Double Dog Dare
The Dogfather
Book Seven
Roxanne St. Claire
Double Dog Dare
THE DOGFATHER BOOK SEVEN
Copyright © 2018 South Street Publishing
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author,
[email protected] ISBN: 978-0-9993621-3-6
COVER ART: Keri Knutson (designer) and Dawn C. Whitty (photographer)
INTERIOR FORMATTING: Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
DOUBLE DOG DARE
Copyright
Dedication
Dear Reader
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Fall in love with The Dogfather Series
About the Author
The Barefoot Bay Series
Dedication
For Tommy and Odie, my newest neighbors and furry friends. And one massive shout-out and loving hug to their owner, Sandi Fitch Hutton, a reader who reached out to me years ago and is now my bestie down the street. This book is a testament to her patience, humor, and brainstorming skills!
Dear Reader:
Welcome back to the foothills of North Carolina, where the Dogfather, Daniel Kilcannon, is once again pulling some strings to help his six grown children find forever love. On these pages, you’ll discover my favorite things in life and fiction: big families, great dogs, and lasting love. As always, a portion of the sales of this and all the books in the series is donated to Alaqua Animal Refuge (www.alaqua.org) in my home state of Florida. That’s where these covers were shot by photographer Dawn Whitty (www.dawncwhitty.com) using rescue dogs from the shelter. (That’s Jimmie and Darla on the cover of Double Dog Dare, both now in happy homes.) So you don’t only buy a terrific book…you support a fantastic cause!
Special thanks to reader and veterinarian Linda Hankins, who helped with this book, as well as the many readers on the Dogfather Facebook group who shared dozens of stories about blind dogs they have known and loved. Of course, I owe so much to my content editor, Kristi Yanta, who has loved Darcy from day one; copy editor Joyce Lamb, who should be an honorary member of the Kilcannon family by now; plus proofreaders Marlene Engel and Chris Kridler; cover designer Keri Knutson; and the formatting geniuses at EMS. All professionals without equal on my publishing team!
Don’t miss a single book in The Dogfather Series!
Available now
Sit…Stay…Beg – book one
New Leash on Life – book two
Leader of the Pack – book three
Santa Paws is Coming to Town – book four (a holiday novella)
Bad to the Bone – book five
Ruff Around the Edges – book six
Double Dog Dare – book seven
Coming next
Bark! The Herald Angels Sing – book eight (a holiday novella)
Old Dog New Tricks – book nine (Daniel’s story!)
Find information and buy links for all these books here:
http://www.roxannestclaire.com/dogfather-series
And yes, there will be more. For a complete list, buy links, and reading order of all my books, visit www.roxannestclaire.com. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to find out when the next book is released! And join the private Dogfather Facebook group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/roxannestclairereaders/ for inside info on all the books and characters, sneak peeks, and a place to share the love of tails and tales!
Chapter One
There were no rules about getting engaged. Because, if there were, Josh Ranier would follow them and feel a lot more comfortable than he did this morning. But he was winging this, hoping it all went according to a loosely thought-out plan. Which was another thing that made Josh uncomfortable. Plans should be set in stone, and rules should be followed.
But there were no rules for love, right? The only thing he knew was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Savannah Mayfield and would probably get down on one knee sometime today, because he did know that was a rule of engagement.
Sliding his truck into a parking spot at Savannah’s apartment complex, he turned off the ignition and reached into the glove compartment to grab the small velvet box he’d been carting around for a few days. Flipping it open, he angled the box so that the single, sparkling diamond caught the early morning sun and winked at him.
Yes, it was small and she might have been hoping for something a little more…grand. But Josh was a Ranier, not a Bucking. He was building his own business, not living off his stepfather’s fortune. And Savannah, a businesswoman in her own right, had supported his decision to break ties with the Bucking Properties empire and strike out on his own.
He closed the box with a noisy snap, knowing what the ring cost and, more important, what it meant. She wouldn’t be disappointed, would she?
He stuffed away the nagging thought and cleared his throat to practice one more time.
“Savannah, for one amazing year, you’ve been the light of my life. Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Joshua Ranier?”
Too cliché. Plus, she’d probably want to keep her own last name since she’d established herself as one of the top stylists and personal shoppers for the wealthiest women all over Lake Norman and as far south as Charlotte.
So, he had to do better than that.
“Savannah, would you make me the happiest man on earth and marry me?”
