Sherryl Woods - Dogwood Hill

Nope, what caught his eye was the slender woman with her blond hair tousled, her laugh carrying on the breeze as she chased a puppy that was trying valiantly to herd a flock of unhappy Canada geese.

Just then the dog, some sort of black, white and brown Aussie shepherd mix from the looks of him, spotted Aidan, bounded over and tried to corral him into joining the geese in the nice tight group he was apparently envisioning in his instinctive puppy brain. With a black patch of fur around one eye, he bore a striking resemblance to a pirate, causing Aidan’s smile to spread.

“Stop it! Archie, that’s enough,” the woman commanded, fighting hard, but unsuccessfully, to swallow another laugh. “Sit. Be nice.”

Archie obediently sat, tongue lolling, and gave Aidan a hopeful look.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “He got away from me.”

“No problem,” Aidan replied.

“Actually it is a problem. The town has very strict leash laws,” she explained as she snapped Archie’s leash to his collar, “except for the dog park on the other side of the hill. It’s fenced in, so the dogs are allowed to run free, but Archie here spotted the geese, instinct kicked in and the second someone opened the gate, he took off on a mission to round them up. He thinks it’s his job.”

“He’s very good at it. Where do I fit in? Not being a goose, that is.”

When she smiled, amusement setting off sparks in her deep blue eyes, it quite simply took his breath away.

“Oh, he thinks anything that moves is fair game,” she confided. “He’s very diligent.”

Aidan, who’d never owned a pet, regarded the dog warily. “What happens now? If I move, does he try to snag me by the hand to drag me back?”

“I think you’re safe for the moment, though if you happen to have a dog treat in your pocket, you’ll make a friend for life.”

“Sorry. No treats.”

As if he understood, Archie stared at him dolefully, then inched closer, finally butting Aidan’s hand.

“He’ll take a good head rub, instead,” she told him. “Don’t worry. He really is harmless. I’ve only had him for a couple of weeks, but he’s been a real gentleman. His owner had to give him up because he was too energetic for her, so he’s looking for a new person and a new purpose.”

“Thus the geese,” Aidan guessed.

“Exactly.”

“Are you his new person?”

“Oh, no,” she said at once. “I already have two dogs and a cat, none of which I intended to have, but people know I take in strays and try to find new homes for them. When something like this comes up, they bring their pets to me. Cordelia’s grandchildren meant well when they gave her a pet for her birthday, but they didn’t really think about her being close to eighty. It happens a lot. People think the elderly need companionship, but they really have no idea which animal might be best suited for the job.”

“And you do?”

“I’d like to think so. Cordelia now has a beautiful cat whose owner died. Fluffy sits in her lap and purrs. They’re both content with their new arrangement.”

“What about the three animals still with you?” he asked, sensing that she was a woman for whom compassion probably overruled good sense on many occasions.

“I’m afraid I got attached,” she admitted with a rueful expression. “I’m Elizabeth March, by the way. Most people call me Liz. I own Pet Style on Main Street a few doors up the street from Sally’s Café. I opened just before Christmas last year.”

Aidan couldn’t stop the grin that threatened. “Pet Style?” he repeated. “I had no idea pets were fashion conscious.” He glanced pointedly at Archie as he spoke. The dog was happily sniffing a buttercup. His leather collar looked as if it had been given a good chew on more than one occasion. The serviceable, but unremarkable, leash was equally worn.

“They’re not, but their owners sure are,” Liz said. “You’d be amazed. Just last week I sold a fancy rhinestone-studded designer dog collar for $150. I’d expected to be stuck with it, but thought I should give a couple of high-end items a try. Sure enough, a tourist grabbed it up an hour after I put it on display.”

Aidan shook his head in astonishment. On a beginning coach’s salary, he’d be lucky to buy dog food and pay vet bills. Thankfully, he’d spent frugally and invested wisely during his couple of years as a pro football player. When he glanced back at Liz, she was regarding him speculatively.

“You wouldn’t, by any chance, be looking for a dog?” she inquired, turning those bright blue eyes on him in a way that would probably get most men to agree to do just about anything she requested. “He’s up to date on all his shots and he’s housebroken. Best of all, Archie already likes you.”

Archie was, indeed, happily sprawled across his feet, apparently having concluded that he was no longer going to be allowed to run free, so Aidan shouldn’t be allowed to budge, either. He promptly perked up at the mention of his name. For half an instant, Aidan was actually tempted to say yes, if only to make this woman happy. Fortunately, given his circumstances, common sense kicked in.

“You’re very good at finding new homes for your strays, aren’t you?” he said.

“So it seems,” she said, beaming.

“Sorry. Not this time. I don’t have room in my apartment for a dog this size, and if those paws are the indicators they’re supposed to be, Archie here is bound to get bigger. I may be moving soon, anyway.”

“ To Chesapeake Shores, not away,” she said, as if it was a fact he’d already revealed. “You’re going to be the new football coach.”

Aidan just stared at her. “Are you psychic, too?”

“Nope, but the town loves its team, and the word on the street is that an ex-pro player is going to be coaching next season. Everyone has high hopes we’ll stop being the laughingstock of the region. Since you look like a jock and you were standing out here admiring the stadium, I just put two and two together.”

He gave her an amused look. “How does a jock look?”

Color tinted her cheeks. “You know, fit, well toned.”

He laughed. “I see. Well, I am Aidan Mitchell,” he confirmed. “And I’m interviewing for the job, but I don’t have it yet.”

“Oh, you’ll get it,” she said confidently. “Everyone’s very excited. You’ll be the second pro player in town. Of course, Mack Franklin grew up here, and he only played professionally for a season before becoming a sports columnist, but the town loves him. He started a local weekly newspaper a couple of years back. It’s a very tough business, if you know anything about newspapers these days, but he’s beaten the odds because it’s the best way to find out what’s going on in town.” She paused for breath, then amended, “Aside from sitting in Sally’s and listening to the gossip, anyway. At least Mack tries to bring some journalistic credibility into play.”

After growing up in New York, Aidan was astonished by this insight into small-town ways. Or perhaps it was just Liz March, who chattered like a magpie. “Does Mack know that his competition is a local café?”

“Of course he does. Sally’s his best source. But mostly he’d be the first to find out what’s going on, anyway. He’s married to an O’Brien, which makes him practically royalty in Chesapeake Shores.”

Aidan instinctively stiffened at the comment, though he hoped she hadn’t noticed. “Why is that?”

“You don’t know the town’s history?” she asked, looking startled.

“Is it a criteria for living here?” he asked, mostly in jest. “Do they give a test at the Realtor’s office?”

“Not really,” she said, apparently taking him seriously. “It’s just a local legend, so people tend to know it. As I understand it, the land originally belonged to an O’Brien who came here straight from Ireland. His family farmed it for years. A couple of decades ago, three of his descendants—Mick, Jeff and Thomas O’Brien—built Chesapeake Shores from scratch on that land.”