Hush, Puppy
Hush, Puppy
The Dogmothers
Book Five
Roxanne St. Claire
Hush, Puppy
THE DOGMOTHERS BOOK FIVE
Copyright © 2020 South Street Publishing
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author, roxanne@roxannestclaire.com.
ISBN ebook: 978-1-952196-07-2
ISBN print version: 978-1-952196-08-9
COVER DESIGN: Keri Knutson (designer) and Dawn C. Whitty (photographer)
INTERIOR FORMATTING: Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
HUSH, PUPPY
Copyright
Before The Dogmothers…
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
A Dogfather/Dogmothers Family Reference Guide
About the Author
Before
The Dogmothers…
there was
The Dogfather!
Sit…Stay…Beg – book one
New Leash on Life – book two
Leader of the Pack – book three
Santa Paws is Coming to Town – book four (a holiday novella)
Bad to the Bone – book five
Ruff Around the Edges – book six
Double Dog Dare – book seven
Bark! The Herald Angels Sing – book eight (a holiday novella)
Old Dog New Tricks – book nine
The Dogmothers Series
Hot Under the Collar – book one
Three Dog Night – book two
Dachshund Through the Snow – book three (a holiday novella)
Chasing Tail – book four
Hush, Puppy – book five
And many more to come!
Note to readers: For a complete guide to all of the characters in both The Dogfather and Dogmothers series, see the back of this book. Or visit www.roxannestclaire.com for a printable reference, book lists, buy links, and reading order of all my books. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to find out when the next book is released! And join the private Dogfather Facebook group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/roxannestclairereaders/ for inside info on all the books and characters, sneak peeks, and a place to share the love of tails and tales!
Acknowledgements
Sincere gratitude to Speech Language Pathologist Cherylann Cohen Solow, MS.CCC-SLP, for guidance on children’s speech impediments; additional thanks to private plane enthusiast Sandi Moffett Parks and the representatives from Cessna and the Foothills Regional Airport for assistance and information. Any factual errors in Hush, Puppy are my own.
Chapter One
John Santorini stared at his laptop screen, blocking out the sounds of the lunch rush in the Greek deli that bore his last name. He’d long ago developed the skills necessary to do exacting mental work in an office adjacent to a noisy kitchen, able to ignore the orders being called into the grill, the clatter of dishes, and the constant stream of semi-clean workplace banter between the servers and his flirtatious new cook.
But John couldn’t ignore nine pounds of fur and attitude using his tiny snout and a chunky paw to shake the gate of a metal crate, demanding his freedom.
“Come on, Mav.” He glanced at the puppy he’d adopted two weeks earlier, looking forward to when the little Lab mix grew into a big dog who’d help fill the empty house he’d recently purchased. His brother, who owned three Lab mixes exactly like this guy, had promised that “all they do at this age is sleep” in a crate.
Well, that might have been true about Maverick’s “cousins” when they were puppies, but this little troublemaker’s call sign should have been Mayhem, not Maverick. “You can hold it until I get my dry-goods order in for next week, right? I got to negotiate this price down.”
A high-pitched whine was all he got in return. And that, he couldn’t ignore.
“All right, you win. Ten minutes in the square.” He clicked out of the spreadsheet, grabbed the leash, and opened the crate, laughing as Mav shot out and lunged at his sneaker to chew on the lace. “Easy, boy. I need to wear those to get us there.”
He slipped the leash around Mav’s little neck, but picked him up to carry him through Santorini’s kitchen, sidestepping his best server as she darted between the stainless-steel pass and the condiment station.
“I gotta run him out,” he said to Karyn. “Everything okay out front?”
“Define okay, boss.” She grinned at him, but the spark in her dark eyes would disappear as the day wore on. “Personally, I would define it as ‘an experienced and charming hostess is starting tomorrow.’”
A hostess was not starting tomorrow, sadly. He couldn’t fill that slot for love or money. “You need me to step in?” he asked.
“Nope. Erin and I are tag-teaming it.” She blew a kiss at Mav. “Go do your business, precious.”
Taking the dog out was the last thing John wanted to do now, but nature called, so he hustled through the dining room. On his way out, he counted the heads waiting for a table and wished to God his sister would come back and manage the front of the house again. But Cassie, like his twin brother and all their siblings, had moved on to other businesses and lives, leaving John the last-standing Santorini still working at the family deli.
He eased Mav to the pavement as they stepped outside, and the puppy instantly yanked the leash toward one of the many dogs under the tables of their owners seated at the recently enlarged patio dining area. Then Mav turned toward the street, knowing exactly where he wanted to go.
