Chapter Ten
“N ice atmosphere.” Sawyer waved an arm around Whitney’s restaurant in the Cotton Mill Inn. “How old is this hotel?”
Annabelle shook out her napkin and tucked it on her lap as Logan, their server, poured rich red Four Irish Brothers Winery pinot noir into their glasses. “Thanks,” she murmured before returning her full attention to Sawyer. “As a hotel, it’s only been here a couple of years…maybe three. But it used to be a working cotton mill.”
His brown eyes sparked with interest. “Ah, thus the name.” He glanced at the rough half-timbered wall and big fieldstone fireplace that Anna thought gave the place a cozy ambiance.
Gerry Ross had done a fantastic job renovating the old factory into a luxury inn, and the town had benefited greatly having another hotel for tourists. “Yup. The place was actually a factory from the late eighteen hundreds. But about forty years ago, it closed down. It sat abandoned until Meg made a deal with Gerry Ross’s company to turn it into a boutique hotel.”
“Meg?” He took up his round-bowled wine glass and swirled, sniffed, and sipped. Either he was a wine drinker, or he was showing off. When he closed his eyes for a second, clearly relishing the flavor of the fruit and spice and silky tannins that Anna loved about Conor and Sean Flaherty’s pinot, she knew it was the former. The guy was too honest and open to try to fake appreciation for good wine to impress her. It was one of the things she found appealing about him. What you see is what you get.
“Meg Flaherty was our mayor when Gerry Ross bought the building and transformed it. Now his wife is mayor.”
“I don’t think I’ve met Meg yet.” He took another sip.
“You will. She’s married to Sean Flaherty. Her dad is Mac, your landlord.”
“Oh, I think I’ve seen her in Mac’s yard—tall blonde with a toddler?”
“Yeah, Finn. He’s like three, I think. She’s also a CPA.”
“Okay, I saw some stuff from Mackenzie Financial Services on the clinic computer.”
“That’s Meg.” Anna smiled. “She probably does John’s taxes and payroll. She takes care of a lot of local businesses.”
Logan arrived with a huge charcuterie board that he placed on the table between them. Anna’s mouth watered at the colorful display of meats, cheeses, fruit, veggies, dips, and nuts. There was even a little dish of dark chocolate salted caramels on the carved wooden tray. Another server brought a basket of warm bread with a crock of butter and a basket with an assortment of crackers. “Wow, this is a lot of food.”
“We can pack up whatever you don’t finish,” Logan assured her. “Lots of folks who order this end up taking part of it home.”
“I love that restaurants are doing this stuff now…boards and small plates. Lots of choices in one meal.” Sawyer eyed the board appreciatively.
“We try to stay current.” Logan grinned as he topped off their wine glasses from the bottle on the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
Sawyer and Anna’s eyes met over the feast before he said, “No, I think we’re good, thanks.”
“Great. I’ll be back around.” Logan left and Sawyer handed Anna one of the small plates that were stacked on the table.
“I imagine I’ll get to know people as they bring their pets into the clinic.” Sawyer placed rolled ham, a couple of slices of some kind of white cheese, some cut-up carrots and snow peas, and a spoonful of dip on his plate. “I looked up Sam Flaherty’s dog and cats and saw several Flahertys with animals in the system.”
Anna hovered her hand over the tray before choosing some salami slices, brie, strawberries, carrots, cucumbers, and the crabmeat dip. “Yeah. This town is dog and cat crazy.”
“But you, not so much?” He buttered a chunk of baguette, handed it to her, and then buttered another for himself.
Anna accepted the bread, a little mystified. No man had ever done that before—fixed her bread for her. It was… disconcerting —there was that word again. But kinda nice . “Thanks.” She took a few bites before answering, trying to find a way to say that she didn’t want a pet without sounding like she didn’t like animals. She did like animals; she simply wasn’t certain she was in the heart space to take on that kind of commitment. She dissembled, “My life is too work-oriented to have time for a pet.”