Too cheesy. Did he really have to say anything while down on one knee and holding a diamond? Keep it simple, stupid.
“I love you, Sav.”
A smile pulled because he could already hear her response. I hate when you call me Sav. It sounds like something you put on a wound.
But in so many ways, that’s what Savannah was for him. She seemed to fit into the Bucking family in a way he never did, but had a humble enough upbringing that she wasn’t “entitled” like they were. She worked with them, as his mother’s stylist, not for them, and seemed comfortable around the überwealthy. Not Josh, though. He’d been dragged kicking and screaming into the Lifestyles of the Crazy Rich when his widowed mother married a multimillionaire twenty years ago.
From that day on, Josh had been saddled with a stepfather who could never replace Josh’s real father—quite possibly one of the greatest men who’d ever lived—and two stepsiblings who were not his favorite people. Especially one, a stepbrother who would never be anything but a pompous, insecure jerk whose life motto seeme
d to be Make Josh Miserable.
Josh had survived life in the Bucking family by keeping his nose clean, following the rules, and planning his escape. He spent his twenties learning the property building and management business from the ground up, unlike his stepbrother, who wouldn’t dirty his hands by picking up a hammer.
Gideon would be handed the Bucking Properties reins anyway, and Josh had made the extremely unpopular decision to leave the company and start his own property renovation business. Could he have made that decision without Savannah? Probably, but she made the transition easier.
He loved her for that and knew that it was time to make this relationship official.
Today. This morning. At sunrise on her thirtieth birthday.
He’d actually wanted to do this at midnight last night because he didn’t want Savannah to spend one minute of her thirties without her whole heart and soul committed to him. But she’d had to work some big philanthropic ball with three clients demanding her time all evening and into the wee hours. You’d think once the women were dressed, made-up, and bejeweled, the stylist who did all the work would be able to leave. But no, she actually had to go to the event and be on call until three in the morning in case of a wardrobe or jewelry emergency.
He was so over these people. So anxious to escape this upscale, high-end Lake Norman life that she lived and get to a small town where he could step out of the Bucking shadow. His own home on the Catawba River about a half hour from here was still too close to the family and business for his taste.
He climbed out of the truck and peered at the apartment complex, not surprised to see the drapes still drawn in her unit. Could he propose to her in bed?
The thought made him smile. That might be against the rules, but it sure would be fitting considering how much time they spent there. Not that he was complaining, only lucky as hell. Didn’t every couple spend most of their time together horizontal? That was normal and healthy, and he hoped it never changed.
Crossing the parking lot, he used the resident’s code to get into the building, then nodded when he saw the familiar and friendly face of the doorman behind the desk. But Terry did a double take at the sight of him.
“Mornin’, T-man,” Josh said with a huge grin. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
The older man’s ruddy complexion deepened. “It is, Mr. Ranier. Going to see Miss Mayfield?”
He put his finger over his lips. “Shhh. Don’t call me up. I’m surprising her.”
Terry frowned. “I don’t know, Mr. Ranier. That’s against our policy.”
Josh angled his head in acknowledgment. “I understand that, Terry. But today…” He took a deep breath. “I’m breaking some rules.” He pulled the box out of his pocket, held it up with one hand, and hit the elevator button with the other. “And I’m getting engaged.”
“But, Mr. Ranier—”
Terry’s warnings were drowned out by the swish of the doors closing. Slipping the ring box back into his pocket and pressing the button for the fourth floor, Josh caught his reflection in the mirrored wall.
He stabbed his fingers into thick brown hair, pulling it back to see some worry lines etched between his brows and lines in the creases of his eyes from hours in the sun working construction. He looked every one of his thirty-two years, a man ready to settle down with the perfect woman and start a life and a family of his own. Not Buckings, but Raniers.
That’s what he wanted. That was all he’d ever wanted—a family of his own. A son or daughter he could take fishing like his father had taken him. A wife he could count on in good times and bad. A family who had each other’s back, and not so they could aim the knife into it.
Stepping out of the elevator, he went to one of the two doors on the floor, took another steadying breath, and tried to decide if he should knock, ring, or use his key. Savannah was a hard sleeper, and she probably had the chain lock on anyway. Either way, Stella would bark noisily any second.
He put his finger on the electronic bell, but the door yanked open before he pressed, halting when the three-inch security chain pulled taut. So, Terry had warned her. Okay, that made him a good security guard.
