In Dog We Trust - Softcover

Chapter 1

“Why are you running like it’s your money or your life?”

Jocelyn Hillier’s runner’s high plummeted as she answered her cell phone midstride and heard her mother’s voice.

“I’ve got a garage full of dirty laundry with your name on it.”

Jocelyn picked up her pace, her sneakers pounding in a steady rhythm against the loose white gravel beneath the heavy gray November sky. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“We just finished all the Thanksgiving leftovers. How do you have the energy to go for a run?” Her mother sounded incredulous.

“It’s refreshing. And I have to work off three days’ worth of turkey and mashed potatoes somehow.”

“If you need to burn some calories, I have enough laundry here to get you ready for the runway,” Rachel promised.

“Be there in a few minutes.” Jocelyn lifted her face to catch a few stray drops of cold rain. “Just leave everything and I’ll take care of it.”

Her mother’s tone sharpened. “Where are you right now?”

“Running?”

“Don’t play dumb. Running where?”

“Um . . .” Jocelyn slowed to a walk as she tried to catch her breath. “Shoreline Drive.”

“Why are you running on Rich Person Road?”

“Why wouldn’t I run on Rich Person Road?”

“Nothing good ever comes of mixing with the summer people.” Rachel clicked her tongue. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“I’m not mixing with anyone. They all packed up and left this morning. Besides, the views are amazing and the road is dirt instead of asphalt. Much better for my knees.” Jocelyn rounded a wide bend in the road and noticed a lone pair of seasonal residents still loading up their SUV. An elderly man and middle-aged woman were attempting to coax two black Labs and a chocolate Lab into the vehicle’s cargo area with no success. The dogs dodged and darted across the driveway while the humans gave chase to no avail.

She slowed her pace even more as she gazed at the house where the dogs and their owners lived. The vast, sprawling mansion had been constructed two or three years ago and the architect had apparently looked to French chateaus and Tuscan vineyards for his inspiration. The decorative archways, stained glass windows, and curving staircases with marble balustrades looked absurd between the neighboring Cape Cod–style homes covered with cedar shingles and widow’s walks. Jocelyn offered a smile and a wave to the man, who responded with a scowl.

“Jocelyn?” Rachel’s voice was impatient. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes.” Jocelyn blew out a breath. “But just to refresh, what did you say?” A rustling in a bush across the road caught her eye, and she nearly twisted her ankle as a muddy-pawed, stocky gray dog emerged from the foliage and trotted toward her.

“Oh my God.” Rachel heaved a mighty sigh. “I said—”

“Hang on.” Jocelyn let her hand drop as she heard the low rumbling of a car approaching. The little gray dog trotted into the middle of the road.

Jocelyn heard barking and shouting behind her and whirled around to see the chocolate Labrador sprinting down the driveway, making a beeline for the gray dog.

The gray dog heard the commotion and froze in the middle of the road, ears pricked up and tail wagging. The Labrador ran faster.

A sporty red convertible vroomed around the bend, kicking up gravel.

“Carmen!” the man called in a booming voice.

“Carmen!” His female companion dashed to the end of the driveway, then stopped and yelled commands from the safety of the lawn. “Come! Come!”

Carmen ignored them, preferring instead to initiate a through canine meet-and-greet in the middle of the road. The two dogs circled each other, sniffing and snuffling, until all Jocelyn could see was a blur of gray and brown.

The car was fifty yards away.

Jocelyn waved with both hands to catch the driver’s attention.

The driver ignored her. The car was forty yards away. Thirty.

Cursing under her breath, Jocelyn dashed directly into the car’s path, caught a dog’s collar in each hand, and dragged them to safety on the other side of the road.

For a moment, all she could hear was the thud of her heartbeat in her ears, the skidding of tires against gravel, and the panicked screams of the dogs’ owners.

“Jocelyn?” Her mother’s voice, tinny and distant, drifted out of the cell phone she’d dropped in the road. “Joss?”

The car’s driver, a tall, blond man in his late twenties, slammed out of the car. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell?” The scowly old man stormed up to the car. “Watch where you’re going. You could have killed someone!”

“I’m sorry.” The blond man looked distraught. “This is a new car, I was trying to adjust the seat heater—”

“You nearly ran over my dog!” The old man’s face was ruddy with rage.

“And me,” Jocelyn added. The old man ignored her. The young man turned to her and continued to apologize.

“Carmen!” The woman pried Jocelyn’s hand from the Labrador’s collar so she could reclaim the dog. “I told you to come.”