To the playground in Bushrod Square, of course, where he’d get showered with affection from a zillion kids who’d surely be there on a hot North Carolina summer afternoon.
The sun baked the streets, which were teeming with locals, tourists, and, always, a lot of dogs. Never more than right now, in the middle of the town’s first Dog Days of Summer, a month-long event that firmly established Bitter Bark as the most dog-friendly town in the state, if not the country.
They made it to the brick-walled entrance to the square, finding shade in the hundreds of oak and maple trees. They followed the perimeter path, then cut through the grassy center, making it past the statue of Thaddeus Ambrose Bushrod and almost to the playground when John’s cell phone buzzed.
Pausing at an empty bench, he checked the caller ID, drew back at the name, and let out a slow, low whistle. He certainly hadn’t been expecting his potential investor to call, or he wouldn’t be fifty yards from a packed pla
yground with his dog on a leash. He’d be in his office, door closed, proposal opened, game face on.
Could this day go any further south?
Not that Tom’s call was a bad thing, but the timing sucked.
He settled on the bench and lifted Mav up next to him, hoping the little guy didn’t get distracted by the kids behind them. “Mr. Barnard,” he said easily when he answered the call. “What a surprise.”
“Good. A surprise is exactly what I wanted,” the man said. “And I’ll do it again when I come to inspect every aspect of your restaurant before I make my final decision about investing that outrageous sum you proposed. And I will be incognito, of course.”
“Excuse me? Did you say…incognito?” John pressed the phone to his ear to block out the sounds of kids squealing so he could be sure he got that right. “Like, without a scheduled meeting?”
“Are you at a kid’s birthday party or something?” Impatience tinged the question, but with millions to dole out, it was a safe bet the man wanted to be heard clearly.
“I really hadn’t expected your call,” John said, purposely not answering the question. Because admitting that he had a ten-week-old puppy who refused to do his midafternoon business anywhere but on one particular stretch of grass in the middle of the town square might not impress his potential investor.
“I know you didn’t expect my call, Santorini, which is why I made it. I love the element of surprise. It brings out people’s true character.”
“I see.” A few beads of sweat stung John’s brow.
“Let me tell you something, my friend,” Tom said, lowering his voice so he was even more difficult to hear. “Your proposal is one of the most thorough I’ve ever seen. I like the clear understanding of the business, the compelling set of numbers, and the concept that makes sense and, I believe, could make us both rich.”
“Thank you.” Relieved, John let the compliments sink in while he stroked Maverick’s tiny head and body curled up next to him. Barnard Investments could give John the capital and connections he needed to finally turn the Greek deli started by his grandfather into a national, franchised chain.
“As I see it,” Tom continued, “there’s no real competition for Mediterranean food on the franchise scene, except Zoe’s Kitchen, and this feels much, oh, I don’t know, warmer. Table service with a classic Greek menu, which is very hot right now, but no one is truly nailing that niche. You could.”
Giving Mav’s head an extra rub, John nodded, grateful the guy understood what he was doing with the brand. “I want to keep that family-owned feeling that Santorini’s has cultivated since the first one opened in 1958, but make it accessible to everyone.”
“Brilliant.”
Damn right it was, John thought, smiling down at Maverick, who licked his palm furiously. And with Tom Barnard’s bucks behind him? That brilliant idea was destined to happen.
“But can you duplicate that family-owned vibe?” Tom asked.
“I have, in all three locations.”
“Because that’s the key to a good franchise. Unique, branded, well managed, and replicable.”
“We are all those—”
Maverick suddenly leaped off the bench and yanked hard on his leash, barking noisily to tell John exactly what he wanted—to get closer to that playground. And he wanted it now.
John tugged on the leash and sent the dog a look that could make employees fly into action and vendors offer up their best deals and financial analysts scurry to fix a spreadsheet.
His ten-week-old puppy, however, lifted a leg and dribbled on John’s sneaker.
“Okay, okay,” he muttered, pushing off the bench to let the puppy lead him toward the packed playground to revel in the attention he knew he would get from the kids.
“Okay? So then you’re good with an incognito visit?” Tom pressed.
John slowed his step and turned away from the noise, ignoring Mav’s insistent pull on the leash. “So, let me make sure I understand this. You’ll come into Santorini’s unannounced, but then you’ll introduce yourself to me?”
