Читать книгу Charlotte Moore - Judith Bowen - Страница 11

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 the end of the building. “So, it looks like you’ve got room for Maggie, then?”

He straightened from where he’d bent to fondle Hunter’s ears and stared directly into her eyes. She felt a funny little shudder inside.

“Not really,” he said slowly. “I’ve never got room for dogs I don’t want on the place. This is a special case, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She tried to keep her tone even. Conciliatory. Friendly. After all, she was the one who needed the favor here.

“I raise and train retrievers. Working dogs. Hunters’ companions. I don’t have time for show dogs, which is what your sister raises. And I especially don’t have time for show bitches that might be going into heat. Do you understand?”

He gave her a hard look and she nodded automatically. She had to admit that was a reasonable excuse for refusing to take Laurel’s dog. “It’d only be until my sister gets home and I can ship Maggie back. A couple of weeks.”

“As it happens, my mother’s taken a fancy to your sister’s bitch so I’ll keep her while you’re in the area.” He glanced over at the runs again, then continued softly. “But it’s strictly a favor for my mother, so don’t thank me.”

“Oh, I didn’t plan to!” Charlotte retorted, stung. “I’d like to know what you’ve got against me and Maggie, anyway. You don’t even know us!”

“You?” His eyes were wary on hers, then abruptly he looked away again. “Nothing. Your big sister needs her ass kicked, but that’s hardly your fault.”

“Laurel couldn’t possibly have known anything about this mix-up!”

“She knew. She’d contacted me before on this subject. She knew very well that I wouldn’t agree to breed a show bitch. I considered it briefly, as a favor to an old friend, but in the end I decided against any exceptions to my rule.” He began to walk slowly toward the door at the other end of the building, and Charlotte fell into stride beside him.

“And why is that?” Charlotte hurried to match her pace to his.

“Because the dog world is small. Because if other breeders heard I was breeding my top gun dogs to show bitches, they’d be after me to do the same with theirs. I don’t need the aggravation.”

“Maybe Laurel didn’t realize you’d changed your mind. Maybe she thought it was still on,” Charlotte persisted. Annoyed as she was about Laurel’s duplicity—and she was quite certain Laurel had misled her—she still felt a need to defend her sister.

“She knew,” he said again. He glanced at her. “I have a feeling your sister thought you might be able to sweet-talk me into changing my mind, once you showed up here with her bitch.”

“Laurel would never do that!” Charlotte was furious with the turn this conversation had taken—after all, her sister!—but she couldn’t resist the thought: could she sweet-talk him into it? She could be pretty persuasive when she put her mind to it. Would serve him right, Mr. Know-Everything Dog Guy!

He turned to face her. “Don’t even think about it. The answer is no. You can pay me for board by the week. Eighty dollars is what I charge without any training, in advance. Take it or leave it.”

“Oh, I’ll take it. What choice do I have?” She was sure the irony was completely lost on him. “Can I go see Maggie now?”

Anything to get out of his company, since she was obviously so unwelcome! To think she’d been looking forward to meeting Liam Connery again, to seeing what had become of him. To think she’d actually dreamed about him more than once. She was annoyed with herself for the time she’d wasted, for all the tender thoughts and recollections she’d allowed herself to indulge in about her happy childhood years—especially her first feelings of attraction to a member of the opposite sex. The sappy sentimental fantasies she’d spun…. He was nothing at all like the boy she remembered.

“Maggie’s up at the house.”

Without another word, he disappeared into one of the outbuildings, and Charlotte went back to the truck to get her handbag, which contained her checkbook. With her appointment to meet Mr. Busby the next day and her need to get on with the job she’d come to do at the Rathbone estate, she didn’t have time to find anything else for Maggie. If she had the time, she’d scour the Island to avoid dealing with him.

What a man! Lucky for him he worked with dogs. Lucky for him his business didn’t depend on customer relations and people skills. He didn’t have any.

THE RATHBONE HOUSE—a mansion, really—was a large three-story building in the Second Empire style, popularized in the late 1700s in the United States. This house, built more than a hundred years later, had a mansard roof, slate in this case, and a huge wraparound veranda that didn’t really belong to the style and may have been added later. Out back, a glass conservatory was attached to one half of the south elevation, with doors leading from both the conservatory and the house to the extensive gardens, probably well over two acres and, sadly, in a state of serious neglect. Even some of the windows in the conservatory were broken.