Sit...Stay...Beg (The Dogfather Book 1)

  After Garrett’s father prayed, there was never a quiet moment with at least three conversations going at once. Shane and Liam were arguing over a problem they had with two dogs in training, while Dad and Molly were deep in a discussion about the surgery she’d done that morning.

  Pru and Gramma were pretending to talk, but under the table, Pru had her phone—forbidden by Dad—and was showing something to her ever-curious grandmother.

  The most well-trained of the bunch were the dogs—Rusty, Kookie, Lola, and a new Westie named Snowball, who’d come to Waterford as a foster and attached herself to Gramma. They were lined up in the living room, facing the festivities, sleeping except for the occasional opening of one eye when there was a burst of laughter, but all trained too well to come to the table.

  Molly, Jessie, and Garrett were together at one end, with an empty plate where Darcy—currently MIA—was supposed to be.

  “Where is she?” Garrett asked in a whisper, getting a quiet don’t ask look from Molly, who was closest to the youngest, and wildest, Kilcannon.

  Jessie looked from one to the other. “I haven’t seen Darcy much since I’ve been here,” she said. “She groomed Lola with me once, but that’s it.”

  “She’s always out,” Garrett said, a little irritated with his baby sister’s tumbleweed ways. “She’s gone as much as she’s home.”

  “She’s thirty, single, and having a fun life,” Molly shot back. “She might live in this house, but her life is out there.”

  “Out where?” Garrett said. “I never know where she is.”

  “I know where she is,” Gramma Finnie cut in, obviously paying attention to more than her own conversation with Pru. “She’s at Colleen’s house tonight. Ella came home.”

  Instantly, all the chatter stopped as every person at the table turned and stared at Gramma Finnie.

  Dad broke the shocked silence. “Darcy told me Ella might be back.”

  “Not for long,” Molly said.

  “She is back,” Gramma said with a slight edge in her ever-present brogue. “And we’ll pray to all the saints that she stays for now.”

  Garrett caught Jessie’s confused look and leaned across the table. “Ella’s our cousin. My aunt Colleen’s youngest. Do you remember the Mahoney family?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Braden was in our grade, right, Molly?”

  “Yep. And there’s Declan and Connor, the oldest two.”

  “Fine young men,” Gramma proclaimed.

  “And then there’s Ella,” Garrett added.

  “Who was close to Darcy when they were little,” Jessie recalled. “They were always having sleepovers when Molly and I were.”

  “Those lassies are two peas in a pod,” Gramma Finnie added. “I’m hopin’ Darcy can keep Ella’s feet on the ground now, but you know what they say.”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell us,” Shane joked.

  “You’ve got to do your own growin’ no matter how tall your father is.”

  “I like that, Gram,” Pru said, elbowing her great-grandmother and lifting her phone from its hiding place. “Tweet that. It’ll get plenty of likes and retweets.”

  “But what does it mean?” Jessie asked.

  “It means what it says.” Gramma picked up her glass of Irish whiskey and lifted it. “And it means that all of you need to give some space to young Ella, and Darcy, too.”

  At the head of the table, Dad glared at his only grandchild, who was madly thumbing her phone, barely hiding it anymore. “I hope that’s not a phone at the dinner table, young lady.”

  She shoved it under the table as fast as she could, earning a scowl from her grandfather, but he quickly turned to Jessie, a silent reminder that they had a guest. “So tell us what you think about the changes in Bitter Bark since you were last here, Jessie.”

  “It’s so different,” she replied. “That whole area around Bushrod Square is adorable.”

  “You’re technically supposed to call it Bitter Bark Square now,” Dad said. “Every single shop around the square is supposed to have Bitter Bark in the name, or some such thing.”

  “It’s actually not a bitter bark tree,” Pru said. “Did you know that? We learned in social studies that ol’ Thad Bushrod had it wrong and it’s a hickory tree but there already was a Hickory, North Carolina.”

