The Twelve Dogs of Christmas Read online

  “Except when it barks. And when I have to pay the vet bills.”

  “I’d teach it not to bark. And I’d pay for all the shots and stuff. I’ve been saving my allowance.”

  Since he paid her allowance, he knew exactly how much she’d been saving, but he had to admire her determination. “We aren’t getting a dog,” he repeated for the seven millionth time in the last four months.

  Never one to give up, she smiled angelically. “Learning to take care of a dog would be beneficial to my education—”

  “Being on time to class would be even more beneficial to your education.” He slung his arm around her shoulders, giving her a side hug and a nudge toward the school. “Go. Shoo. Have fun. Learn lots.”

  Astrid rolled her eyes but spotted her best friend, Kimber, and took off running, her backpack thumping rhythmically.

  “Walk, Astrid!” Elinor, the school librarian overseeing drop-off today, didn’t need to raise her voice to be instantly obeyed.

  “Sorry, Aunt E!” Astrid rapidly downshifted to power-walk toward Kimber.

  Elinor Rodriguez had been Katie’s best friend and like a member of their family. “Ben!” She lifted a hand to flag him down before he could escape toward the promise of the Cup. “Don’t run off. I need to talk to you for a second.”

  He resisted the urge to pretend he hadn’t heard her. Elinor was probably the smartest person he’d ever met, but he’d always found being the object of her laser-beam focus a little terrifying and her unusual non sequiturs made him feel like he never knew what was coming. He needed caffeine in his system to keep up.

  She poked her glasses up her nose as she closed the distance between them.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “I need your volunteer schedule for the Christmas fair.” She spoke to him, but her attention flicked back the kids filing past her into the school. “Put down the snowball, Jeremiah!”

  “I thought the kids were working the booths now that they’re responsible fifth graders.” He’d apparently entered some caffeine-free dystopia where nothing made sense. He may have been checking his email during the last PTA meeting, but he distinctly remembered hearing the kids were in charge.

  “They are, but we have to have adults overseeing operations so they actually give correct change and don’t eat all the goodies when no one’s looking.”

  Ben nearly groaned aloud. He should have known. The kids’ responsibilities were always the parents’ responsibilities. Just one more thing to pile on.

  “You just need to sign up for one three-hour block so Astrid can participate in the fair—”

  “Three hours?”

  Plus however much time it took them to make gingerbread and tie it up into cute little packages. Shopping for ingredients and taking Astrid to and from…no one talked about that stuff when they said, “Let’s do a Christmas fair for charity. It’ll be fun.”

  “I can fill in for you as a chaperone if you want,” Elinor offered, but he jerked his head in an automatic rejection of the offer.

  “No, I’ve got it.” He wouldn’t let anyone say he was shirking his responsibilities. “Where do I sign up?”

  Elinor whipped a tablet out of one voluminous coat pocket and passed it over. “Just fill in any of the empty slots.”

  Ben skimmed through the available hours, trying to find something he could make work on a Sunday in December. The town went nuts for the holidays, and there were always a million things to do—and he felt like he needed to do them all for Astrid.

  He’d managed to get the Christmas decorations up over Thanksgiving weekend—because Katie always decorated early, and he refused to let Astrid down—but he still had all the Christmas shopping to do. And wrapping. And stocking stuffing. Plus now gingerbread and the freaking washer and the Keurig, and at some point he was going to have to clear out the guest room before his parents arrived for Christmas in three weeks and noticed he still hadn’t finished any of the half-finished projects around the house.

  He needed a clone.

  “Just curious. Are you trying to scare the children?”

  “What?” He looked up from the tablet, belatedly realizing he was glowering when Elinor mimicked his expression. “Cute.”

  “As your friend, I feel I should warn you. You’re getting a reputation around town.” She wrinkled her nose, her glasses slipping downward. “The name Ebenezer may have been mentioned.”

  “I’m not a Scrooge,” he snapped, a little more defensively than he’d planned. “I’m just stressed. There’s a lot to do.” And there was no coffee.

  “Stress is bad for your brain,” Elinor commented conversationally. “I was just reading this study about how it puts you into a reactive mode and cuts you off from the creative and problem-solving portions of your brain. Did you know saturating your brain in stress hormones for long periods of time can rework your brain chemistry and cause depression? Isn’t that fascinating?”

  Great. Now he had that to look forward to. “Yes, fascinating. Very helpful. Thank you.”

  Elinor shrugged. “I’m just saying. You need to find a way to destress.”

  “I’ll get right on that. After Christmas.” He tapped his name into one of the slots at random and handed the tablet back to her. He’d just have to make it work. Like he always did.

