In Dog We Trust

by Beth Kendrick

Genres: Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

When everything has gone to the dogs....

When Jocelyn Hilliard is named legal guardian for the late Mr. Allardyce's pack of pedigreed Labrador retrievers, her world is flipped upside down. She's spent her entire life toiling in the tourism industry in Black Dog Bay and never expected to be living the pampered life of a seasonal resident in an oceanside mansion, complete with a generous stipend.

But her new role isn't without its challenges: the dogs (though lovable) are more high maintenance than any Hollywood diva, the man she wants to marry breaks her heart, and she's confronted at every turn by her late benefactor's estranged son, Liam, who thinks he's entitled to the inheritance left to the dogs. Jocelyn has worked too hard to back down without a fight, and she's determined to keep her new fur family together.

Release date: January 8, 2019

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

***This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof***

Copyright © 2018 Beth Kendrick

 

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.

Jocelyn sighed. “I can’t believe I’m finally going. I’m so excited to see the Louvre.” She knew she’d butchered the pronunciation, but Chris didn’t correct her. Instead, he looked into her eyes, warm and indulgent.

“I’m a little nervous about jet lag,” she confessed.

“Don’t be. They have booze on the plane, and the seats lie flat.”

“They do?”

“In business and first class.”

Which was, of course, the only part of the plane you flew in when you had an Ivy League building bearing your family name. Jocelyn murmured her thanks as Chris paid for lunch, then forced herself to bring up the topic they’d never touched upon in the weeks since he’d first mentioned going to France.

“So.” She nibbled her lower lip. “About paying for the flights and hotel and everything . . .”

“Don’t mention it. My treat.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“My treat,” he repeated, his tone firm. He took her hand in his, then frowned down at her fingertips.

“What?” Jocelyn followed his gaze down to her nails, which still bore traces of dried blood from the morning’s exertions. “Oh, I helped Bree dig up a septic tank this morning.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yeah, we’ve done it before. This one wasn’t that bad, relatively speaking.”

“You should have called me,” Chris admonished.

Jocelyn almost laughed. “Honey. I’m not calling you to dig up a septic tank.”

He looked affronted. “Why not? You’re saying I’m too milquetoast to get my hands dirty?”

His use of the word “milquetoast” pushed her over the edge and she did laugh. “No, but septic tanks aren’t really your scene.” She tilted her head to indicate his pristine white polo short and elegant gold watch.

“Septic tanks aren’t anyone’s scene,” he replied. “Which is why you should have called me. You shouldn’t be out there doing all the dirty work by yourself.”

“Fair enough; next time I’ll text you and you can come out and grab a shovel.”

Chris shook his head. “What I’ll be grabbing is the number for a plumber. He can dig up the septic tank, and you and I can get brunch.”

“What about Bree?” Jocelyn asked.

“She can have brunch with us.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s because it is.” Chris lifted her hand to his lips. “My girl doesn’t have to dig up sewage.”

“I’m not afraid of a little sewage,” Jocelyn assured him.

“And that is why I love you.” He stood up, pulled out her chair, and helped her to her feet. “Now I have to go take a conference call, but when can I see you again?”

“Saturday?” she suggested.

“How about tonight?” He brushed her hair back from her cheek. “We could have dinner at the new seafood place in Rehoboth.”

He continued to surprise her with his attentiveness, his persistence. For the first few months of their courtship, she’d expected him to disappear. To simply stop calling and texting one day. But he kept showing up, weekend after weekend, and somewhere along the way, she’d let her guard down and let him into her heart.

“Okay, but maybe a late dinner?” she said. “I have to handle a late check-in at seven thirty.”

“Pick you up at eight.” And there it was—the cologne ad smile in all its glory. Never got old.

Jocelyn beamed, no longer conscious of the slivers of septic tank still lodged under her nails. “Before you go, show it to me one more time.”

Chris fired up his phone. “Which one? The Loire?”

“The Eiffel Tower.” She pressed her cheek against his as she gazed at the photo and thought, That would be the perfect place for a proposal. The thought so stunned her that she stiffened and pulled back.

“What?” Chris squeezed her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Of course.” She lowered her eyes and cleared her throat. “But I should go. I’m late for work.”

“You’re late.” Mr. Allardyce’s voice boomed through the foyer as Jocelyn let herself in the front door of the oceanside French/Tuscan-style mansion. “You should have been here fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Jocelyn slipped the key ring back into her pocket with a jingle.

“You should be.” Lois, who always had a stinging comment and a snide look for Jocelyn, put on her sunglasses and prepared to make her exit. “They’ve all had a very demanding training session and they’re in desperate need of downtime.”

Jocelyn smiled her sweetest smile at the acid-tongued trainer. “Lovely to see you, as always. Good luck at the dog show in Dover next week.”

Lois slammed the door in response.

“She’s definitely warming up to me,” Jocelyn remarked as she strolled into the kitchen. “We’re going to be braiding each other’s hair and binge-watching The Crown soon.”