  “Well, it’s a bitter bark tree to me,” Gramma said. “If that thing weren’t there, who knows where Seamus and I would have ended up?” She turned to Jessie. “Have you ever heard the story of how our dog Corky howled when we arrived, in his very own version of a bitter bark?”

  “Uh, actually, yes, I have.”

  Garrett bit his lip, and Molly looked down at her plate. Liam shifted, and Shane tried to cough.

  “We’ve all heard it, Gramma.” Only Pru had the nerve to speak the truth.

  His grandmother lifted her whiskey again. “But I like to tell it. And if the lot of you don’t stop laughing, I’ll tell it again. The one you not-so-secretly call the long version.”

  Only a few of them stifled moans.

  “I’d love to hear it again,” Jessie said. “If I can use it in the story I’m writing.”

  “Later, lass, when these grandchildren of mine aren’t around to roll their eyes.”

  “We’re not rolling our eyes, Gramma,” Molly assured her.

  “Speaking of Bitter Bark,” Gramma said, shifting her attention to Dad. “How is that Tourism Advisory Committee you’re on?”

  “Dull as dirt,” he said. “Have to sit around and listen to bad ideas.” He took a sip of his drink, then frowned at Liam. “The architect is smart, though. Andi Rivers. Remember her, Liam?”

  Liam didn’t even look up from his plate. “Sure do.”

  “Someone with a lick of sense has to be on that committee,” Gramma said. “Otherwise, that stick in the mud Easterbrook will run this town the way he wants, and if he has his way, we’ll all be his customers.”

  Jessie frowned. “Easterbrook, like, the funeral home? They still own it?”

  “And they will until the good Lord returns,” Gramma said.

  “So, what is the committee doing, exactly?” Jessie asked. “Will there be more gentrification and building?”

  “Blanche Wilkins has a niece who lives in Miami who might help us. She’s supposed to be a tourism consultant, whatever that is.”

  “Sounds expensive,” Gramma said.

  “I don’t know what it will cost, but they’re trying to convince her to come up here this summer after her next consulting job ends and have her give us a ‘big idea.’” Dad grinned at the table. “Anyone here have any I could take into the meetings?”

  “Don’t say a word,” Liam warned his siblings, adding a look. “One good idea, and he’ll put you on the committee in his place.”

  Dad leaned toward his eldest. “As a matter of fact, I think you’d be excellent on that committee, Liam.”

  “I think I’d suck,” he replied in his usual few words. “Get Garrett.”

  “I’m already making a personal sacrifice on behalf of Waterford Farm,” Garrett said quickly.

  Jessie looked up, and instantly, he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes.

  “Whoa, Jessie got burned,” Shane teased.

  “I don’t mean it’s a sacrifice to be with you,” Garrett added quickly.

  Gramma cleared her throat. “Sure didn’t look like anyone was sacrificing anything but fresh air when you two were lip-locked out there.”

  A slow flush crawled up Jessie’s cheeks.

  “Welcome to the Kilcannon dinner table,” Molly said with a playful grin. “Where even Gramma can shoot darts.”

  “That means we love you, dear,” Gramma assured her.

  Jessie looked at the older woman with the strangest expression, something like awe and joy, but also a little fear. “I know,” she said softly. “I remember.”

  “And I, for one, would like more information about this so-called sacrifice Garrett is making,” Gramma
said. “Do I understand correctly that if you write a good story, you might also be on television?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jessie replied. “On the show called ITAL On Air.”

  Garrett’s stomach dropped at the thought of how popular that show was.

  “Will we all be on TV?” Pru asked.

  “Some of you, yes.”

  “Even Gramma?”

  Jessie smiled and nodded. “I think she’d be amazing.”

  “And you can put the blog URL on the screen?” Pru asked.

  “What are you, her assistant?” Garrett asked.

  “Actually, my title is director of publicity for grammafinnie.com.” Pru said, unfazed.