They ate in silence, each of them tasting nibbles of this and that from the tray. Anna focused on the variety of cheeses, especially her favorite brie with the warm bread, while Sawyer seemed to relish the meats, crudités, and dips. They were both definitely taking home food, though. The charcuterie board was way too much for two people.
Sawyer scooped up dip with a cucumber slice, popped it into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then he took a deep breath, looking like someone who was about to deliver some bad news. “So, I get that you think you don’t want a pet, but here’s the thing…”
She paused, a bite of cracker and crab dip halfway to her mouth. Uh-oh, here it comes. “What’s the thing ?”
“John says we need to find Trixie a home or send her to the humane society.”
“Why don’t you take her?”
“Because Huck is bringing my dog down this weekend.”
“You have a dog?” Anna blinked. “You never told me you have a dog.”
“Otis is a basset hound. I didn’t bring him with me because I wanted to be settled before I introduced him to a new place. He’s older and not all that adaptable. Huck’s been keeping him for me, but I really miss him and want him here.” Sawyer’s expression was so sad, Anna had to resist the urge to pat his hand. “He wouldn’t take to a puppy. He’s too old.”
“What about the techs? Would one of them take Trixie?”
“They all have their own pets to deal with, and the county humane society is full up right now. I called today, and they recommended I try one in Cincinnati or Indianapolis or Evansville. They are all no-kill.”
“ No-kill ?”
Sawyer nodded. “Yeah, they don’t put unwanted animals down, like a city pound might. They try to find homes for them. I haven’t checked with them yet because I wanted to talk to you first.”
Anna’s heart sank at the thought of Trixie going to a shelter, even one with a no-kill policy. What an awful life for that sweet little pup who’d already been abandoned once. “Those are pretty far away. What about a local small-dog rescue?”
“I was googling around today. There are a couple in southern Indiana, but most rescues look for people to foster animals until they can find a permanent home for them.” He tipped his head and after a moment’s hesitation said, “What would you think about fostering Trixie? It wouldn’t be forever. We can register her with a rescue organization, and as soon as they find someone to adopt her, you can pass her along.” He watched her as he hurried on. “She needs someone stable, who will make her feel secure and who’ll work with her so that she won’t be a wild child.”
Anna set the cracker back on her plate and wiped her fingers on her napkin. “Sawyer, I—”
He raised one hand in a wait gesture and kept talking fast and furious, clearly trying to sell her on the idea. “I know you said you don’t want a dog, but this wouldn’t be permanent. Only until she gets adopted. She’s healed up pretty well. She’s already practically house-trained. We’ve all been working with her, and she’s never once messed in her crate.”
Anna sighed. She could feel herself weakening because Trixie had already wormed her furry little way into her heart. But taking on a puppy while she was trying to get the Yoshida house done and work on the plans for the new places up on Orchard Hill and teach the classes at the Boys & Girls Club and take a class at Warner, and then there was yoga and helping Cam and Harper with the new place… She was practically breathless just thinking about how full her plate was. When would she find time to work with a puppy? Besides, it would be another thread tying her to Sawyer Braxton, and she was already confused enough about him. She offered an excuse she hoped he’d buy: “I don’t know anything about training a puppy or even taking care of one.”
“I know, but I’ll help you, and Avery told me that the pet store in town has classes. You and Trixie could go to obedience training together.” He took a breath, and there was the damn dimple as he leaned intently toward her. “Imagine how much more adoptable she’ll be if she’s started training and…and we’ll lend you a crate and… Honestly, it wouldn’t be forever, Anna.”
Her stomach clutched, even as she was considering where in her condo she could put a crate and dog bowls. Her kitchen was strictly galley—long and narrow. Her office maybe…move the chair and lamp table into her bedroom, spread a tarp or something over the carpet, and… “What am I supposed to do with her while I’m working? How often does she go out?”
“Well, she’s about twelve weeks, we think, and we’ve been taking her out roughly every two hours, particularly after she eats. At night we put a pee pad in her crate, but so far, she’s managed to hold it as long as someone gets to her by six in the morning.”
