Sit...Stay...Beg (The Dogfather Book 1) Read online

  Sit…Stay…Beg

  The Dogfather

  Book One

  Roxanne St. Claire

  Sit…Stay…Beg

  THE DOGFATHER

  Copyright © 2017 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, [email protected]

  978-0-9981093-1-2 – EBOOK

  978-0-9981093-2-9 – PRINT

  COVER ART: Keri Knutson (designer) and Dawn C. Whitty (photographer)

  INTERIOR FORMATTING: Author E.M.S.

  Table of Contents

  SIT…STAY…BEG

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Dear Reader

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The BAREFOOT BAY Series

  Dedication

  Since I’m nearing fifty books published, I’ve dedicated one to just about every person who’s touched my writing career and life. In this series, each book will be dedicated to a dog that is special to me or to family, friends, and readers.

  This one is for Pepper, who made a dog lover out of me. When she barks three times, I know exactly what she’s saying.

  Acknowledgments

  Treats and love to all these folks who made The Dogfather Series happen:

  • Dr. Linda Hankins, a reader, friend, and gifted veterinarian who has agreed to be my “vet consultant” on this series.

  • Keri Knutson, the talented designer who created the covers, and massive love to Dawn C. Whitty, the photographer who captured these incredible guys and their rescue dogs.

  • PJ Ausdenmore, Gannon Carr, and Jonetta Allen, who know and love North Carolina, and helped with the geography, climate, and vibe of the many amazing towns that inspired Bitter Bark.

  • As always, my editor, Kristi Yanta, who has left her imprint on every chapter; my copyeditor, Joyce Lamb, who went above and beyond; and my proofreader, Marlene Engel, who is thorough and thoroughly delightful.

  Dear Reader:

  I’m thrilled to introduce you to this new series, The Dogfather, a celebration of big families, great dogs, and true love. Love the covers? These aren’t just hot guys and cute dogs…these are real guys and rescue dogs! These images were shot by uber-talented photographer Dawn Whitty (www.dawncwhitty.com) as a fund-raising calendar for the Alaqua Animal Refuge in Florida. When I spotted the shots, I knew they captured the spirit of The Dogfather series, so I was absolutely thrilled to be able to use them AND to donate a portion of the first month sales of all the books to Alaqua Animal Refuge. So you don’t only buy a terrific book…you support a fantastic cause!

  I can’t wait for you to meet the Kilcannon clan! Each one of the six children of Daniel and Annie Kilcannon will have a love story in this series, and I hope you enjoy every one—Liam, Shane, Garrett, Molly, Aidan, and Darcy. Sign up for my newsletter www.roxannestclaire.com/newsletter/ to find out when the next book is released!

  Enjoy the story…I hope you sit, stay, and beg for more!

  xoxo

  Rocki

  Prologue

  Daniel Kilcannon opened his eyes on the morning after he buried his wife of thirty-six years and pushed himself up, not creaking too badly for fifty-six years young. His movement instantly woke Rusty, sprawled at the foot of the bed. The Irish setter lifted his glossy red head, a little hope in his big brown eyes as if to ask, Is she back yet?

  “Bad news, my boy. It’s still just you and me.”

  He dragged his hands through his thick hair, the next wave of grief bearing down, growing all too familiar since the moment his beloved wife succumbed to a heart attack in the prime of her life. When the wave passed, he tried to think clearly. About today. Beyond today.

  What could possibly matter now that Annie was gone?

  The kids.

  Of course, Daniel and Annie Kilcannon had been driven by one thing as a couple: to do what was best for their children, no matter how old the six of them were. And the way they were living now?

  Not best for his far-flung six-pack.

  Annie used to say, You’re only as happy as your least-happy kid.

  And today, none of them could be called happy, and not just because they’d had to say goodbye to a mother they loved with their whole hearts and souls.

  Not one of them, with the possible exception of Aidan, was fully content. Three of them had picked up and moved across the country to the Pacific Northwest to follow their brother Garrett when he sold his company. Now they all worked for an industry behemoth, and it wasn’t fun like it was when they were helping Garrett run a start-up in Chapel Hill. Liam openly loathed the Seattle hipsters, didn’t even drink coffee, and was broodier than ever, if that was possible. And Shane was a damn good attorney, but he didn’t seem to have any enthusiasm for the meaningless corporate contracts he’d been stuck with out there.

  Darcy’s wanderlust was rearing its capricious head again, making her threaten to quit her job and head to Australia or Austria—he couldn’t remember which—to catch up with her wayward cousin and get into whatever trouble those two always were getting into.

