Chasing Tail Page 8

  “Take a lesson, my man,” Connor murmured to Frank. “We love dogs around here. But…Dogmothers?” He raised his voice and got the attention of both the older ladies and the teenager sitting at Yiayia’s feet and playing with the two dachshunds who were never far away.

  “What is it, lad?”

  “Thanks for the help.” He slathered a few layers of sarcasm on the sentence.

  Yiayia’s rocker stilled as her unnaturally smooth face lit up. “She’s your new girlfriend?”

  “Sweet Saint Patrick, that was fast.” Gramma Finnie chuckled.

  Pru reached her hand up to get a high five from them. “Dogmother record. I’m calling it.”

  “No. She’s my new opponent for mayor.”

  “Opponent?” Yiayia dropped back like the weight of this news was too much for the old Greek matriarch. “She wasn’t supposed to be against you. At least, not in that way.”

  “She was signin’ up to be your campaign manager, lad.” Gramma Finnie tipped her rocker all the way forward. “That was the plan, not anything else.”

  “Well, your plan blew up.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the porch post, vaguely aware of Shane and Chloe coming up behind him from the kennels and Uncle Daniel, Aunt Katie, and God only knew how many others listening on the other side of the kitchen screen door.

  When neither his grandmother nor her Greek partner-in-crime said a word, he took the last step and narrowed his gaze on the tiny Irish woman who was as wily as she was strong.

  “Finola Kilcannon. You meddled, and now I could lose the election.”

  Eyes the color of summer skies sparked as she took a slow, deep breath. “Oh, lad. ’Twas your heart we wanted you to lose, not the race.”

  Yiayia reached out to put a hand on his arm. “We only meant to help you because she’s so pretty and has all that political experience, and we had been talking to her nana about her for a while. Then we met her, and she seemed so pretty and eager and…pretty.”

  “You like pretty,” Gramma added coyly. “And so we suggested the lass be your campaign manager.”

  He felt his eyes shutter closed, knowing there was no reasoning with an eighty-eight-year-old Irishwoman on a mission to marry off every single grandchild while she still had breath in her body. Still, he had to try.

  “You two have to stop sticking your noses in everyone’s personal lives.”

  “’Twould be like holdin’ our breath, lad.”

  He heard the laughter from behind the screen door and more from his cousin Shane, who joined them on the patio with Chloe, who held their six-month-old, Annabelle.

  “All of town hall is buzzing with the news,” Chloe said, dodging the grabby hands of her baby, who managed to pull a sizable strand out of Chloe’s always-neat ponytail.

  “Happy buzzing?” Connor asked.

  “Well, Aunt Blanche isn’t unhappy to have another candidate.”

  “Wait a second,” Pru said, sitting up straight, a frown pulling her young features. “Your aunt Blanche is happy about Connor having more opposition? What’s up with that?”

  “Exactly!” Yiayia interjected. “What kind of family traitor is this mayor?”

  “She’s happy because she wants someone to beat Easterbrook,” Connor said. “And I don’t think she’s thrilled with the idea of Frank the Dog stepping into the shoes of Frank the Mayor.”

  Chloe sighed, brushing back that loose hair. “You’re right,” she said. “Aunt Blanche is torn, obviously. She would love family in the office, and you are that, through me.”

  “Through me,” Shane added.

  “’Tis all family,” Gramma reminded them. “And we help each other.”

  “By sending me a really strong opponent?” He shot her an accusatory glance.

  “By sending you a…”

  “Wife,” Yiayia said.

  He choked hard, ignoring the snickering from the others. “For God’s sake, ladies. No more matchmaking. We’re adults. We can handle our own lives.”

  Gramma Finnie crossed her arms in front of her polka dot sweater. “Then what’s takin’ you so long, lad?”

  “I was on the job already, Gramma. If you’d just let things be, I’d have had a better chance with her and the election. I’d already met her a few weeks ago.”

  “And had, what, exactly zero dates with her since then?”