Through the crack, he could see Savannah’s brown eyes were smudged by makeup, which was weird because she religiously washed her face before bed. Her hair was wild, too, and the remnants of red lipstick stained the skin around her mouth. Or was that a rash?
Instantly, Stella, the dog he’d given Savannah on their six-month anniversary, trotted to the door and wormed her way closer, but only barked once at Josh instead of her usual fifty bark greeting. Then she backed into the hall and pressed against the wall, which was also weird.
As weird as the look on Savannah’s face as she dragged her hand through her hair. “You said morning, not dawn.”
“Rough night with the mannequins?” He used her nickname for her clients, hoping for a smile.
But he didn’t get one. Instead, she gave her head a gentle shake as if any more than that would really hurt.
“Are you hungover?” After a night of work? Because that would be odd.
“Mmmm.” It seemed like that was all she could manage.
Okay, sometimes she had a few cocktails after her clients released her from duties. He added the slightest amount of pressure to the door. “How ’bout I get a cold cloth and some Advil?” He dipped a little closer, getting a whiff of a familiar, feminine scent. “And a gentle morning massage?”
But she pressed back, still not opening the door to let him in. “You have to come back later, and I’ll…” She glanced in the general vicinity of her bedroom. “I need to sleep it off.”
He inched into the space, trying to reach his hand in to graze her chin. “I can sleep it off with you.”
“No.” Her eyes flickered in something that looked like fear, making him instantly withdraw his hand. “No, you can’t. You…no.”
“You okay?” Because he didn’t understand this response at all. “Are you sick? Clients give you a hard time last night?” Sometimes these rich prima donnas could be brutal to staff, even someone as vital to their egos as the stylist.
She brushed some dark hair off her face, giving him a chance to see her complexion was a little blotchy, and her chin was chafed, and there was a…
He stared at the slight purplish mark on her neck, and something began to burn in his gut. Low, hot, ugly. The burn of…betrayal.
“It was a crazy night.”
No shit. He dug for composure, sanity, and whatever it took not to push that door open and demand to know just how crazy the night had been.
“Then we better talk,” he ground out.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m…not alone.”
The words slammed, like someone took a solid-steel I-beam and shoved it right through his chest. “You’re…what?”
Did she say not alone? He inched back and dropped his gaze lower. She wore nothing but a baggy, faded T-shirt that skimmed her bare thighs.
She was naked under that shirt. Naked and not alone.
“Savannah.” Her name came out as a strangled choke of dismay.
She swallowed, hard and loud. “You better go, Josh.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?” He managed not to raise his voice, but jammed the words through clenched teeth, his anger coming off in waves strong enough to make poor little Stella, who was still backed up against the wall, take a step forward, turn in a circle, and whimper.
“Josh, you really need to go.”
“You cheated on me?” His voice cracked. Or maybe that was his heart shattering like she’d thrown a brick through glass.
She didn’t answer, but looked down to the ground, so all he could see of her eyes were the backs of her lids and the eyeliner that she used to camouflage false eyelashes, which she only wore when she wanted to look flat-out gorgeous.
The lashes were gone. The hickey was visible. And that redness around her lips?
Was that a…beard burn?
With each
realization, he stepped back, reeling like he’d been shot. Not that a bullet could hurt any more than this. “How could you?”
“I just…” She breathed out, working for calm, which was actually pretty funny when he thought about it. She needed to be calm? “I’m going to tell you everything. Let me…” She glanced behind herself again.
“Get rid of him?” he suggested.
“Deal with it.”
Deal with it? What the ever-lovin’ hell did that even mean? “How about you deal with me?”
Closing her eyes, she shook her head again. “You need to leave now. I’m sorry, but—”
Behind her, the bedroom door opened. “Hey, Sav. Where’d you go?”
The man’s voice bellowed from the hall, loud, insistent, and…familiar.
“Go away,” she insisted to Josh, pushing the door closed. “Let me handle this.”
Bile rose up in Josh’s throat, and it wasn’t because the son of a bitch called her Sav. It was… “Gideon?”
Any color remaining in her face drained away. Just then, a shadow appeared behind her. Not very big, not very ominous, but still a shadow that Josh had stood in for the better part of twenty years.
“Gideon?” he repeated in utter shock.
From the floor, Stella let out a low, distrustful groan, circled again, and dropped to the floor as if in pain. I feel you, kid.