The little gray dog surveyed the agitated humans with bewilderment. Jocelyn scooped him up and held him close against her fleece running vest. “Don’t worry, little buddy. You’ll be okay.”

The next few moments were a cacophony of accusation. The old man berated the car driver. The woman berated the Labrador. The car driver retorted that it was obscene to care more about a dog’s life than a human being’s.

“My dogs are much better people than any of the people I know!” The elderly man harrumphed.

“Carmen is a pedigreed future world champion,” the woman added. “How many people can say that?”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes and decided to heed her mother’s advice about avoiding Rich Person Road. She gazed down at her scruffy companion. “I think my work is done here.”

The car driver stopped arguing with the old man and turned back to her with those soulful blue eyes. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for what almost happened.”

“It’s fine.” Jocelyn was suddenly very aware of the sweat on her forehead and her disheveled ponytail. “I should’ve worn more visible clothing. All this gray-on-gray is hard to see.” The little gray dog whined in protest. “That goes for you, too.”

The old man finally looked Jocelyn in the eye. “You saved Carmen.”

“Oh, well, I mean . . .” Jocelyn didn’t know where to look. “I just did what anybody would have done.”

“No. Not everybody would risk their life for my dog.” The old man glanced meaningfully at the woman. “Clearly.”

“It wasn’t just your dog, it was this guy, too.” Jocelyn hoisted up the gray mutt. “I’m a sucker for a dog in distress.”

The woman glared at her.

“I better get going.” Jocelyn shifted the gray dog to one hand and scooped up her phone with the other. “I have to . . .” But she seemed to be physically incapable of telling this trio of one-percenters that she had to hustle on home to wash other people’s soiled linens.

“I’ll give you a ride,” the blond man offered.

Jocelyn took two steps back. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, come on.” He smiled, and there were dimples and dazzling white teeth left and right. “I have heated seats.”

She found herself smiling back. “So you said.”

The old man stepped in between them, all business. “You live around here?” he demanded.

“Yes,” Jocelyn said.

“What’s your name?” he asked, as though taking a police report.

“Um. Not to be rude, but why do you ask?”

“I’ve been looking for someone to help care for my dogs. Walk them, play with them, wear them out.” He lifted one bushy eyebrow. “Clearly, they’re in need of more exercise.”

“Hey!” his companion protested. “What about me?”

The old man’s glare was withering. “You train them, Lois. You groom them and show them and motivate them to win best in breed. I need someone to take care of them when they’re not in the ring. Someone who can love them.”

Lois the trainer reacted as if he’d slapped her. “How can you say that? I do love them!”

The old man tilted his head toward the scuffs the car’s tires had left in the gravel. “Not enough.” While Lois continued to sputter protests, he nodded at Jocelyn. “You’re hired.”

“Yeah, I don’t really want to get involved,” Jocelyn said.

“Too late.” The man fished a business card out of the pocket of his navy blue barn coat. “I’m Peter Allardyce, and these are Carmen, Curtis, and Hester.” He pointed out each dog in turn. “Write down your phone number. You’ll be hearing from me.”

Jocelyn did as she was told, cowed by the authoritarian steel in the old man’s voice.

“Okay.” The dimpled driver rested his hand gently under Jocelyn’s elbow. “Let’s get you home safe and sound.”

Jocelyn looked at his face and found herself unable to argue. Again. Must be a rich person superpower. “But what about him?” she asked, nodding down at the scruffy gray mutt still in her arms. “I can’t take him home with me, and I can’t just leave him here.”

He smiled again, and Jocelyn realized, This is what it’s like to live in a cologne ad.

“Does he have a tag on his collar?” he asked.

Jocelyn peered at the tarnished metal buckle on the faded and frayed nylon collar. “No. He doesn’t look very well cared for.”

“Maybe he ran away,” the man suggested.

“Maybe. Or maybe someone dumped him by the side of the road.” Jocelyn had witnessed this firsthand. At the end of every summer season, tourists abandoned the pets they’d purchased on a whim when the puppies or kittens became too rambunctious or coordinating air transport proved too costly. Everyone who worked in Black Dog Bay’s rental industry had at least one heartbreaking story of a bewildered animal they’d had to re-home when the owners returned to “real life.”

The guy looked horrified. “People do that?”

Jocelyn nodded. “Oh yeah.”

“Then let’s take him to the shelter—”

“We’re not taking him to the shelter!”