*
Sawyer couldn’t decide if the horrified look on Anna’s face was due to his mention of a pee pad or that he said they let Trixie out at six A.M. Either way, her questions seemed to indicate she was thinking about fostering the little dog. Probably best if he backed off, though. He didn’t know her as well as he wanted to, but he was familiar enough to know she wasn’t a woman to be pushed or cajoled. “Look, all I ask is that you give it some thought, okay? We can hang on to her for a few more days. I moved her into the boarding area, so she’s getting some socialization, but boarding spots are already filling up as people make plans for summer so we can’t keep her forever.”
Anna fidgeted with a carrot stick, twirling it in her fingers. “Surely there’s someone in this town who’d like to have her.”
“Avery mentioned an ad on the Evening World website, Facebook, and maybe some cards up on local bulletin boards, but I asked her to wait until I’d talked to you.”
She dipped the carrot stick in the ranch dip and crunched, her expression no longer closed, but not open either. Better to move on to another topic. “Oh, hey, Spring had her baby a few days early—a little colt who looks like he’s going to be a grulla.”
“Grulla?”
“Sort of grayish slate or mouse-colored coat with a black dorsal stripe and black ears and sometimes black barring on the legs. Sometimes, they call it blue dun because the fur almost has a bluish cast. The dorsal stripe on this little colt is already distinct, which is unusual. Generally, they grow into that. Grulla is a dun dilution of a black horse. You saw how dark his mom is and his dad, according to Ryan, was Trudy Morrow’s palomino stud. She wasn’t really breeding for color, but”—he stopped midsentence to grin at her—“I think your eyes are glazing over.”
“No, not at all.”
He could tell, though, that her mind wasn’t on the color of Spring’s colt. For one thing, she hadn’t blinked in more than a minute, and she was still hovering the carrot she’d half-eaten over her plate. She was thinking about Trixie. He could tell, just by the wrinkle forming between her brows and the way she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
Anna and Trixie were meant for each other—he truly believed that. Sawyer had always had a sixth sense about animals and people. It was part of the reason he became a veterinarian. He just knew when a critter and a person belonged together, and Anna Walker and that little Papillon puppy belonged to each other. Trixie knew it already, even if Anna didn’t. She just needed some time. He made a sandwich out of a couple of crackers and a smear of brie, then changed the subject. “Tell me about Aidan Flaherty’s showboat. I saw a thing on one of those entertainment news stations last year. It was actually about his Oscar nod for the remake of Streetcar Named Desire , but they interviewed him on the boat. I guess I didn’t realize at the time that the boat was here in River’s Edge.”
She perked up, sharing details about the thematic shows that Aidan put together each summer and how the boat traveled up and down the Ohio, stopping at towns along the way to put on one or two nights of performances. “The great thing is he uses mostly kids from the local college for cast and crew, plus the local theater group here, so no professional actors or professionals behind the scenes. It is a town effort, and it brings in tourists. Not as many as the regatta or the fall and holiday events, but he’s brought in a new crowd.”
Sawyer piled crab dip on a cracker and popped the whole thing in his mouth. After he swallowed it, he said, “This town really depends on tourism, doesn’t it?”
“It does. We are event-driven all year long. The Redbud Festival is next weekend, and the regatta is July fourth weekend. In August, we have Brews, Blues & Barbecue—lots of music and great food from all around the Midwest.”
“That sounds fun.”
“It is!” Her eyes sparkled in the little lamp that was on the table, which was tucked near a window looking out over a courtyard strung with fairy lights on the side of the hotel. He nabbed a chocolate from the dish on the tray. “You want to take our wine out there or do you think it’s too chilly?”
She took a chocolate, too, then shrugged into the jacket she’d hung over the back of her chair. “Let’s do it. It’s a nice night and there’s a full moon.”
He signaled to Logan, who took the leftovers to box up after a brief discussion about who got what. When they rose, Logan poured the last of the wine into their glasses. “Pink moon tonight.”
Anna led the way out the French doors onto the slate patio where a few other customers braved the chill air and sat at bistro tables. “Do you know about a pink moon?”
