High in Trial (7 page)

“Easy,” Miles said, straightening.
“Fifty thousand dollars.”

I stared at him. “What?”

“Didn’t you just say he co-owns that dog? That means he has to split any winnings
on it fifty-fifty.”

I scowled, not because his theory didn’t make sense, but because it did.

“Their contract probably calls for due diligence,” Miles added, “so he couldn’t refuse
to handle the dog and do his best to win—or at least make it look that way.”

“But if he doesn’t go to the Standard Cup, he doesn’t get the money, either,” I pointed
out.

“You’d be surprised what a man will do to screw his ex out of alimony,” replied the
man who’d been divorced three times.

Apparently I couldn’t keep the suspicion out of my eyes because he held up a quick
hand in self-defense. “Present company excepted, of course.”

Then he said, “Listen, hon, as much as I’m enjoying it, I’m going to have to cut out
on this shindig a little early. I’m meeting one of my architects back on Edisto at
four and it’s an hour drive. Do you need any help packing up this stuff before I go?”

I couldn’t hide my disappointment. “I have another run today!”

“I know, and I can’t wait to hear about it. I know you’ll kick butt.”

I stood and watched him fold up his camp chair and gather his cap and sunglasses.
Cisco, sensing something interesting was about to happen, lifted his head from his
bone alertly. “So is that why you came here?” I accused skeptically. “To meet with
your architect?”

“Of course not. I came to be with you. And,” he confessed because he was, for the
most part, an exasperatingly honest man, “to meet with my architect.”

Miles and I have a fairly casual relationship. Monogamous, but casual in the sense
that I don’t keep tabs on him and he doesn’t keep tabs on me. His home base is Atlanta;
mine is North Carolina. He flies to Dubai for the weekend and I pack up the SUV for
a three-day dog show and neither of us feels the need to inform the other of our plans
unless it comes up in conversation. I like it that way. I certainly didn’t expect
him to check with me before he went on a business trip. Still…

“What’s in Edisto anyway?”

“A beachfront condo project.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Miles! When are you ever going to stop pillaging the environment
and improving on nature with a bulldozer?” And even though I wasn’t really surprised,
I was a little disappointed to learn he hadn’t made the trip just to support me at
the agility trial. That probably made my tone grumpier than it should have been.

“I’m not pillaging,” he replied mildly, glancing one last time at the screen of his
phone. “In fact, this is an award-winning eco-friendly design.”

“Oh, I’m sure the sea turtles appreciate that. Not to mention all the residents who
can’t wait to see their beach turned into a tourist trap.”

“Hate to tell you, hon, but it already is. There are more condos on that beach than
seashells, and mine is the only one that’s moving toward a negative environmental
impact.”

I really didn’t enjoy being outmaneuvered in my own area of expertise. I glared at
him. “There is such a thing as ‘greenwashing,’ you know.”

“I sure do. There’s a ton of federal money available for it. ”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Miles.” Exasperation was exactly what I felt for him at that
moment. “Is work the only thing you know how to do? Don’t you ever play?”

“Absolutely.” He took out his keys and snagged a mini bag of cheese puffs from my
snack collection, presumably for the drive. “Eighteen holes every Tuesday and Thursday,
weather permitting.”

“Will you be back tonight?”

“Probably not,” he admitted. “It depends on how long the meeting runs. Enjoy dinner
with your friends. It’s on me.”

“You’d better believe it,” I muttered, hiding my disappointment with a scowl. Now
I knew why he’d been so quick to suggest I have dinner with Aggie. But if I’d known
he wasn’t going to be there, I
really
would have preferred room service.

He came forward and kissed me, gently but thoroughly, then tilted my chin with his
index finger and smiled into my eyes. “See you tomorrow, okay?”

By now you’re probably wondering just what I see in Miles, anyway. Perhaps I’ve failed
to mention his eyes. And his smile. And there’s that whole kissing thing.

I was just about to forgive him and send him on his way when there was a commotion
outside. Cisco stood up, ears forward, and barked. I glanced toward the door just
as a black-and-white blur streaked by, and I heard the most dreaded words of any dog
show:
“Loose dog!”

The echo hadn’t even faded before my own dog scrambled past me, barking gleefully,
and sailed over the gate.

~*~

SIX

Twenty-one hours, thirty-two minutes before the shooting

T
he only thing faster than a border collie at an agility trial is a runaway border
collie at an agility trial. Cisco on a mission might run a close second. That being
said, the entire thing was over in a matter of seconds.

I bolted to the gate and stumbled through, shouting for Cisco, just in time to see
my champion careening after the border collie, his ears slicked back and his golden
tail whirling, a grin of pure delight on his face. They raced down the corridor that
divided the livestock barn and out into the sunshine, a chorus of barking following
them. A dozen curious heads appeared from within the stalls as the two burst from
the barn and made a beeline toward the open field. Along the way, others took up the
chorus, “Loose dog! Loose dog!”

As everyone knows, the worst thing you can do when your dog is running away is to
chase him. A dog being chased only runs faster, delighted with the opportunity to
prove once again to all concerned that nothing on two legs will ever match the speed
of a canine on four. Nonetheless, when your dog is headed toward the horizon at the
speed of light, it’s almost impossible
not
to run after him, so run is what I did.

I reached the outside of the barn just as Miles called, “Raine, catch!”

I spun around and snatched the bag of cheese puffs he tossed from the air. I called,
“Cisco, here!” and snapped open the bag in the same moment.

Cisco had to be fifty yards away, but, like most dogs, he can hear the opening of
a treat bag from the other side of the continent. He stopped, turned, pricked his
ears, and raced back to me, the little border collie tearing along beside him. They
were in full-out play mode now and were not about to break up the team.