  That got a good laugh and made Dad slap the table with two hands, the unofficial ending of dinner. “On that note, Jessie, why don’t we have that conversation in my office now?”

  “I’d love to.” She put her napkin down and pushed her chair back, but Garrett was up in an instant to pull it out for her. “Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him.

  “I’ll wait for you,” he said softly, watching her as she and Dad headed back to the library.

  It was only then that he realized every person at the table was staring at him, each with a different version of teasing, mockery, interest, humor, and, in Shane’s case, a little bit of a warning.

  “What?” he asked, looking from one to the other when Dad and Jessie left.

  “I think this is a wonderful turn of events,” Gramma said.

  “No events have turned,” he said.

  “Well, I think it’s about time someone at this table settled down and got married,” Gramma said.

  Molly choked softly. Liam looked skyward. And Shane’s hazel gaze shifted down to his plate. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking: Garrett had already been married. And look how well that went.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Twilight slipped into night over the hills of Waterford Farm by the time everyone had left for the evening. As it grew darker, Jessie and Garrett walked across the expansive lawn to the kennels. He’d taken Lola over after dinner, but Jessie still wanted to say good night to her.

  “What did you and Dad talk about?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

  “This and that.”

  He shot her a look. “Long time behind closed doors for this and that.”

  “Are you worried, Garrett?”

  “Should I be?”

  Maybe. They had talked about many things that wouldn’t ever make it into her story, but they’d definitely hit her heart. Daniel Kilcannon still missed his wife so much, it was palpable in the air around him. Almost every topic led back to her. Every memory in his office was connected to the many years he spent married to the love of his life.

  “Mostly, we talked about your mom,” she told him.

  “Oh. Yeah. That’s where he goes.”

  “He’s young, you know. Not even sixty.”

  “Are you suggesting…” He shook his head, stopping himself from where he was going. “We all know it, but no one really wants to go there. Yet. I guess if my dad started dating, it would be really weird.”

  “Now that would be a story, if he beat all six of his kids to the altar.”

  He gave a dry laugh. “At the rate things are going…”

  “It’s important to him that you all find what he had.”

  Garrett opened the doors to the kennels, which were freakishly quiet at night. The occasional bark, a lot of snoring, but nothing like the echo chamber it was during the day.

  And it was dark—on purpose, she knew, to encourage the dogs to sleep.

  “What they had was special,” he finally said. “A one-in-a-million thing.”

  “Still, he wants it for all of you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Just…stuff.”

  He threw her a look. “This and that and stuff. Sounds like a riveting conversation.”

  Actually, it had been. Daniel had opened up quite a bit more about the changes in Garrett since he’d come back from Seattle. Pinpointed the time as when his company sold and, of course, when his mother died.

  He’d even asked Jessie if she’d found out anything about his months in Seattle, which she had to admit she hadn’t.

  He turned the corner to Lola’s kennel, and she got up, barked three times, and came to the gate to greet them.

  “Jess-i-ca,” Garrett said. “I think she’s saying Jess-i-ca.”

  “You think her owner had a three-syllable name?” They slipped inside her kennel, and Jessie immediately got down for some love and licks. “You’re so smart, baby girl,” she cooed. “I wish I could take you home with me. No dogs at the Bitter Bark Bed & Breakfast. I even asked the owner.” She smiled at Garrett. “She wasn’t completely opposed but said she didn’t have the right licensing.”

  “You could bring her home,” he said, sliding down to the ground next to her. “My home.” He put his arm around her and pulled her in. “And you could stay, too.”

  “Ahh, the game of Manhunt gets kicked up a notch.”

  He laughed a little, turning her for a kiss. “I’d like it if you would stay with me, Jessie.”

  “I would, too, but…”

  “Crosses a professional line for you?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I mean, I’ve never been intimate with a subject of an interview before, that’s true. But it isn’t what’s stopping me.”

  “What is?”

  She didn’t answer, preferring to kiss in the dark with Lola lying next to her. Jessie reached around his neck, angling her head for the taste she’d come to love, curling closer.

