself. She didn’t want to think of him by name, didn’t want to get too fond of him, no matter how sweet and lovable he was.
“Hang on a minute,” she muttered, meaning to clip a lead to the collar she’d bought him after she’d learned there was no room at the shelter.
Yet.
He was on a waiting list to get in, and in the meantime, Heather would try to find him a good home herself.
“Okay, come on out.” She gave the leash a small tug.
The dog lunged out of the SUV and, in his excitement to stretch his legs, nearly jerked her arm out of her shoulder socket.
She slammed the door, yelling, “Hey, slow down!”
Having checked with Alex, she’d been assured no one had called the police station to put out an official alert for the little guy, which was a real shame. He so obviously loved people. He must be missing his owner. When she got some time, she and the twins would put up notices around town with a picture of the dog. Surely someone would recognize him.
Either that or offer to give him a new home.
She headed toward an area near the parking lot where the dog could relieve himself without ruining any landscaping. As she tried to figure out where she could tie him up while she worked, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Hey, who is this?” came the unmistakable voice that made her picture granite features accentuated by mirrored sunglasses.
Heather turned to see Rick coming from the general direction of the coach house. “This is a dog the girls found yesterday,” she said. “I tried the animal shelter first thing this morning, but no luck. It’s full, and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him in the pound where he’d have a week or two to be claimed before they would euthanize him, so I’m going to find him a home.”
“Here?”
“No.” Hope suddenly blazed through her. “Unless...if I can’t find his owner and you want him...”
Rick put up a hand to stop her. “Not what I meant.”
She sighed. “It seems no one wants this poor guy.” Except for the twins, especially Taylor.
Keeping the dog was out of the question. But it seemed finding any owner—old or new—was nothing more than a pipe dream.
“He’s a nice-looking dog.”
Rick crouched down to dog nose level and ruffled Kirby’s ears. In return, the dog threw his head around and licked Rick’s hand. Heather smiled at the instant bond. Rick was a nice guy, as he’d proved the day before by fixing the sod cutter for her. She thought about her sister’s suggestion to have a friend escort her to the wedding. But Rick really wasn’t her friend. She barely knew him.
“What are you calling him?” Rick asked.
Heather jerked back to the present situation. “Dog.”
The mirrored sunglasses turned up toward her. “Seriously?”
“Okay, the girls named him Kirby, but I’m trying not to think of him that personally.”
Giving the animal a last pat, Rick got to his feet. “Your bringing him with you to work is pretty personal.”
“It’s not like I had a choice. He was barricaded in the kitchen all night with a makeshift bed and food and water. And he still chewed one of the shoes I left by the back door. I can’t leave him in the house by himself. Who knows what kind of mess he would make? What he might ruin.”
“He seems pretty young to me. He needs a kennel. You know, a big cage.”
“Except that he’s not my dog.”
Rick grinned at her as if saying, Sure he’s not.
Flushing, Heather looked around. Anywhere so she didn’t have to connect with his know-it-all smirk. “Now I just have to find a place to tie him up while I work.”
“What about over there by the coach house?” He indicated the area he meant. “It’s nice and quiet. I’m the only one who lives there,” he said, “in the second-floor apartment.”
“What, no wife or partner?” she asked before realizing it was none of her business.
“Nope. I live a solitary life.”
She tried again. “Maybe you could use some company.”
“Maybe, but since my future is up in the air...”
Heather sighed. Too bad. Finding someone to take the dog off her hands this soon would have been too easy, of course.
She looked over to the coach house with its nice open expanse and a big maple tree for shade. And there was bizarrely long grass to make a comfy bed. Apparently, Rick hadn’t applied his mowing skills—or lack thereof—to that particular section of grass yet. Maybe it was because he couldn’t ride the mower under such low-hanging branches.
“Looks like as good a place as any. Thanks. I need to get stuff from the car.”
“Let me help you.”
“You can hang on to the dog for me.” She handed him the leash.
Taking it, he said, “Sure. Kirby and I are buddies already, aren’t we, boy?”
“So you’re a dog person?”
“I’m an animal person. When I was growing up, no matter where we lived, there were always stray animals that needed to be fed and taken care of. I took as many of them in as Mom would allow, which was quite a few, actually.” He quickly added, “I’m just not in a position to take on an animal now since I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”
Too bad. He sounded exactly like the person Kirby needed. Heather would never have guessed that Rick had such a soft spot for animals. She had to admit she liked that about him. Opening the back of the SUV, she pulled out water and food bowls, a bag of food and a chew toy, plus a few other toys he’d gotten excited over. She’d gone into one of those giant pet supply stores that allowed owners to bring in their dogs. She’d had to take him inside to get the right size collar. Then he’d instigated her into making some of the other purchases.
Eyeing everything she was carrying, Rick cleared his throat. “Right. Not your dog.”
She gave him her best irritated expression. Buying this stuff had broken her budget, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. “Someone had to feed him, and no one else volunteered.” Not yet.
“He’s going to eat the toys?”
“I was hoping keeping him busy would keep him quiet.” She’d told herself not to buy anything except the bare necessities, but she’d felt so sorry for the dog that resisting had been useless. “The last thing I need on the job is a barking dog.”
She started off toward the coach house, Rick keeping pace with her, and Kirby—the dog, she reminded herself—racing ahead, leash taut, even though the little stinker didn’t know where he was racing to.
Standing under the tree, Heather looked up to the branches, too high above her. “I need to be able to tie him to something that will keep him put.”
“I’ll find something,” Rick said. “You could set out his water and food.”
Heather flicked her eyebrows up. Suddenly, Rick had taken over. Still, grateful for the offered help, she did as he said while he took the dog into the coach house with him. She filled one bowl with kibble and took the other to the hose attached to the side of the house to get the dog some water.
In the meantime, Rick returned carrying a three-foot length of steel with holes in it. The dog danced around her, inspecting everything she touched. As she set down the bowl of water and the dog crowded her to get a drink, Rick used the hammer he’d brought to pound the steel more than a foot into the ground.
“What is that?”
“Just something I found in the shop. Looks like someone was building a storage unit and left the castoffs.”
When he clipped the dog’s leash to one of the holes, she said, “My, you’re inventive.”
“Just call me resourceful.”
“Okay, thanks, Resourceful.” She snorted but choked back further response.
The mirrored sunglasses aimed her way, and he rose to his full height. “What?”
She grinned up at him. “Actually, my workers already have a nickname for you.”
“What?” he asked a little louder.
“They’ve been calling you The Terminator.” Which, with his features set in a frown at the moment, he absolutely resembled. “It’s the sunglasses.” She wasn’t going to bring up his skinning the grass or plowing down the bush. “Remember, in the movie, he always wore those mirrored sunglasses that made him look so dangerous.”
“They think I look dangerous?”
At first she had, too, especially after he’d flattened her. But now that she knew him better, not so much.
“Tyrone is convinced you’re a spy,” she informed him.
