Putting on the Dog Read Online Free
Author: Cynthia Baxter
the door open, darting around like a SWAT team on a mission. I took a more cautious approach, flipping on a light switch and surveying the place before passing judgment.
The tiny bungalow was charming. From the doorway, I could see a small living room, a kitchenette off to one side, and a single bedroom in back. The cottage had clearly been decorated by a pro, and every inch screamed “Summer House!”
But the pastel colors, fluffy throw rugs, and white wicker furniture weren’t what were making me feel so light-headed. It was that stupid heart of mine, beating as wildly as if I’d just belted down a double cappuccino.
It suddenly seemed like a good idea to call Nick.
I reached for the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, then hesitated. One of the main reasons I’d agreed to fill in for Marcus was that a week in the Bromptons had sounded like the perfect romantic getaway. Nick and I hadn’t been away together for more than nine months, since the previous September—and that trip had been nothing short of a disaster. He’d caught me completely off guard by producing the engagement ring he’d packed along with his 30-SPF sunblock and his rubber flip-flops. True to form, I’d freaked—so badly that our relationship had ended. At least, for a while.
Since then, we’d decided to try being a couple again— only this time, taking things a little more slowly. So far, so good. The past few months had been blissful.
But they’d also been busy. Between my veterinary practice and Nick’s job as a private investigator, we’d had to work hard to squeeze in our dinner dates and our weekends together at either my cottage or his apartment. And with Nick starting law school in the fall, it didn’t look as if our schedules were going to lighten up anytime soon. A short vacation on Long Island’s East End sounded ideal—even if it did include spending a few hours at a charity dog show every day.
Of course, I’d had no idea Nick would back out at the last minute.
Even though I still hadn’t completely forgiven him, the memory of Shawn Elliot’s blue eyes and irresistible grin prompted me to grab the phone. First I dialed his office. No answer, just the usual recorded message explaining that Nick Burby, private investigator, was not available to take my call.
I put down the phone long enough to disengage an embroidered hand towel from Lou’s jaws, then tried Nick’s apartment in Port Townsend. And got another machine. I tried once more, this time dialing his cell phone. And endured one more recording.
I was on my own, with nothing to do until the fundraiser’s kick-off dinner this evening. I suddenly felt a stab of loneliness, that hollow feeling that comes from being in a new place where you don’t know a soul.
Except that I did know a soul. One and only one. Shawn Elliot, who’d made a point of telling me not to be a stranger.
I suddenly had another good idea: taking a shower. I decided I’d better make it a cold one.
Chapter 2
“One hundred people can sit together peacefully, but two dogs in the same place will pick a fight.”
—Kurdistan Jewish saying
I was relieved that the organizers of the charity fund-raiser had the foresight to plan an opening-night event to keep us dog-show groupies out of trouble. I also hoped the kick-off party would provide me with my first taste of what the excitement of the Bromptons was all about.
As I cruised along Ocean Spray Drive in my clinic-on-wheels a few hours later, I wondered how I’d recognize the estate at which tonight’s gala was being held. In this town, mansions were as common as telephone poles. But in the distance, I spotted two towering torches, one on each side of an open gate, glowing invitingly against the darkening sky. I had a pretty good idea I’d reached my destination.
After checking in with a guard who crossed my name off a list, I drove along a curving driveway. Looming ahead was a huge white tent that was bigger than any I’d ever
The tiny bungalow was charming. From the doorway, I could see a small living room, a kitchenette off to one side, and a single bedroom in back. The cottage had clearly been decorated by a pro, and every inch screamed “Summer House!”
But the pastel colors, fluffy throw rugs, and white wicker furniture weren’t what were making me feel so light-headed. It was that stupid heart of mine, beating as wildly as if I’d just belted down a double cappuccino.
It suddenly seemed like a good idea to call Nick.
I reached for the phone hanging on the kitchen wall, then hesitated. One of the main reasons I’d agreed to fill in for Marcus was that a week in the Bromptons had sounded like the perfect romantic getaway. Nick and I hadn’t been away together for more than nine months, since the previous September—and that trip had been nothing short of a disaster. He’d caught me completely off guard by producing the engagement ring he’d packed along with his 30-SPF sunblock and his rubber flip-flops. True to form, I’d freaked—so badly that our relationship had ended. At least, for a while.
Since then, we’d decided to try being a couple again— only this time, taking things a little more slowly. So far, so good. The past few months had been blissful.
But they’d also been busy. Between my veterinary practice and Nick’s job as a private investigator, we’d had to work hard to squeeze in our dinner dates and our weekends together at either my cottage or his apartment. And with Nick starting law school in the fall, it didn’t look as if our schedules were going to lighten up anytime soon. A short vacation on Long Island’s East End sounded ideal—even if it did include spending a few hours at a charity dog show every day.
Of course, I’d had no idea Nick would back out at the last minute.
Even though I still hadn’t completely forgiven him, the memory of Shawn Elliot’s blue eyes and irresistible grin prompted me to grab the phone. First I dialed his office. No answer, just the usual recorded message explaining that Nick Burby, private investigator, was not available to take my call.
I put down the phone long enough to disengage an embroidered hand towel from Lou’s jaws, then tried Nick’s apartment in Port Townsend. And got another machine. I tried once more, this time dialing his cell phone. And endured one more recording.
I was on my own, with nothing to do until the fundraiser’s kick-off dinner this evening. I suddenly felt a stab of loneliness, that hollow feeling that comes from being in a new place where you don’t know a soul.
Except that I did know a soul. One and only one. Shawn Elliot, who’d made a point of telling me not to be a stranger.
I suddenly had another good idea: taking a shower. I decided I’d better make it a cold one.
Chapter 2
“One hundred people can sit together peacefully, but two dogs in the same place will pick a fight.”
—Kurdistan Jewish saying
I was relieved that the organizers of the charity fund-raiser had the foresight to plan an opening-night event to keep us dog-show groupies out of trouble. I also hoped the kick-off party would provide me with my first taste of what the excitement of the Bromptons was all about.
As I cruised along Ocean Spray Drive in my clinic-on-wheels a few hours later, I wondered how I’d recognize the estate at which tonight’s gala was being held. In this town, mansions were as common as telephone poles. But in the distance, I spotted two towering torches, one on each side of an open gate, glowing invitingly against the darkening sky. I had a pretty good idea I’d reached my destination.
After checking in with a guard who crossed my name off a list, I drove along a curving driveway. Looming ahead was a huge white tent that was bigger than any I’d ever
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