  And Garrett? He’d been on fire when he started that Internet company a few years ago. The most restless of Daniel’s six kids, Garrett had found his passion and thrived in a world that combined his technological prowess and leadership skills. But then Garrett chased the almighty dollar and gave up control. Sure, he’d made them all a pile of money, but it cost the boy his soul, because ever since he signed that contract and sold his company a month ago, he’d changed. It was like he’d built a wall around himself, and nothing could take it down.

  Molly stayed right here in Bitter Bark and had taken over Daniel’s veterinary practice in town. But even with the special relationship she enjoyed with her daughter, Molly had a sadness in her eyes, too, since most of her siblings had moved across the country.

  They all needed to be home and be a family, now more than ever. And they needed families of their own. And, clearly, they needed a little help to make that happen.

  Oh hell, they didn’t call him the Dogfather just because he was a damn good vet who’d rescued and raised a lot of dogs in his time. He could still hear Annie’s wind-chime laugh and tender touch as she teased him with the nickname that suited both his love of animals and his ability to get people to do what he wanted.

  Except, he hadn’t been able to get Annie
to live. He swallowed at the sharp pain in his chest, fighting the sting of tears. He had to manage the grief and agony and emptiness. And he would, because Annie wouldn’t want him moping around like a basset hound without a bone.

  “I have to make them realize how much happier they’d be back home in Bitter Bark, North Carolina,” he said to his dog, who’d jumped off the bed and rubbed his head against Daniel’s leg.

  The dog barked once, which Daniel took as a hearty agreement, but was probably a reminder that it was time for Rusty to visit the grass.

  “I’m not manipulating them,” he said, feeling the need to defend the idea that was taking hold. He was being a fifty-six-year-old widower who wanted his family whole and happy.

  On a sigh, he wandered to the window, pushed back the sheer curtain, and looked out over what he could see of the nearly one hundred acres of Waterford Farm. His gaze drifted over the rolling hills, the woods laden with the golds and reds of fall, the sunshine glistening like crystals on the pond.

  Closer to the main house, which had grown and been remodeled repeatedly over the last thirty years, he could see Liam and Shane in the pen outside the kennels, already working with the two foster Dobies Annie had taken in before she died.

  Garrett was perched on a split-rail fence, watching his brothers snap their fingers and dole out treats and affection to get the new rescues to obey. Garrett turned toward the house, and after a few seconds, Molly and Aidan came into sight, side by side, next in line in age, carrying coffee mugs, deep in conversation.

  What a shame that Aidan’s first chance to come home as an Army Ranger was for his mother’s funeral. Behind them, Darcy came bounding out, her fluffball of a Shih Tzu, aptly named Kookie, on her heels.

  Leaning against the glass, he watched the scene unfold, aching for his wife. Annie would love this, standing together in the bedroom window, spying on their now-grown offspring as they played with the dogs, both of them drowning in pride and love for this strong, solid, smart brood of theirs.

  A gentle tap on his door pulled his attention, and since he could see all six of his kids and knew for certain his nine-year-old granddaughter was still asleep, that left only one person who’d spent the night after the funeral in his big, empty home. “Come in, Gramma Finnie.”

  The door inched open to his eighty-three-year-old mother, already dressed in a crisp cotton blouse and brightly colored cardigan, her short white hair styled, her pink lipstick and rouge applied with care. “Just checking on you, lad.”

  He was so not a lad anymore, but his mother, who’d lived in Ireland until she was twenty, still had a lilting brogue and still thought of all males under eighty as lads.

  “I’m watching the kids in the yard,” he said, beckoning her to join him.

  “They’re hardly kids.”

  “To me, they are.”

  With a soft laugh, she came closer, adjusting her wire-rimmed bifocals to get a good look. “It’s what Seamus always wanted,” she said wistfully, smiling as she did any time she spoke of her husband, Daniel’s father, gone ten years now. “The day we arrived from Ireland and stepped foot on this land in 1954, he wanted two things for this homestead.”

  Kids and dogs.

  Daniel had heard the story a thousand times but humored his mother, his heart too bruised from the reminder that life was far too short to interrupt a natural storyteller like Finola Kilcannon.

  “‘Finnie,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a lot of money and a lot of land. Let’s name this place after the company that made us rich and fill it with the things we love most: kids and dogs.’”

  Of course, he knew Waterford Farm was named after the famed Irish company that bought the glassblowing business Seamus had inherited from his father. Made wealthy enough to leave Ireland by the deal, twenty-five-year-old Seamus Kilcannon had taken his wife and baby son to America in search of land and a new life.

