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Family Matters. Joan Kilby
Читать онлайн.Название Family Matters
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781472024657
Автор произведения Joan Kilby
Жанр Современные любовные романы
Издательство HarperCollins
“No, no, no,” Marc chided. With a combination of pushing on Rowdy’s rump and pulling up on his lead Marc got him back into a sitting position. “Sit. Stay.”
This time he wheeled backward down the driveway, keeping a stern eye on the dog. After a moment’s hesitation, Rowdy started inching forward on his belly, ears flattened, wagging his tail in a submissive posture.
They were out in the front yard because Leone had complained about the dog’s nails scratching her hardwood floors. But with all the distracting scents and sounds of the outdoors Rowdy was finding it hard to stay focused.
“Okay, boy, we’ll try it once more.”
He maneuvered Rowdy back into position. The dog sat for all of thirty seconds until a crow flew out of the spruce tree at the side of the house. Rowdy darted after it, barking loudly.
“So you’ve got a voice. Hurrah,” Marc said wearily. “Come, Rowdy.”
The dog ignored him. When the crow flapped his wings lazily and flew to a pine across the road, Rowdy charged after it, and was narrowly missed by an approaching car.
“Rowdy! Come!” Marc called, wheeling to the end of the driveway.
Rowdy looked over his shoulder at Marc as if to say, “are you kidding?” With more spunk than he’d shown thus far, he barked and continued to chase the bird. Marc called insistently, alternating between an angry and an encouraging tone. Nothing worked.
He was forced to follow the dog down the road, finally cornering Rowdy in a driveway where he was playfully barking at a beagle behind a gate.
Marc dragged Rowdy back to his own yard, scolding, “I can’t run after you if you take off. What if you get hit by a car, or someone even more bad tempered than me dognaps you?”
Rowdy stretched his long body out on the grass and rested his muzzle on his paws, gazing up at Marc with wrinkled eyebrows as if he was as perplexed as Marc about how to solve the problem.
“I should never have agreed to take you,” Marc told him. “It’s all Fiona’s fault for guilting me into it. No, don’t look at me with those puppy-dog eyes. I can’t train you properly and once I’m out of the chair I won’t be around to look after you. I ought to take you to the pound right now.”
Rowdy crawled forward on his belly and lovingly and thoroughly began laving Marc’s bare foot with long flat swipes of his tongue. Marc’s first instinct was to push him away but a second glance stopped him. Rowdy was concentrating his efforts on a scabbed over scrape he’d gotten when he’d bumped into a sharp corner after a shower and not felt it.
The dog was cleaning his wound with intense doggy devotion. It gave him the oddest feeling.
“Come on, then, mutt. We’ll find an obedience class.” Marc wheeled up the sheet of plywood Jim had put in place as a makeshift ramp and into the house. Rowdy trotted along on his short legs, apparently quite happy to obey when he agreed with the directive.
Marc spent half an hour on the phone trying to find a class but the one in Whistler was full and not accepting new members. Another class was starting in Squamish in two weeks but Marc didn’t want to ask Leone or Jim to drive an hour each way.
“There’s always the library,” Marc told Rowdy then caught himself. He was talking to a dog.
“Did I hear you say you were going to the library?” Leone came into the room dressed to go out in black slacks and a dark green blazer with an autumn-colored silk scarf. It was Wednesday, her day off. “I can drop you there on my way to the hairdresser.”
“Thanks.” Marc put Rowdy in the fenced backyard with a bone and a squeaky toy, telling him, “I won’t be long.”
Built on the model of an alpine village, Whistler sparkled in the autumn sun beneath the glistening peaks of Whistler and Blackcomb Mountains. Tourists from all over the world strolled along the pedestrian-only lanes and squares, browsing the well-kept shops and restaurants. Sports enthusiasts, from mountain bikers in padded shorts and body armor to glacier skiers in long nylon pants and dark goggles rode or strode purposefully toward their individual pursuits, many heading for the chairlifts at the edge of town.
Leone pulled into the handicapped zone in the library parking lot. “How long do you think you’ll be?”
“I’m not sure,” Marc said. “I might go to the pub afterward. I’ll get a taxi back.” He could let Fiona know how the dog was doing. After a week’s abstinence he had a thirst but it wasn’t for bourbon.
Leone fingered the ends of her scarf, her expression troubled. “Marc, honey…”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he forestalled her before she could lecture him on his drinking. “But I’m a big boy. Don’t worry about me.”
“Jim and I do worry. You’ve never drunk too much before, not even when you first came of legal drinking age. Excess alcohol isn’t good for your health and it might even affect your recovery.”
“I know,” Marc said, smoothing out the curling ends of the Band-Aids covering the blistered pads of his palms.
Leone noticed and heaved an exasperated sigh. “When are you going to do something about your hands? All it takes is a phone call to Nate and he’ll bring you a pair of leather cycling gloves. I’ll do it for you.”
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