How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [20]
“Ryan.” I frown, using a hand gesture to bring it down a notch. He has no children of his own—a confirmed bachelor—so of course he knows exactly how to raise them. “Give her a minute.”
“The way to take care of a dog is to be the master,” he says. At least he squats and gives Katie, who’s looking at him with a pale, chastened, smitten face, the leash. “He needs you to be the boss. All the time, very consistently. Do you know what that means?”
“Regular,” she says.
“Good.” He stands. “I’ve gotta open the pub, but I’ll be back to help you train him. Three things to remember: Never let him sleep on your bed. Never give him human food unless he does something to earn it, and never, ever from the table or while you are eating. And third, give him lots of attention. He’s a dog who likes it.”
“Okay. I can do that.”
He bends to scratch Merlin’s chest and comes up the stairs to me, handing over a sheaf of paperwork, presumably the dog’s shot records. At least that much is done. “Keep him fenced, or he’s going to take off. I would suggest you get some identification on him right away.”
“Will do.” I hug him. “Thanks, Ryan. I know you’ve got a lot going on, too.” He has to fire a bartender at The Banshee, the pub he runs for the family. My father desperately wanted him to call it Gallagher’s, but Ryan stood his ground. “Can I make you some dinner this week?”
“Sure. Monday would be good.”
“Monday it is.”
He turns to go and spies the fresh sod. “Damn.” He gives me a sharp look. “That had to cost a pretty penny. Or did your mentor take care of you, as always?”
“I probably deserve that,” I say. “But just because Dad hates him doesn’t mean he’s a bad person.”
“Ah, so he did pay?” He sounds incredulous. “Mr. Mafia. Must be nice.”
I scowl. “He paid the guy before I knew he’d done it. I’m not going to let it stand. Too many strings.”
“Should have thought of that.”
Mostly, Ryan and I get along pretty well, but this is a sore spot. He would love to be independent of the family clutch, but chose to stay with the umbrella of the Gallagher Group restaurants. “I raised the money for this bakery myself. I put together the business plan and made it work. You guys always underestimate my brains, which is why I left the Gallagher Group in the first place.”
“Yeah, because Grandma gave you the house.”
“I got a little luck after a bunch of bad luck. It happens.” I glance toward Katie, her back long and stiff. “Let’s not do this right now.”
“Whatever.” He turns away, heads down the steps.
It makes me furious. “What exactly would you like me to do?” I ask in a quiet voice. “Fall on my face so everyone can say they were right about me?”
He only glances over his shoulder. “Nobody wants to see you fall on your face.” A sudden flash of humor, the same thing that always saves our tense arguments, comes to the rescue. “Well, maybe Stephanie does.”
My sister, who runs the family steakhouse with my father and has not spoken to me since I adopted Cat as my mentor. “And Dad.”
“No. He loves you. He just hates Cat.”
“Then he should have thought of that when he decided to keep Dane.” My philandering ex-husband, who worked for the Gallagher Group until recently.
“You gotta get over that.” Ryan chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s been what—eight years?”
“I don’t care. As far as I’m concerned, my family chose my ex-husband over me.”
He mimes crossing his arms over his chest and sticking out his lower lip, then stomps his foot, in case I didn’t get it.
I wave him off, smiling. “Thank you for your help.”
“I’ll be back later.”
Katie moves Merlin away from the truck and comes up the steps, dragging the dog behind her. “I’ve got to get to work,” I say. “Let’s check the backyard for escape routes, and you can play with him out there.”
We make a bed of old blankets on the sunporch in Katie’s room, and she agrees to keep the door closed at night and to leash Merlin if he needs to go outside.