  “And we did our best,” she continued. “Three kids, though…” She tipped her head, the mention of his older brother, Liam, still, after all these years, painful for her. “And more dogs rescued, raised, or fostered than I can count.” She looked up at him, her crystal-blue eyes watery. “But it wasn’t until you and Annie got married that his dream was truly fulfilled.”

  Married in a big fat hurry, he thought, thanks to the unexpected conception of his eldest son. With Daniel still in veterinarian school and a baby on the way, the young couple had moved into Waterford Farm at the urging of Seamus and Finola, a couple who’d had their own unexpected conception of a son, also named Liam.

  Then along came Shane, and when Annie was pregnant with Garrett, his parents decided to move to an old Victorian home in town and hand over all the land and the house to the growing second generation of American Kilcannons. And, of course, Daniel and Annie continued the tradition of taking in dogs, training and housing them in a small five-stall kennel that Daniel and his older sons built with their own hands.

  “And now those kids are all moved on,” he said, hating the broken sound of his voice.

  “They’re right there,” his mother said. “Where they belong.”

  “They do belong here,” he said, returning to the thought that had woken him this morning. “They’re all happiest here.”

  “Then keep them here, lad.”

  “How can I do that without interfering in their lives?”

  “Give them a choice and see what they choose. They know their own hearts.”

  Daniel thought about that, an idea—a fantasy, really—taking shape.

  “You know that Annie and I drew up plans to expand the barn and shelter, add training areas and classrooms, and build Waterford Farm into a top-notch dog rescue, training, shelter, and veterinary business.”

  “And now those plans are dead?” she asked.

  No, Annie was dead. He leaned his head against the cool glass and gave in to a sigh that made Rusty come and check on his master.

  “I know, I know,” he muttered. “I have to think about it.”

  His mother stepped back from the window. “You’re in mournin’, lad. But you know you’ll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind,” she said, an Irish proverb always at the ready.

  And always right.

  Suddenly, Molly turned and looked up at the window, spying him there. She tilted her head to the side, her chocolate-colored curls falling over drooping shoulders, her expression as easy to read as one of the puppies’.

  Are you all right, Dad?

  He saw her say something to Aidan, who looked up, and that same sympathy changed the young warrior’s face to something softer. Liam and Shane stopped training the dogs to gaze up, too, their muscular bodies tightening with the hit of pain. He could read Garrett’s lips as he dragged his hand through his thick, dark hair and muttered, “Poor Dad.”

  After a moment, Darcy reached both arms up toward the window and flicked her fingers, inviting him to join them, the same sadness in her expression.

  His mother put a hand on his shoulder, pulling his attention to her weathered face. “Giving this homestead and all the land to you while we were still alive was the easiest decision Seamus and I ever made. Maybe it’s time you ask your children if they’d like the same thing.”

  He knew she was right.

  She leaned over and ruffled Rusty’s fur. “You think about that, and I’ll take this darlin’ boy out to the yard.” She started to go out, and Rusty didn’t hesitate to follow. “That’s a good dog,” she whispered. “You know I’ve got a weakness for ya, puppy. You’re the spittin’ image of my Corky. Did I tell you about Corky? He was with us on that September day in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and fifty-four when we drove that old bucket o’ bolts into the town of Bitter Bark, and when Seamus read the sign, that dog made so much noise that…”

  Her brogue faded along with Rusty’s footsteps on the hardwood of the hall, leaving Daniel completely alone to gaze at his family out the window.

  You’re only as happy as your least-ha
ppy kid.

  It was time to fix that. And if they all came back to where they belonged, maybe he could help each of them find a love as strong and real as the one he and Annie had shared. Not interfere, no. Just guide them, as he always had.

  The decision made, his heart felt lighter.

  He turned to the big empty bed where he’d shared so many laughs, so much love, and thirty-six deeply content years with Annie.

  He could imagine her loving smile. Feel her hand on his shoulder. Sense her spirit next to him. And, Lord, he could hear her sweet, sensible, stable voice.

  Go, Daniel. Be the Dogfather and make them an offer they can’t refuse.

  Chapter One

  THREE YEARS LATER

  Oh, this couldn’t be good.

  Being yanked from a deadline story and summoned to her boss’s office was never pleasant for Jessica Curtis, but when the other guest chair was occupied by Mercedes Black, it pretty much ensured the day was headed south in a hurry.

  Before entering, Jessie slowed her step and peered over the stack of papers on Mac Thomas’s desk to see if his shiny dome could be spotted on the other side of the mountain of mess. Of course not. Mac was getting coffee, because it was like him to demand his staff drop everything and then not be there while he took care of his needs.