Shadows At Sunset - Anne Stuart [29]
“Speaking of alpha wolves, you haven’t heard from the vet, have you?” She changed the subject to one of more import.
“Oh, yeah,” Dean said. “You can pick Roofus up any time. Though I think the office is closed by now.”
Jilly resisted the impulse to throw her iced tea at him. “When did they call?”
“Yesterday. You should have asked.”
She glared at him. “Maybe someone’s still there.” She rose, pushing the old iron chair away from her, making a shrieking noise on the old flagstones.
“Who’s Roofus?” Coltrane asked idly.
“Her damned huge dog, that’s who. You’ll be as unobtrusive as a ghost compared to that great galumphing beast.”
“But then, I gather your ghosts aren’t that unobtrusive, are they?” Coltrane said. “What was wrong with the dog? Getting him fixed?”
Dean snorted in brotherly amusement. “You know Jilly pretty well already, don’t you?”
She let the ornate metal screen door slam behind her as she went in search of a telephone, cursing all men under her breath.
For once fate was on her side. Dr. Parker’s office was still open, and when she got there, Roofus was gloriously happy to see her, slobbering over her with great affection before bounding into the front seat of the Corvette.
Dean’s disdain was probably as much for Roofus’s lineage as his size. A probable cross between an Old English sheepdog and a Saint Bernard, with perhaps some other errant canine strains mixed in, Roofus was huge, shaggy, cheerful and enthusiastic. He shed like mad, drooled and growled at Dean at regular intervals. Dean refused to allow him into his spartan quarters and Roofus refused to enter them. Unless he happened to have muddy paws.
Despite Dean’s insistence, Roofus was a very intelligent dog.
The Range Rover was gone when she pulled back up to the house, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was too much to hope Coltrane had taken the hint and left. It had been more than a hint, actually, she admitted to herself. It had been outright hostility. Something she was going to have to deal with if he was really going to stay with them for any length of time. She couldn’t live in an armed camp.
Roofus leapt out of the car, happily marking everything in sight, paying particular attention to the tires of Dean’s Lexus. And then he was off, making cheerful barking noises as he scouted the property, looking for rodent intruders.
By the time Jilly had fed him and herself the night had closed in around the old house like a velvet wrap. She sat at the scarred old kitchen table, which had once seen the makings of feasts for movie stars, and ate cold pizza and iced tea, while Roofus lay happily at her feet. The faint trickles of anxiety were still gnawing at her stomach, and she went back over the day in a vain effort to calm herself. It was an old trick, one she’d learned in school, where she’d lie in bed and look ahead to the next day and try to guess where disaster lurked. Which teacher would pounce, which would discover she hadn’t done her homework, which friend would be angry with her.
As far as she could tell, no real disaster hovered on the near horizon. Coltrane had moved into the house, to be sure, but he was doing exactly what she wanted, all without much effort on her part. He’d gotten Meyer to give Dean more responsibility, and with Coltrane leaning on him, Dean was unlikely to get distracted and screw it up.
Rachel-Ann was clean and sober, one day at a time. Roofus was lying at her feet, snoring faintly, and for now La Casa de Sombras wasn’t falling to pieces. Life was never easy—she should just take each day as it comes, and this day could, in fact, have been worse.
By the time Rachel-Ann walked into the kitchen Jilly had worked herself into a relatively good mood, considering that a snake had taken up residence at La