  “Just like old times,” he joked as he trailed kisses down her throat.

  “Not really.”

  He inched back. “Right, we would never have talked about you spending the night, though have I ever told you how incredibly horny I was that night? It was like trying to sleep with a tree between my legs.”

  She laughed at that. “Sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. So why isn’t this like old times?”

  “Because…” She wet her lips, biting down a bit. “You’re different.”

  “Seventeen years and a lot of miles.”

  “But you’ve actually changed. It’s noticeable. You’re much more protective and defensive.” That’s how his father had described it. “And that’s why I’m not going home with you tonight.”

  “Jessie, how am I protective and defensive? I’m all yours. I’m an open book. I want to sleep next to you all night. I want to sleep with you. That’s pretty…open.”

  She nodded. “I do, too, but I don’t think you trust me yet.”

  He scanned her face, hurt registering in his eyes.

  “Because if you did trust me,” she said. “Then you wouldn’t avoid that one thing…”

  Hurt shifted to something colder and cut off. “What one thing?”

  “The thing I’m missing in my story. The spark. The life. The…truth.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe after we spend the night together, you’ll have all the spark you need.”

  “Maybe after you tell me what happened in Seattle, I’ll believe that you trust me.”

  His jaw unhinged enough for her to know she’d nailed it. Not that it was any surprise. “Nothing happened…” He closed his eyes. “Why?”

  “That’s usually my question.”

  “Why is it so important? You can’t tell my story or write my profile without four and a half months of my life spelled out in detail?”

  There was enough of a sharp edge in his voice to make her draw back to keep from getting sliced. “Only because it’s pivotal.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I do this for a living. I break down walls and get to people’s hearts, and you have one last layer of brick I can’t get through. When I do, I know I’ll have the soul of my story. And when I do…I know you trust me enough to take down my last wall.”

  He looked
at her long and hard, silent, emotions in his eyes, but every one was unreadable.

  “Sex is your last wall?”

  “Connection. I told you, I struggle with that.”

  He still stared at her, thumbing her cheek and eventually brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I need some time,” he finally said.

  “Then so do I.”

  He nodded. “I’m going to Virginia tomorrow to deliver Rudy to his new owners. That mixed breed you were playing with the other morning?”

  “He’s been adopted?”

  “Yep. But it’s about a two-and-a-half-hour trip each way.”

  “Lots of time for talking.”

  “Or just being together.” He leaned in and put his forehead against hers. “That’s what I want.”

  And what he needed, she guessed.

  “Okay, but I have to take all day Tuesday to write. So by tomorrow night, I have to know everything about you that you’re willing to share.”

  “Ticktock,” he whispered, kissing her one more time before they said goodbye to Lola and promised to take her to Virginia with them.

  * * *

  If Monday night was his imposed “deadline,” then Garrett was obviously taking every minute of it. The trip to Virginia was glorious, and Jessie didn’t have the heart to mar their day by pressuring him.

  Not when he so ceremoniously donned his “doggone hat,” and all of the staff took pictures and said goodbye to Rudy, wishing him well in his new home. The delivery of an adopted rescue was such a joyous day, it brought out everyone who worked at Waterford.

  Sun poured over the little yellow Jeep as they drove off with Rudy curled on the backseat and Lola as close to Jessie as she could get without actually sitting on her lap.

  “She’s really bonded to you,” Garrett mused, looking at the way Lola kept her snout on Jessie’s thigh.

  “No word from Rhode Island?” she asked.

  “The vet still can’t reach the owner. Thinks she’s on vacation.”

  Jessie sighed. “Maybe she’s driving all over looking for her dog.”

  “Then she’d call her vet back when he has a lead.”

  So true. So maybe they were wrong about Lola’s owner. Jessie stroked the dog’s soft head and closed her eyes, listening to country music Garrett had turned on, and feeling the wind, and loving the day so much she couldn’t ruin it with a stupid interview.