“Everybody’s been waiting for you.” Mr. Allardyce limped across the smooth travertine tiles, his hand shaking as he leaned on his cane. “Carmen was so upset, she started gnawing on the ottoman.”

“Poor Carmen.” Jocelyn glanced into the living room to assess the damage. “And poor ottoman.”

“Stop flapping your gums and get going,” Mr. Allardyce ordered. “I’m not paying you to talk.”

“Yes, sir.” Jocelyn dropped her handbag on one of the ornately carved oak chairs by the breakfast bar, then hurried to the back of the house to grab the leashes. She could hear the dogs before she even opened the door to the mudroom. The pathetic canine whining intensified as she approached.

Jocelyn flung the door open and braced herself. “Hi, babies!” A whirling dervish of black and brown fur emerged. “Hi, Hester! Hi, Carmen! Hi, Curtis!” She blinked her eyes against the flurry of dog hair drifting through the air and gave each pup a kiss on the head and an ear scratch.

“You guys ready for your run?”

The whining escalated to yipping and woofing as the dogs swarmed around Jocelyn in a mishmash of boxy heads and wagging tails.

As Mr. Allardyce never tired of telling her, he had worked hard to earn his fortune, and he only accepted the very best from himself . . . and from everybody else in his life. He prided himself on surrounding himself with the finest and rarest. Luxury automobiles. Oceanfront property. Purebred dogs of the most prestigious pedigree.

The trio of dogs tumbling over one another in the mudroom were technically Labrador retrievers, but they were so well groomed and athletically conditioned that they barely resembled other Labs Jocelyn saw at the park and the beach. Tall, lean, and long-legged, they were bred to work as field dogs.

Their impressive lineage hadn’t bestowed any sense of dignity. Each of the Labs currently slobbering on her had an AKC registered name, a cabinet full of trophies and ribbons, and a case of shampoos, toiletries, and grooming equipment that put a beauty parlor to shame. They had documents proving their parentage and professional photos that were reprinted in glossy magazines. They were high-maintenance, high-priced, high-status members of dog royalty. But right now, all they wanted to do was run.

“I know, you’ve waited long enough.” Jocelyn clipped their leashes on, though this was just a formality. As soon as she took them across the deck and out to the sand, she would let them loose to race across the dunes of the private beach that Mr. Allardyce had fenced off for his prized pooches.

“Don’t let them come back until they’re worn out,” Mr. Allardyce commanded as the dogs towed Jocelyn toward the back door.

“Has that ever happened? Ever?”

“One of these days,” the old man said.

“Very optimistic of you,” Jocelyn replied. Even Hester, who was pregnant, had an apparently boundless supply of energy.

Jocelyn let the dogs run for a good forty-five minutes before clipping their leashes back on and returning to the house. “They had a blast, as always,” she reported to Mr. Allardyce.

“But are they worn out?” He eyed all the perky ears and wagging tails with suspicion.

“‘Worn out’ is aspirational,” she told him.

He was pouring himself an iced tea but didn’t offer her any. “Be on time tomorrow.”

“Will do.” She brightened. “Oh, and I should tell you that I’m probably going to be gone for about a week and a half next month. Let me know if you need me to help find someone else for dog duty when I’m gone.”

His bushy gray eyebrows snapped together. “What? Where are you going?”

She couldn’t suppress her grin. “Paris.”

“With that spoiled millennial who almost murdered my precious Carmen?”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “That’s the one.”

“Why the hell would you want to go to Paris?”

“Uh, let me see.” She ticked off her reasons on her fingers. “Pastry, museums, chocolate, romance, the Eiffel Tower . . .”

“Paris is so crowded.” He wrinkled his nose. “And everyone speaks French.”

“Yes, well, that happens when you go to France.”

He slapped his hand down on the tabletop. “I forbid you to go.”

Jocelyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Hester is going to have puppies any day now, and I’ll need someone to be with her around the clock. Someone who knows her and understands her.”

“We have plenty of time to find someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.” This might sound flattering from someone else, but coming from Mr. Allardyce, it was like a threat from a mafia boss. “I want you.”

“What about Lois?” Jocelyn suggested. “She’s much better qualified than I am to take care of puppies.”

“You made the whelping box.” He pointed to the towel-lined wooden box in the mudroom.

“By the grace of Pinterest.” Jocelyn shook her head. “And Home Depot. I don’t think it’s up to AKC standards.”

“The dogs love you best,” Mr. Allardyce insisted.

“That’s very kind of you to say, but let’s face facts: They love anyone with a pocketful of beef jerky.”

The old man set his jaw. “Hester needs you.”

This conversation was clearly going nowhere productive, so Jocelyn pointedly glanced at her watch. “Well, I better get going. I’ve still got some work to do before tonight.”

But her curmudgeonly employer wasn’t finished. “If I had a daughter like you, I wouldn’t let her waste her time with a trust-fund brat in a red convertible he bought with his daddy’s money.”

Jocelyn grinned. “Aw. So now I’m the daughter you never had?”

“Watch your mouth, young lady.” Mr. Allardyce reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.