  He huffed out a noisy breath and shook his head. Did he really have to get romance advice from them? Here and now?

  But Gramma Finnie ignored his not-so-subtle message. “We thought if she was your campaign manager, you two would have…what was that thing, Pru? The thing you mentioned in your modern literature paper?”

  “Forced proximity.”

  “That sounds illegal,” he shot back. And fun.

  “Well, they did the frenemies thing with Alex and Grace,” Pru said. “And that worked.”

  “And friends turned into a couple with Cassie and Braden.”

  “What are you even talking about?” Connor asked.

  “Tropes and themes,” Pru said. “We’re studying them in my English class, and my teacher says as long as we can find them in literature, it doesn’t matter if we use Shakespeare or romance novels, so you can guess which one I picked.” She lifted a paperback next to her, showcasing a photoshopped calendar shot of a shirtless guy on the cover.

  “You’re allowed to read that trash in high school?”

  Her back straightened. “It is not trash, Connor Mahoney.” She fired the words at him. “These are stories about empowerment and love.”

  “And…frenemies?”

  She shrugged. “That’s just one trope. There’s also hot neighbor next door, fake fiancée, best friend’s little sister. The Dogmothers can give them all a try.”

  Everyone else thought it was hilarious, but irritation marched up his spine and settled into a low-grade headache at the base of his brain.

  “You are all out of your ever-lovin’ minds.” He leaned closer and sliced all three of the meddlers, including the teenage one, with a warning gaze. “How about you just let me play The Bachelor? How’s that for a trope?”

  “That’s a show, dummy, not a trope,” Pru said. “The trope would be…love in a month? Insta-love? Reality show? There’s a lot of ways you could go with that.”

  “How about going this way…out of my love life, please?”

  “I’d hardly call it a ‘love’ life, lad.”

  “More like a love-’em-and-leave-’em life,” Pru muttered.

  “And a lonely one,” Yiayia added with a dramatic, sad sigh.

  He just stood there for a moment, then let out a soft laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you work your…your tropes on someone else. Now she’s my opponent in the race and…”

  “And that screws up your chances of ever going out with her,” Garrett finished.

  He glanced at his cousin, hating that he was right. He didn’t want to miss out on a chance with Sadie, but it might be too late. And God knew he’d given it his best shot. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

  “Ships can be turned around,” Gramma Finnie said. “It takes a strong wind and a keen sailor, but it can be done.”

  “Honestly, you are relentless.”

  “I like relentless. Has a nice ring to it, donchya think?” Gramma pushed up her old bones and put a gnarled hand on his arm. “Come now, lad. Let me pour you a Jameson’s. You look like you need one.”

  Chapter Seven

  It wasn’t Capitol Hill, that was for sure.

  Still, walking up the steps to Bitter Bark’s town hall had a certain charm to it, especially when Sadie turned and looked out over the square where the giant statue of Thaddeus Ambrose Bushrod stood sentry over the small town he founded in the mid-1800s.

  As she entered the town hall and crossed the marble lobby to the elevator, she remembered the highlights from her long conversation with Nana and Boomie last evening, discussing all the town history that they knew. Of course, the discussion slid into
personal pasts, how they’d moved here in the early sixties and Boomie got a job managing the local market. But when Elaine Winthrop Hartman was mentioned, the old sadness came over Nana, and they called it a night.

  Which only steeled Sadie’s resolve to beat the man who was so much a part of that heartache. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one to blame for the broken marriage and family. But Sadie had spent so much of her life blaming her mother, it actually felt comforting to redistribute some of that old resentment to the man who helped make it happen.

  But today, she had to put the old hurts out of her head and force herself to think about the Election Committee meeting that was starting in a few minutes. This would be the first time she’d seen Mitch Easterbrook since the whole affair blew up and Mom moved as far away from Bitter Bark—and her family—as possible. She had to be strong and on her game.

  Plus, there would be another man in the room putting her off-balance. Sweet and sexy as he was, Connor Mahoney was still her opponent—well, his dog was—and he might try to trip her up. She already knew the words local hero would be in every message he sent to the voters of Bitter Bark.