From out of the corner of my eye I saw someone jogging in my direction and I heard
her call out, but I was entirely too focused on my dog to pay much attention. Cisco
galloped toward me, his eyes on the bag of cheese puffs and the border-collie zigzagging
at his side, when I heard a woman call, “Bryte, come!” The border collie veered off
and Cisco’s head turned in her direction. I called, “Cisco, no!” and he swung back.
The two dogs collided, rolled in the dust, and bounced up again just as the woman
plowed into the fray, moving too fast to stop. She went down in a tangle of arms and
legs and paws and tails.

You might think the proper thing to do in a situation like that would be to rush to
help the fallen, but if I had done that I would have lost both dogs again. So I mustered
my most commanding voice, said again, “Cisco,
here
,” and plunged my hand into the bag of cheese puffs. Both dogs skidded to a stop in
front of me.

“Hold on to her!” cried the woman, stumbling to her feet.

I slipped the leash that I keep perpetually draped around my shoulders over Cisco’s
neck and plied both dogs with cheese treats and praise while the woman hurried toward
us. I glanced at her long enough to inquire, “Are you okay?” and I saw it was Neil
Kellog’s girlfriend, Marcie.

Her white shorts were covered in dust and dog slobber and her tee shirt was ripped
from collar to hem, apparently the victim of a careless dog claw. She held the remnants
closed with one hand, barely covering her satiny bra, as she grasped Bryte’s ruff
with the other.

“Thank God you caught her,” she said, gasping. “This is Neil’s dog. I was putting
her back in her crate when she took off. She never would listen to me. He’d kill me
if anything happened to her.”

This was a far different woman than the one I’d seen arguing with Neil earlier, and
the fact that she seemed inclined to overlook Cisco’s part in the fiasco—as well as
her own bleeding knee—made me more disposed to like her than I had been earlier. I
noticed Bryte wasn’t wearing a collar, and I said, “Hold on. I’ve got a spare leash.”

I took Cisco back to our stall and zipped him securely inside his crate. “This is
starting to look more like the roller derby than a dog show,” observed Miles as I
dug through my bag for a first aid kit and spare leash.

“I just hope she doesn’t realize it was Cisco who tripped her,” I muttered in reply.
I grabbed my spare sweatshirt from the bag and ran back out to Marcie.

“Here,” I said, offering her the sweatshirt. “Yours is kind of…” I made a fluttering
gesture across my chest to indicate the scraps of her tee shirt that remained.

She looked up from dropping the loop leash over Bryte’s neck and seemed surprised
at the extent of the damage as she glanced down at her clothes. “Oh,” she said, once
again pulling the pieces together with one hand. She accepted the sweatshirt and transferred
Bryte’s leash to me. “That’s nice of you…”

“Raine,” I supplied. “Raine Stockton.”

“I’m Marcie Wilbanks. Thanks,” she added, “for catching Bryte
.
And for this.” She managed a quick, if weak, smile as she nodded toward the sweatshirt.

“I brought these too.” I held out a package of antiseptic wipes. “You should probably
take care of that knee.”

She turned away to pull on the sweatshirt and clean her injured knee, and I took advantage
of the moment to slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a photo of myself with Bryte.
I tapped out the caption, “Here I am with National Champion Bryte!” and sent it on
to Facebook. Melanie would get a kick out of that.

“What the hell are you doing with my dog?”

I barely had time to get to my feet and stuff my phone back into my pocket before
Neil Kellog snatched Bryte’s leash from my hand with such abruptness that the dog’s
two front feet left the ground as he jerked her to his side. “Hey!” I objected. “There’s
no need for that!”

“Calm down, Neil.” Marcie came forward quickly. “She’s okay. She got out of her crate
and went for a run, but this girl caught her. You should be thanking her—”

Neil turned on her. His face was red and his eyes were snapping furiously. “So this
is your game now? Stealing my dog? Do you really want to play by those rules, Marcie?
Do you?”

“Are you crazy? Nobody tried to steal your dog!”

“Yeah, I’m crazy all right! Crazy for thinking I could trust you with her. The minute
my back was turned—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Neil, it was an accident! If you hadn’t trained her with that
cockeyed method of yours, she would’ve come when I called her and—”

“I’ll show you
accidents
, Marcie.” He took a step toward her that couldn’t be construed as anything but threatening.
I could see the veins on the side of his neck bulging. “If you ever touch my dog again,
you can look forward to an accident that will take you weeks to get over.”

I said, trying to sound reasonable, “Listen, any dog can get loose. The important
thing is—”

He turned on me. The color of his face and the fire in his eyes actually made me shrink
back. “Who the hell are you?”  He was in my face, practically roaring at me. I threw
up an instinctive hand in self-defense. “You need to stay out of this if you know
what’s good for you!”

“For the love of Pete, will you lower your voice?” Marcie caught his arm and he flung
her away. She stumbled back.

“Everything okay here?” A hand fell lightly upon my shoulder, the touch casual, the
gesture unmistakably protective. And though Miles’s tone was mild, I didn’t have to
turn to look at him to feel the steel in his eyes. I’d seen that look before, and
I could see it now in the way that Neil, subduing the blaze of anger in his face,
looked away and scowled. I could see it in the breath of relief that passed through
Marcie’s parted lips. And I could hear it in Neil’s tightly muttered, “I’m taking
Bryte home.” He turned on his heel and strode away with Bryte prancing to keep up.

A
larm flashed in Marcie
’
s face
.
“You can’t do that!” She ran after him. “Stop right there! That’s not our agreement!”

I blew out a long, slow breath and turned to look at Miles. I felt as though I should
apologize on behalf of the AKC—he was, after all, a guest of the sport—but I honestly
didn’t know what to say. He said it for me.