Hot Dog (7 page)

“You mean you've been here the whole time?”

Phil nodded.

“Why didn't you call and tell me not to come?”

“And deprive Maisie and Mutt of the pleasure of your company?” His voice was smooth, his tone oily. He reminded me of a man sitting on a bar stool and trying out pickup lines by rote. “You know how much they look forward to your visits.”

“They're wonderful dogs. I look forward to seeing them, too.”

So why was I suddenly feeling so uncomfortable? Looking for distraction, I grabbed a couple of paper towels off the roll and began to mop the floor. Puddle gone, I threw the towels in the garbage, then picked up the water bowl and refilled it in the sink.

Phil had gone over and sat down on the blanket between Mutt and Maisie. He had an arm curled around each. Usually I would take some time to play with the dogs now, maybe brush through their coats or clip their nails. But not unexpectedly, both seemed content to sit with their owner.

“I guess I'm done, then,” I said.

“Until Thursday,” Phil agreed. “Thanks. From all of us.”

“You're welcome.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked all the way to the front door. Or maybe it was my imagination again. Jill's power of suggestion seemed to be working on me, big time.

On the other hand, I supposed I could look on the bright side.

At least I hadn't found any dead bodies yet.

P
am's pony farm turned out to be a delightful piece of property tucked away in a private location just off Old Long Ridge Road. The unpaved driveway slowed my speed, giving me plenty of time to appreciate the pastoral setting. Fields, bound by post-and-rail fencing, flanked the long driveway. Each held a small band of grazing Welsh ponies. The ponies lifted their heads curiously as I drove by, then went back to munching contentedly on the abundant spring grass.

At the end of the driveway, I came to a barn that was long and low. Two rows of stalls opened off a wide, covered center aisle. Painted white with green trim, the stable matched a modest, tree-shaded clapboard house on the other side of a turnaround.

Two tricolor Jack Russell Terriers came zooming outside to bark at my arrival. They raced twice around the driveway, their short legs pumping like pistons, then disappeared back inside the barn. I guessed I'd been officially greeted.

Pulling over to park next to Bob's Trans Am in the shade of a large maple tree, I saw a riding ring out behind the barn. Davey was in the ring on Willow. Bob and Pam were leaning against the rail watching. I got out and went to join them.

“Great,” said Bob. “You made it. The lesson was supposed to be over ten minutes ago, but I asked Pam to hang on a little longer so you could see Davey ride.”

Pam flashed me a grin. “Bobby can be very persuasive.”

“Thanks for waiting,” I said. “I hope I didn't inconvenience you too much.”

“Not at all. Davey's a great kid.”

I found myself warming to Pam. All right, what mother wouldn't?

Coming around the turn at a sedate walk, Davey lifted his reins and steered the palomino pony over to the rail. “Look Mom! I'm riding.”

“I can see that. Is it fun?”

“It's great. I can even trot. Want to see me? Pam says someday I'll be able to gallop. Willow knows how to jump, too.”

“Not so fast.” Pam laughed. “We're going to take things one step at a time.” She reached out and corrected the position of Davey's leg. “Heels down, remember?”

“Yup.” Davey nodded seriously. “Heels down. Eyes ahead. If I begin to slip, grab hold of the mane.”

“What'd I tell you?” said Bob. “He's a natural.”

All right, let's give some credit where it's due. Davey did look good on the pony. Happy, too. Hard as it was for me to admit, there were definite pluses to having Bob back in his son's life. Not just for Davey, but for me as well.

For years I'd wrestled with the pressures of being a single parent. I'd driven myself crazy trying to get everything about Davey's upbringing just right. Now suddenly, with Bob back in the picture, some of the heat was off. Never in my wildest dreams would it have occurred to me to get Davey a pony. But here, sitting right in front of me, was proof of how good the idea had been.

“Take her one more time around, Davey,” Pam instructed. “Then it'll be time to go in.”

“Okay.” Davey turned the pony's head back to the track and pressed his heels to her sides. Obligingly, Willow ambled away.

“What a nice pony,” I said. “Is she always that quiet?”