  She was the outsider. He even called her DC.

  Except when he’d said it, instead of an insult, he made the initials sound like a term of endearment and kind of made her toes—

  “Hey, DC.”

  Curl.

  She turned and offered a smile, which faltered and slipped at the sight of Connor in a white dress shirt that fit his broad shoulders like it had been tailor-made to melt over his muscles. He wore a narrow, understated striped navy tie…and Frank wore one of almost the same color and pattern.

  She looked from one to the other and sighed out a laugh. “Honestly, no one else stands a chance against this guy.”

  “All part of my campaign plan,” he said. “Also what happens when you have dog groomers in the family.”

  “Hello, handsome.” She reached for Frank’s head, but the dog backed up and stared nervously at her.

  “Frank, when a lady calls you handsome, you smile and say ‘thank you.’ Also, you could add, ‘You look gorgeous, too.’ Watch and learn, doggo.” He took a slow appraisal of her dove-gray jacket and skirt, lingering on her no-nonsense pumps, then moving his gaze back to her face with a light in his eyes. “Although gorgeous would be an understatement.”

  She smiled as the elevator doors opened, and he gestured for her to go first into the empty car. “You should give flirting lessons to all the poor guys who are clueless about it.”

  “It’s not flirting,” he said with the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice. “I’m just naturally charming. And…” He leaned his head a little closer. “Brutally honest. God, you smell good.”

  She just laughed and shook her head. “Is this part of your plan, too?”

  “To compliment you out of the race? Maybe.” He winked. “Or maybe I really think you smell good and see no reason not to tell you.”

  The elevator bounced as it came to a stop, making Frank bark.

  “You tell her, Frankendog.”

  “Frankendog? I thought he was named for the former mayor.”

  He opened his mouth to respond, but the doors whooshed open, and Mayor Wilkins was standing there with a file folder against her chest.

  “Oh, there you are! Perfect. The Election Committee is in conference room two. I have to run down to the second floor for a second.”

  They exchanged places with her, letting Mayor Wilkins into the elevator as they stepped into the hall.

  “Frankendog?” Sadie repeated when the doors closed, and they were alone again, her voice rising.

  At the tone, Frank backed up, then dropped his head with a whimper.

  “Oh my God, I scared him.” She instantly bent down to pet him, but he cowered close to Connor. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Sadie.” He reached for her hand to straighten her and look into her eyes. “And yes, truth be told, I named him that without thinking. The minute I did, I realized it might be politically incorrect or offensive to someone somewhere, so I made up the Mayor Frank thing on the fly. Will you use that against me in a campaign message?”

  “Not if you don’t mention my cat was found outside a DNC office and that’s why she’s named Demi-cat. You never know how that’s going to go over.”

  His jaw loosened. “Okay, we both have secrets.” With a quick smile, he offered for her to go ahead of him to the conference room, where two men and two women—none of whom were Mitch Easterbrook, thank God—were chatting at the table. Maybe he wouldn’t show. Maybe, when he heard Sadie was a candidate, he’d dropped out.

  “There’s our local hero!” The woman with wavy hair and plastic-rimmed glasses rose from her seat and reached for the dog. “I saw your picture on the front page of the Bitter Bark Banner this morning! Looking so good at the top of the town hall stairs.”

  Frank looked a little horrified at the attention, barely moving when Connor led him around the table.

  “Hey, Nellie.” Connor reached to shake the woman’s hand. “He takes a minute to get used to people,” he added quickly. “By the way, nice job on the Saint Patrick’s Day decorations at the library. You do this Irish boy proud.”

  The woman, somewhere in her mid-fifties, blushed like a teenager being asked to dance. Because Connor Mahoney had that effect on all women, Sadie mused.

  “Nellie Shaker, this is Sadie Hartman, our newest mayoral candidate. Sadie, Nellie is our—”

  “Head librarian and historian,” Sadie finished, remembering what Connor had told her that first night outside the bar. “And also on the Election Committee?” she guessed as they shook hands.