He held up his palm. “My family just underwrote an animal rescue center out by Bethany Beach. Brand-new, top-of-the-line facilities, veterinary care on call twenty-four-seven. It’s really more like a luxury pet resort than a shelter. They can scan him to see if he has a microchip. If he does, we’ll contact his owner.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Jocelyn started to panic. “I can’t take him home with me. My mother will—”

“I’ll take him home with me until we find a great home for him.” He took off his spotless suede jacket and wrapped it around the dog. “Smitty here will be spoiled rotten.”

Jocelyn quirked an eyebrow. “Smitty?”

The guy patted the little gray dog on the head. “That’s his name.”

Smitty snuggled into the warmth provided by the jacket.

“How do you know?”

“Look at him. That’s a Smitty if ever I’ve seen one.”

Jocelyn laughed as the dog licked her neck. “I guess it is.”

“Let’s go.” The walking cologne ad with the poor driving skills opened the door and ushered her into the warm, walnut-paneled interior of his luxury automobile. “I’m Chris, by the way. Chris Cantor.”

Jocelyn feigned total cluelessness, as if she hadn’t heard all about the Cantors and their blue-blooded ancestors and social clout. “I’m Jocelyn Hillier.”

“Great to meet you, Jocelyn. I’ve got a lot of making up to do to you.” Chris slid into the driver’s seat and helped Smitty settle into the backseat, heedless of the muddy paw prints marring the leather upholstery and the suede jacket.

Jocelyn dug a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at the stains.

“Don’t worry about it.” Chris put his hand over hers. He left it there.

Jocelyn glanced up at him, her initial rush of attraction replaced by suspicion. Why would a guy like him be flirting with a girl like her? Though she would never admit it to her mother, Rachel was right: the residents of Shoreline Drive didn’t cozy up to commoners unless they stood to benefit somehow.

She gazed into those earnest blue eyes. What do you want from me?

He squeezed her fingers, then let go and got into the driver’s seat. “How long have you lived in Black Dog Bay?”

“Since I was born.” She took a breath, then added, “My mom and I run a linen supply service.”

He didn’t wrinkle his nose or smile condescendingly. He looked genuinely intrigued. “What does that entail?”

“During the summer and holiday weekends like this one, we deliver clean sheets and towels to the rental homes and some of the bed-and-breakfasts. Then, when the guests leave, we pick them up, wash them, and start all over.”

“You run the business yourself?”

Jocelyn felt herself relaxing into the supple warmth of the passenger seat. “I do it all. Contracts, bookkeeping, and laundry. Lots and lots of laundry.”

He kept looking at her, and his evident interest mixed with something else. Respect.

She reached out and touched his wrist. “Eyes on the road.”

He grinned and refocused. “So you’re a small-business owner, a stray dog savior, and a hottie?”

Jocelyn laughed. “I’m a townie who’s not going to fall for some smooth-talking summer boy.”

“We’ll see about that.” His gaze darted back over to her. “What are you doing next weekend?”

“Laundry.”

“Great. I love laundry. It’s a date.”

“No.” She shook her head in mock exasperation. “There is no date. I don’t get mixed up with guys like you.”

“Did you hear that, Smitty?” Chris glanced at the dog in the backseat, who was drooling all over the window. “He’s shocked. He can’t believe you’re so cynical.”

“He may have been dumped by the side of the road,” she pointed out. “I think he’s a little cynical himself.”

“You’ll see. Stick with me, and you’ll see.”

Jocelyn brushed back a stray, sweaty hair from her forehead. “See what, exactly?”

He accelerated and the car’s engine responded with a low, thick purr. “Friday night. Seven p.m. I’ll bring the fabric softener.”

Chapter 2

Seven months later

“Ooh, show me that one again.” Jocelyn leaned in closer against Chris’s shoulder.

“The one with the Eiffel Tower?” Chris scrolled back through the series of photos on his phone.

“No, the one of the vineyards.”

Chris nodded and kept scrolling. “Okay, but that wasn’t actually Paris, that was Loire.”

Jocelyn squinted through the bright noon sunlight to study the photo of a pair of wineglasses set against a blurred background of lush green vines. “It looks so beautiful.”

“It is.” Chris put down his phone and took Jocelyn’s hand. “You’ll see. You’ll love the wine.”

“And the chocolate.” Jocelyn closed her eyes and smiled. “I’ve read all about the best chocolatiers in Paris. Maison du Chocolat, Patrick Roger, Hugo et Victor . . .”

“You’ve already got the chocolate places memorized?”

“I’ve had them memorized since high school,” Jocelyn confided. “I used to spend hours on the Internet, reading about Paris. I knew just where I wanted to shop, eat, and sleep when I finally went.”

“Give me a list. Your wish is my command.” Chris pulled out his wallet and signaled a passing waitress for the check.<...