“With beginners, yes. She knows her job and she's very good at it. Some of the other ponies are a little livelier, but from what Bobby told me about Davey I thought Willow would be the best choice to get him started.”

Pam walked over to the gate and opened it, waiting as the palomino completed her circuit of the ring. The pony walked through the opening and headed automatically for the back of the barn. Reins looped on her neck, Davey turned in the saddle and waved.

From where I was standing, it looked as though Willow was the decision-making half of that team. But then again, Davey was having a ball, so who was I to complain?

I glanced over at my ex-husband. He was gazing at his son proudly.
“Bobby?”

Bob flushed slightly. “Don't ask me. Pam's the one who started it.”

“I see.” My lips twitched. “I thought maybe that was your cowboy name.”

“Smart-ass.” He reached over and smacked me on the butt. “That's the last time I confess something about my childhood to you.”

“I hope not.” It occurred to me that I was getting to know Bob much better now than I had when we were married. For the first time we were forming a real relationship as adults. Better late than never. “Is Davey finished now?”

“Not quite yet. It'll be another twenty minutes or so. Pam has this theory that it's really important for kids to learn how to take care of their ponies, not just be riders. Davey will help her take Willow's tack off, brush her dry, and pick out her feet. He's not done until the pony is ready to go back in her stall.”

It sounded like a good system to me.

“If Pam can make that work,” I said, “maybe she can come over sometime and teach Davey how to clean up his room.”

“She probably could,” said Bob. “Pam's pretty determined. She inherited this place from her parents, but she runs it all by herself. I wouldn't think it would be easy to make a go of it, but she does. Teaching lessons in the spring and fall, camp in the summer. She also sells some of the ponies she breeds to the big show barns in Greenwich and North Salem.”

“I have to admit I'm a little envious. I'd love to have this much land and this much privacy. Faith and Eve would love it here.”

Speaking of the Poodles, who were waiting for us at home, was impetus enough to make me push away from the fence and head for the barn to collect my child. “I've got a pot roast simmering in the crock pot,” I told Bob. “Do you want to join us for dinner?”

“I would but . . .”

I paused and glanced back. Bob's expression was carefully neutral. “But what?”

“Pam and I sort of have plans.”

“Pam and you . . . ?”

Oh.

I guessed I should have seen that coming. Pam wasn't just an acquaintance who'd managed to convince Bob that a pony would make a nice present for his son, she was a woman he was interested in. Of course. Willow's unexpected arrival in our lives made much more sense now.

“That's all right, isn't it?”

I looked up. To my surprise, Bob seemed to be waiting for my approval. “Of course it's all right. Why wouldn't it be?”

“Well, you know, you and I . . . You and I, we were . . .”

“Married,” I supplied since he seemed to be having trouble getting the word out. “But you've also been married to Jennifer since then. I don't remember you caring what I thought about that at the time.”

“Yes, well, things are different now.”

He was right; they were. Bob had originally returned to Connecticut hoping to resurrect our relationship in Sam's absence. Things hadn't turned out the way he'd planned, but we'd come through the experience with a friendship that was stronger than ever.

Bob and I would never be partners again in any way except as Davey's parents, but I would always wish him the best. Pam seemed like a nice woman, and I certainly never expected him to live the life of a monk.

“Go for it,” I said. “Have a great time. You can have dinner with Davey and me any day.”

“Thanks.” Bob brushed a quick kiss across my cheek. “I'll hold you to that.”

“Feel free.” All at once my smile faded. That feeling was back. The one I'd had earlier of being watched.

I shivered slightly and had a look around. On one side, ponies were standing quietly in their pasture. Another held a patch of leafy woods where all seemed still. In the barn's center aisle, Pam was holding Willow while Davey carefully brushed her legs. Bob's and my cars were the only ones in the driveway.

All was just as it had been moments before. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except my back was tingling and I'd begun to sweat.

“What's the matter?” Bob asked.

“Nothing,” I said firmly.

As if saying it could make it so.

Wednesday, when school let out, I made one quick stop, then drove directly to Aunt Peg's house in Greenwich.