  “Actually, no. I was asked to be here today.” A frown pulled behind Nellie’s plastic glasses. “You don’t know why?”

  Connor and Sadie glanced at each other, then shook their heads.

  “Bitter Bark history test?” he guessed.

  But no one else at the table was smiling as Nellie threw a look at the others. “They don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Sadie asked.

  “You’ll see.” The man sitting next to Nellie stood and extended his hand to Sadie. “Ricardo Mancini.”

  “Oh, you own Ricardo’s.” She recognized the name and the signature white hair. “It’s always been one of my favorite restaurants.”

  “I’m so sorry I don’t recognize you.” He looked intently at her, a light New York accent coming through in every word. “I thought I knew all my regular customers.”

  “Well, I haven’t been there in many years, but…” Because she hadn’t lived here since she was eighteen and was trying to act like a regular. “But I actually had my first date at Ricardo’s.”

  “Ah, well I love to hear stories like that. Did that romance last?”

  “Truth? No. I don’t remember his last name,” she admitted, making them all laugh. “But I will never forget the lasagna.”

  Connor gave her an easy smile and a wink. “Good save. And do you know Linda May Dunlap? Just mention the raspberry croissants, and you’re golden.”

  “I had one two days ago when I was in your bakery with my grandparents.”

  “I saw you there,” Linda May said, shaking Sadie’s hand. “I wish I had known then you were so interested in running for mayor.”

  Was that a little dig at her spontaneous decision? Before she could answer, a young man at the end of the table stood to greet them. “Gavin Stocker, vice president of the Bitter Bark Chamber of Commerce and head of the Election Committee.” He offered a firm handshake that matched his clipped hair, sharp tie, and zero-nonsense attitude. He actually looked like he’d stepped out of Nathan’s lobbying firm. “Welcome to Bitter Bark, Ms. Hartman. We are thrilled to have someone of your qualifications on the ballot.”

  “Ouch,” Connor joked, taking a seat. “Dog’s been dissed.”

  “Not the dog,” Gavin said, barely under his breath.

  Connor chuckled, but Sadie could practica
lly taste the tension between the two.

  “All righty, then.” Mayor Wilkins careened into the room, looking a little more frazzled than she had yesterday. “Mitch is here.”

  Ice slid through Sadie’s veins as she turned to the tall man in the doorway. His hair was more salt than pepper now, his torso a little thicker than she remembered, and his face bore a few more lines, but all she could see was the man who played such a pivotal role in shattering Sadie’s world.

  Next to her, Connor grunted softly, all humor disappearing from his expression.

  The rest of the people in attendance just kind of gave tight smiles, as if they all felt the same way about him. After an awkward beat, Connor pushed his chair out and stood, a little taller than Mitch and so, so much classier when he extended his hand.

  “Mitch. How are you?”

  “Mahoney.” He shook his hand, but he stole a glance at Sadie, then pointedly ignored her. “How are things at the fire department?”

  “Fine. I think you know Frank, our hero dog and your other worthy opponent.”

  He looked down at the dog, who had most of his body on top of Connor’s shoes. “With all due respect to your clever and newsworthy idea, I’m not going to dignify Frank with an acknowledgment.”

  Disgust crawled up Sadie’s spine. He hadn’t changed. He was still awful, only now he had a paunch and gray hair. Oh, Mom. How could you have been so stupid?

  “Then how about Sadie?” Connor said, as if he wouldn’t let the guy get away with dismissing her, too. “Will you dignify this opponent with your acknowledgment?”

  The question sent a zing of appreciation through her, but no small amount of fear. How was Mitch going to handle their past? He had to remember exactly who she was.

  He merely nodded at her. “I don’t have any opponents,” he said as he walked straight to the empty chair at the head of the table, which, of course, was where Mayor Wilkins should have sat.

  “Now that’s confidence,” Connor joked as they all sat down.