“Not quite.” Tom let out a hearty laugh. “It’s more likely you’ll never know I was there. That way, I can see the soft underbelly of your flagship store from a customer’s standpoint. Where’s the weak spot? Food, service, front of store, total presentation and package? Every operation has a weakness. If you have one, I’m out. If you don’t…”
Then John would finally kick off the business plan he’d been refining since he got his MBA. The plan he’d had to give up to run the family restaurant when his father was diagnosed with cancer. The one that could make him a multimillionaire by forty, exactly as his father had predicted.
“No weakness,” he said easily, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered Karyn’s plea for a talented person to run the front. Okay, one weakness. It could be fixed with the right hire.
“I will need to be blown away,” Tom said.
“You will be, I promise.” And John Santorini did not make promises he couldn’t keep. He’d figure out the reception issue, and soon. Before Barnard showed up…incognito.
“If I’m going to part with a dime, I expect a few things, Santorini,” Tom told him. “Do you want to know what they are?”
“Absolutely.” Just then, John realized there was no weight on the leash. He whipped around the very second that Mav managed to Houdini right out of his collar and bolt toward the playground.
Damn it. For a split second, he froze, not sure what was worse—ignoring Tom Barnard or letting Mav run headlong into a pack of kids.
“For one thing,” Tom said. “I expect—”
“Puppyyyyyyyy!” A high-pitched shriek drowned out the rest as a three-foot figure tore past John, a blur of espresso-colored ringlets and pink sneakers and outstretched hands headed straight for Maverick.
He watched in shock as the little girl pounced toward Mav, fell to the grass, and rolled right next to him.
“Destiny!” A woman’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Did you get that?” Tom asked, that impatience back in his voice.
“Of…course.”
The girl lifted Mav in the air with tiny hands and let the puppy lick her face from top to bottom.
“Destiny Rose Jackson!” A woman rushed to the scene, another blur, this one with wheat-colored hair and long, tanned legs in shorts. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I f-f-found him, Mommy! Th-th-this is the one!” She hoisted Mav higher. “My p-p-p-puppy!”
Uh, no, kid. My puppy.
“Then I’ll see you…sometime soon.”
John barely heard Tom’s voice as he hustled toward Maverick and the child. “That sounds great, Tom.”
As he got closer, the little girl managed to stand and lift Maverick even higher. “I love you, sweet baby! You’re the one for me! You can be my dog, and I’ll be your des-ti-ny!”
Wait. Had she sung that?
“That sounds great, too,” Tom said on a chuckle. “Now you’re at the performing arts center?”
“Um…it’s a long story, and if I had known you were going to call—”
“I told you I like to catch people off guard, son. That’s what I do.”
John gave a wry laugh. “Well, you did it very well today.”
“Good. I’ll see you when you least expect it, but it will be in the next month.” With that, the call dropped just as John reached the singing girl and the woman he assumed was her mother.
“Destiny,” the woman said, glancing at John. “I don’t think, even in a town that calls itself the most dog-friendly in America, you can just grab a puppy and claim it.” She leveled eyes the same color as the sky behind her on John, with a hint of a teasing smile just to make everything…perfect. “Can you?”
For one split, frozen, insane second, he almost said yes.
But that was because he was awestruck. He also felt something on his arm, a tug. No, about six of them, insistent and unrelenting.
He looke
d down at the little girl of about five or six trying to get his attention, taken aback again by a wholly different beauty. Her eyes were a mix of green and brown, with gold flecks and long lashes, her skin the color of coffee the minute it mixed with cream, and so much hair. It was a literal cascade of brown and black coils down to her waist.
“We c-c-came here for a p-p-puppy.” She worked for every word, he could tell, and the effort twisted something in his heart.
Her mother stepped closer and put a protective hand on her shoulder. “To adopt a puppy,” she clarified. “Not snag one in the park, Des.”
“What’s his name?” the little girl whispered, this time her voice little more than a breath. Her eyes held a plea like he’d never seen before. Well, he had—on Maverick. And right then, he knew the true meaning of puppy dog eyes.
“Maverick.” He crouched down to get on her level to make sure Mav didn’t need an assist, since the pup was squirming pretty hard.
“Ma-Ma-Mav…”
“You can call him Mav,” he said gently to help her out. “I do, all the time.”
She clutched him tighter. “He’s your puppy?” Again, her voice was a whisper, giving him the sense that it helped her to communicate that way.
He nodded. “He is. And he’s not even three months old, so—”
“I love him,” she announced, clinging to Mav and making John laugh in spite of himself.