She and Rose were arguing again. Why on earth either one of them would think
I
would make a good mediator was beyond my comprehension. Nevertheless, I'd apparently been called up to active duty. Luckily for Davey, he had a play date, thus sparing him the spectacle of watching two grown women spar like a pair of WWF wrestlers.

When I got to Aunt Peg's house, Rose was already there. I saw her silver Taurus sitting in the driveway. It wasn't until I'd pulled up beside it, however, that I realized Rose was still sitting behind the wheel. That didn't bode well.

We opened our doors at the same time. Faith and Eve jumped out of the Volvo and immediately ran past me toward the wide steps that led to Aunt Peg's front door.

My aunt has scaled down her kennel considerably over the last few years. At the moment there are only five Cedar Crest Standard Poodles in residence, including Eve's brother Zeke. All of them live in the house; and all but Zeke are retired show champions.

Aunt Peg's Poodles are superb watchdogs. I knew they must have alerted her to Rose's arrival. Even now, I could hear them barking through the front windows of the house. Faith and Eve went flying up the steps, their voices joining with those of their relatives within.

“Been here long?” I asked Rose.

“Five minutes.” She reached back into the car and reemerged holding a small red Dachshund puppy. “I was gathering my thoughts.”

“Really? I thought maybe you were waiting for reinforcements.”

“That too.” Rose's smile was wry.

I held out my hands and she put the puppy into them. He turned his tapered face up to me and gave me a grin. His ears were soft as fine leather; his tail beat back and forth against my hip. What a little charmer.

“Peter and I have been calling him Dox,” said Rose. “I think he's beginning to know his name already. I'm trying very hard to stay objective. The last thing I need to do is get attached to him.”

“He probably ought to pee before we go inside,” I said. “Does he have a collar and leash?”

Rose shook her head. “He's never gone anywhere before. There's never been a need.”

Like Pam's pony farm, Aunt Peg's home had ample acreage and was set a distance back from the road. I lowered the puppy to the ground at my feet. “He should be fine, as long as the Poodles don't run over him.”

Which of course they did.

Waiting impatiently by the front door, Faith turned around to see what was keeping me. At the sight of Dox, her head flew up. She spun on her hindquarter and came racing back down the stairs.

New puppy!
Catching her excitement, if not its cause, Eve wheeled around and galloped in pursuit.

One good thing about being charged by two big, hairy Standard Poodles: it made the little Dachshund pee. Job complete, I whisked Dox back up into my arms. Both Poodles skidded to a stop in front of me, and I performed the introductions with him at eye-level rather than underfoot.

Rose glanced toward the house. If anything, the clamor of barking dogs had intensified. Briefly she closed her eyes.

“He's going to get trampled in there, isn't he?”

“Not if I can help it. I'll hold onto him until Aunt Peg puts the rest of those hooligans out back.”

The front door opened before we'd even reached the porch. Aunt Peg had probably been observing from inside for just as long as her dogs had. As the herd of Poodles danced around our legs, she favored Rose and me both with the same stern look.

“That puppy doesn't have fleas, does he?”

“No.” Rose sounded like she was guessing.

“Worms?”

“Certainly not!” Another guess.

“Has he had his baby shots?”

Rose shrugged helplessly.

“Why don't you call your friend Marian Firth and ask?” I suggested. “She's the one who ought to know.” Before Peg could protest, I thrust the puppy into her arms. “Isn't he sweet?”

You didn't have to be a dog person to be a sucker for a cute puppy. One look at Dox and Aunt Peg would turn to putty. At least that's what I was hoping.

“Adorable,” Aunt Peg agreed. Then her tone sharpened. “But then that's his function, isn't it? Quite a tall order for such a little dog. To be endearing enough to bring out the big bidders. To entice someone to plunk down a large sum of money on a thoroughly ill-conceived impulse purchase.”

Oops.

I reached out and took the Dachshund back. As I stroked his neck, he sniffed my sweater and curled himself happily against my chest. World War III might rage around us, but Dox was quite content.