“Davy get his boat out of the water?” Ada enquired mildly.
Liam stared at his mother. “He did. And don’t you go changing the subject, either—”
“Changing the subject! The subject is closed, that’s what. Maggie is staying right here with me. I need a companion, don’t I? Home alone all day with you here and there and people coming to the door and what not—”
“You’ve got Chippy, Ma.” Liam smiled slightly.
“Oh, pooh! Chippy’s just a cat.”
“And Bear.”
“Bear’s always with you. He’s stuck to you like a piece of lint.”
Liam signed and reached for his jacket. “You haven’t convinced me, Ma, but I guess she’s here now, like it or not. If you say you want her, I’ll keep her. When did you mention the woman was coming back?”
“She said she’d come to talk to you this evening. Arrange the particulars, if you were agreeable.” Ada picked up speed with her needles. “Oh, and Liam?”
He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “What’s that, Ma?”
“Thank you, son.”
Liam sighed again and went out, closing the door quietly behind him. He started his rounds in what he and Jamie always called the Maternity Ward, where Sammy and her five pups were housed. He had another bitch ready to whelp in a couple more weeks— Sunny, a young Labrador with her second litter on the way. He’d move her in soon.
Liam handled each puppy and checked it over carefully, as he did every evening before observing them for ten or fifteen minutes. He liked to get to know each animal’s personality, keep an eye on every stage of a pup’s development. These little guys were just four weeks old but the chase-and-fetch instincts came early, and it was important to find out which pups were go-getters and which ones liked to snooze an extra five minutes if they could.
Then he went over to the kennel where Old Jimbo was housed with his pal, a neutered male called Spindle. Spindle was a mixed-breed, a weird-looking animal, the result of a Labrador mating with a weimaraner, a visitor he’d had one fall who got mixed-up with one of his best bitches when no one was looking. Spindle and Old Jimbo—who’d been called that since he was two years old—were inseparable. If they weren’t such close friends, Liam would have retired Jimbo to the house and a life of ease by the fire. The dog was getting too arthritic to go out in the boat the way he once had, but Liam knew it’d break his heart to be sent to the house. He seemed to know that house dogs weren’t real dogs—and Old Jimbo was a real dog, through and through.
If Liam hadn’t decided not to breed Jimbo any more and if he hadn’t made up his mind long ago to draw the line at breeding any kind of show animal, he’d have used Old Jimbo on Laurel’s bitch.
He had to admit Maggie was a good-looking specimen—like the woman who brought her. It was just that she was useless. An animal bred to be trotted around the ring in front of a judge. He had no interest in breeding useless dogs. There were already enough of them in the world.
Lights approached from the lane, and Liam paused on his way to the boarding kennels. The white older-model Suburban, Laurel’s sister drove, broke through the trees.
He watched her drive slowly into the yard and then jerk to a sudden stop. He shook his head. What he’d told his mother was true: he didn’t have a good feeling about this woman.
He drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders and took a step toward the vehicle, as she opened the driver’s door. Might as well get it over with. She could thank his mother for the good news he was about to hand her. If it’d been strictly up to him, they’d both—she and the dog—be hitting the road.
CHAPTER FIVE
BY HALF PAST EIGHT, it was dark. Charlotte had already slowed, when she spotted Liam standing in the yard, in the glare of her headlights. She hit the brake hard, an automatic reaction.
Oops. She got out and zipped up her jacket. Well, never mind. Begin as you mean to go on with this man, she reminded herself. She jammed her hands deep into her jacket pockets. “Oh, hello! I didn’t see you there.”
Naturally, he said nothing. Don’t let him rattle you. “I guess you know about Maggie being here.”
He nodded.
“Is that going to be okay? I mean, can you take her as a boarder for a few weeks?” she rushed on. “Your mother says it’s all right.”
She stopped about ten feet from him. He was dressed very much as he had been the first time she’d seen him. Very casually, in working man’s clothes—jeans, boots, jacket.
“My mother doesn’t run the kennel.”
“Oh.” Charlotte knew her sudden blush wouldn’t show up in the deepening gloom. The yard lights were on, but at this time of night they made little difference. “Well, I’m sorry about that. You weren’t here when I came around or I would have spoken to you—”
He made a movement, as though to walk in the direction of one of the kennels. “I’m checking on the dogs. Maybe we can discuss this while I finish my rounds.”
Oh, definitely, Charlotte thought, hurrying toward him. Why waste time talking to a customer when you could be doing two things at once?
He held open the door to an outbuilding and waited for her to enter, then followed her in, flicking on a light as he closed the door behind him. The raucous sound of barking assaulted her eardrums. He whistled loudly, and the noise stopped.
“They don’t know you. That’s why they’re barking. It’s the Chessies, mainly. They’re natural guard dogs.”
She followed him as he walked along the length of the kennel, stopping to speak softly to each individual dog and to fondle its ears and run his hand down its sides. The dogs responded with big “grins” and wagging tails. Charlotte noted that the kennels were very clean, with raised sleeping platforms and cement runs that led to a door that opened to the outside. The scent of a mild disinfectant hung in the air. Along the wall were miniature brass harness hooks, with a collar and a lead hanging from each and a neatly printed card inset into a plastic sleeve with the animal’s name. Chester. Minnie. Kate. Scout. Sunny. Hunter. Ben. Two runs were empty.
“Are these all yours?”
“The two at the other end are young dogs I’m training, Chester and Minnie. Hunter’s mine, and so are Scout and Sunny. They’re brother and sister from two different litters. Kate’s mine. I got George and Spinner, those two Chessies over there, from next door.”
“Oh?” Charlotte noted the two light brown dogs, standing stiff-legged in one of the kennels, each on high alert, watching the humans.
“When the old man died, there was no one to look after them, so I brought them here.”
“I see. I notice they’re a different color than Bear.”
“He’s what they call a ‘dark brown.’ The breed comes in any color, as long as it’s brown,” he said. Charlotte expected a smile, but there wasn’t one. His gaze was steady on the two Rathbone dogs. “They’re what is called sedge. The color of dry grass.”
“What kind is that one?” She pointed to a spaniellike dog, quite different from the others. She was pleased to hear Liam so voluble. At least this was one subject he didn’t seem to mind talking about.
“A Clumber. A very old spaniel-type hunting dog, although the exact origin of the breed is unknown. Some think they’re French, originally. Whatever they are, they’re great gun dogs. Very calm. Belongs to a buddy of mine.”
Charlotte looked significantly at the two empty runs at