Sawyer carried his wine glass carefully by the bowl, hoping not to spill any, which would totally be something he’d do. He was the klutz in the family, which sometimes made him avoid the galas, cocktail parties, poetry readings, and other academic events that his parents and siblings attended regularly. Brews, Blues, & Barbecue sounded way more his speed. “I’ve never heard the term before.”
She wandered to the shadows at the edge of the patio, away from the others who were chatting quietly. “It’s the full moon in April—it’s not really pink.” She pointed with her wine glass to the full moon rising east of the hotel. “According to my brother Joe, the name comes from the creeping phlox that blooms this time of year.” She lifted her chin toward the riot of pink blossoms that bordered the patio. “That stuff. But in a lot of cultures, the April full moon is a sign of renewal.” She took a sip of wine. “You know, springtime and all that.”
He moved closer to her, the lilac and crisp citrus scent of her soap sending an arc of desire through him.
He started to speak, but his voice caught, so he cleared his throat. “You know, that does sound familiar. I took an anthro class at Purdue, human cultural development, and one of the lectures was about how different cultures see meaning in the moon. I don’t remember very much, honestly, but I do remember that different full moons are seasonal landmarks, like January’s full moon is the wolf moon because of wolves howling in the cold winter air, and the snow moon is in February.”
She glanced at him. “I wonder if that’s why I sometimes hear the May full moon called the flower moon because that’s when so many flowers bloom.”
“Probably. Up north near school, there’s the Feast of the Hunter’s Moon in October, which, supposedly, was named that because all the deer and other fur-bearers were fat from summer. Plus, it lasts a bit longer and is brighter, so it lit the way for hunters at night. The festival is a fun reenactment of a gathering that happened back in the 1700s between the French and the Native Americans. It’s a little south of West Lafayette at a place called Fort Ouiatenon. My brother Huck is a history prof, and he always takes his Indiana history class to it. They seem to—” He closed his mouth. He was rambling again.
She smiled at him. “What?”
“I talk too much when I’m nervous.” He might as well own it. Not like she didn’t realize how chatty he was.
“You’re nervous?” Her smile grew wider. “Why?”
He took in a deep breath and released it slowly, then sipped the rich wine as he searched his mind for words that would be honest, but not scary. “You may have noticed I’m not…all that comfortable around women, particularly ones I’m attracted to.”
“Why have you never been married?”
Okay, so she was ignoring the I’m attracted to you hint. “Never found the right person.”
“Why not?”
His grandmother Braxton asked him this question at every family dinner— Can’t marry one of those animals you take care of, kiddo —and his mother winced every single time. The answer was the same to whoever wanted to know why he was still single at the ripe old age of thirty-six. “Just haven’t found the right woman yet.”
“You said before that you’ve never even been close. Why not?” Anna was pressing and he was curious as to why. She was the one who said she wasn’t looking for a relationship, that this dinner wasn’t a date. Why was she asking such leading questions?
“Are you asking me if I’ve ever been in love?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “Maybe.”
“Yes, of course I have, but I—” He stopped himself—something he seemed to be doing too frequently with Anna Walker, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.
He was pretty much an open book, which was a characteristic his sister Phoebe once told him was boring—that he needed to cultivate a little mystery if he was going to attract women. He didn’t have a clue how to be mysterious, but explaining himself to Anna felt a bit like overkill considering her claim of disinterest.
She was watching him over her wine glass, her eyes blue and curious, so he merely said, “I think I understand animals better than women.”
She finished her wine and set the glass on the small round table behind them. Then she took a deep breath. “I’ll foster Trixie, but give me a day or two to get ready for her.”
The change of subject whizzed past him so fast his head spun, while at the same time warmth filled his cheeks and his heart knocked in his chest. At first, he wanted to pump his fists in the air and shout yeeesss! because he knew as surely as he was standing under a full moon with a beautiful woman that Anna Walker and Trixie, the little lost Papillon, belonged together.
But he took a moment to catch his breath before asking cautiously, “You sure?”
She furrowed her brow, which made him want to clutch his chest, but then she smiled. “I’m sure.”