“Why did Jameson leave me a dog? He knows—knew—that I lived in the city. How the hell would I be able to take this guy into an apartment?” She cut right to the chase.
“Mr. Prescott hoped that you would spend the summer here at the shore.”
“Did you know that he was dying?” Riley asked bluntly.
“I knew that he was very sick. But he was doing everything in his power to get well. Unfortunately, it was just simply his time.”
“So you knew what was in the letter he gave me?” she asked.
“I did not. That was a personal letter, for you.”
“Why did he leave everything to me and not you? He only knew me for like, eighteen months, tops.”
“Mr. Prescott has taken care of me, and ensured that I want for nothing. But the house, and the assets, they were for you. I have all that I need. I will live here as long as you want me to, and I’ll continue my duties here so long as you see fit. Should you decide you no longer wish to have my services, I will move on.”
He seemed cold and distant in his reply, and Riley didn’t mean to upset or hurt Bernard’s feelings. She knew she needed to tone her city style down a bit, and be the Riley who was friends with Jameson. “You will stay as long as you want to, Bernard. But you don’t have to wait on me. I can take care of myself.”
Bernard grinned and lifted his glass of lemonade to toast. “Welcome to Port Henry, Riley.”
She clinked his glass with hers, and leaned back in the comfy chair, taking in the evening breeze. Maybe a vacation would do me some good. What better way to figure out what’s next than in a mansion you’ve just inherited?
7
Donovan
She was right, it was totally creeper of me to follow her down the road. Donovan felt like a jackass. At the moment, it seemed like the only way to show her he wasn’t like Gavin. Unsure why he suddenly felt the need to separate who he was as a person from his best friend, he chalked it up to a weird day and headed home. He was ready to spend the rest of the night on the couch.
He watched some television and played with the dogs but when it was time to go to bed, he couldn’t stop thinking of the stranger dragging her suitcase down the road. Not only was she beautiful, and her features striking, but she was also hilarious. When she told Gavin off, calling him out as a letch, he couldn’t contain his laughter. Nobody had made him laugh that hard as long as he could recall, except maybe Toni.
Donovan lay in bed, wondering if he’d see her again. She was walking toward the residential side of town, so she had to be on her way to someone’s house. Tapping his temple, he ran through the residents he knew in that area but he wasn’t aware of anyone who would start having summer guests quite that early in the season. Sighing, he gave up to get some sleep. After all, he still had to work in the morning.
The next day at the office was extraordinarily busy. Matthew Maloni’s turtle wasn’t eating, Mrs. Chadwick’s two chihuahuas needed their teeth cleaned, which required sedation—for her and the dogs—and little Tommy Grimaldi had found a sick baby bird that needed medical attention as it appeared to have fallen from its nest.
While attempting to bottle feed the baby bird, which looked like a little robin, a large crash came from outside the exam room where he was delicately holding the chick. Thankfully, he had a steady hand and didn’t crush the tiny thing, but the dog barking loudly and the crash meant they had another patient on their hands. Donovan placed the little bird in an incubator, checked to make sure the temperature was set, and made his way to the waiting room.
He hadn’t gotten halfway down the hall when he was nearly tackled by a giant dog whose leash was swinging behind him. Instantly, he knew who it was. “Scrappy!” he said, taking the dogs giant paws off his shoulders. Donovan was six foot three and Scrappy had no problem at all stretching out to his height to hug him like a human, and he wasn’t even fully grown. “What are you doing here, boy?”
“I’m so sorry, I tried to hold on, but…” The woman from yesterday rounded the corner, apparently looking for Scrappy. “Oh,” she said when she recognized Donovan.
“Well, hello there, Miss…?” Donovan grinned, feeling as though he’d won the “now you have to tell me your name” game.
“Maxwell. Riley Maxwell,” she replied, pursing her lips in defeat. “This is—”
“This is Scrappy,” Donovan cut her off. “I know who he is, but why do you have him?” Then, it dawned on him. Riley was Jameson Prescott’s beneficiary. Why else would she have Scrappy? While he was still sorting out the connection mentally, Riley interrupted his thoughts.
“Um, so you’re the vet?” she asked.
“Oh, yes. I am,” he replied. “Is something wrong with Scrappy?” He glanced down at the dog, who was calmly leaning against his leg, tail wagging.
“I’m not sure,” she replied.
Confused, Donovan asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Well, Scrappy here decided to eat a pair of my shoes. He also ate a tree.”
“He ate a tree?”
“A whole fucking tree, outside. I let him out to do his business this morning after he had eaten my shoes, and then, before I knew what was happening, he’d ripped a sapling, I mean, I guess it was bigger than a sapling, he didn’t eat an oak tree or anything, but he ate a small tree and I don’t know a lot about dogs, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to eat shoes and trees.” Riley rambled everything out without taking a breath, and when she finished, she sighed. “So, is he gonna be okay?”