  The bell had already rung, and the kids were all inside the school. Elinor accepted the tablet. “Kaye Berry’s always thought you were hot, and she’s divorced now—”

  “No,” he interrupted before she could get any ideas. “I’m not dating one of the moms from Astrid’s class. I need to get a handle on what I’ve already committed to before I commit to anything—or anyone—else.”

  He couldn’t deal with one more thing. No dogs. No dating. No crazy complications to a Christmas season he just needed to get through. Astrid was his top priority, and until he figured out how to give her the life she should have had—complete with a big yard and a dog—he couldn’t think about anything else. He owed that to Katie and Paul. Now he just had to figure out how to do it.

  Chapter Two

  Come on, Partridge. Look over here. Come on, baby.” Ally Gilmore, professional fashion photographer, crouched in front of the world’s drooliest bulldog with her camera in one hand and a squeaky toy in the other.

  She’d always been willing to contort herself into whatever position was necessary to get the shot, but her former subjects tended more toward pouty-lipped models with angular bodies and less toward big-eyed pooches with rolls of white fur.

  Still, the concept was the same. Sell the product. Get the best angle to make it look the most appealing. And in this case the product was the drooliest bulldog in the world—and the longest-running resident of the Furry Friends Animal Rescue. The bulldog had come to the shelter three years ago as a stray, and poor Partridge still hadn’t managed to find a forever home, despite all her grandparents’ efforts to showcase his unique charms.

  Yes, he had a distinct underbite, his eyes were different sizes, and he drooled when he got excited…or when he was hungry…or when he was sleeping…or really any time at all, but he still deserved love just as much as all the rest of the dogs at Furry Friends. And Ally was determined to capture the perfect photo for the website to make someone fall in love with him.

  Provided she could get him to stop trying to lick the camera.

  “Come on, honey. Work with me here. You’ll thank me later.”

  Her Saint Bernard, Colby—the laziest animal on the planet, who would probably sleep for twenty-two hours straight if that didn’t mean missing mealtimes—suddenly lifted his head, looking toward the front of the kennels a fraction of a second before a cascade of barks rippled through the building, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

  “Gram?” Ally raised her voice over the dogs.

  It was still early, much too early for pet seekers—though there hadn’t been many since Ally had arrived to help out three weeks ago. Her grandparents said it was just the season, ev
eryone busy getting ready for Thanksgiving, but Ally had a feeling the outdated website might have also played a part. Which was why she’d crawled out of bed while it was still dark on the first of December, determined to do something about it.

  “Ally girl?” Gram’s voice warbled over the barking.

  “Back here, Gram!” Ally called back, yanking her camera away at the last minute to avoid another lick attempt by Partridge.

  “What are you doing?” Gram asked as she rounded the corner from the front of the barn, carrying a box that looked entirely too heavy for a woman who’d torn the ligaments in her shoulder less than two months ago.

  “I’m getting photos for the website.” Ally rushed out of Partridge’s pen, quickly setting down her camera so she could take the giant box of Milk-Bones from her grandmother’s arms. “What are you doing? Where’s your sling?”

  “Oh, I don’t need that. It was just for the first couple of weeks.” She crouched down, stroking Colby’s ears in greeting before moving to say hello to Partridge.

  Rita Gilmore was barely five feet tall—which made her only two inches shorter than Ally, but who was counting? Her wild white curls were mashed down beneath a bright red knit cap today, but there was always something unfettered about her—like she had been born wild and wasn’t about to be tamed. Which was great, as long as you weren’t causing yourself potentially permanent injury with your stubbornness.

  “The doctors said the risk of reinjury—”

  Her grandmother flapped a hand at her. “Doctors have to say things like that so they won’t get sued if I hurt it again and decide to blame them. I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

  Ally clung to her patience with both hands. Ever since she’d arrived in Pine Hollow that had been the refrain. I’m fine. Don’t fuss. Don’t help. Don’t do or say anything to imply that I might be too old to get along on my own.

  Except she was. Gram had dislocated her shoulder and shredded her ligaments doing nothing more taxing than walking one of the dogs at the shelter. Admittedly, it was Maximus, the Irish wolfhound mix the size of a small pony, who had no idea of his own strength, but still. Gram couldn’t just keep on pretending a couple in their eighties could handle the physical labor of running a dog shelter by themselves. Ally had reason to worry about them.

  Especially because they hadn’t told her about the injury for weeks. Not wanting to worry her. Not wanting her to interrupt her life in New York to help them. Her grandfather had been running himself ragged trying to keep her grandmother from taking off her sling and jumping back into work the second she got home from surgery. When Ally had come to Pine Hollow for a weekend visit and seen that, she’d done the only thing she could think of.

  She’d dropped everything and come for an extended visit.

  Her lease was up, her planned out-of-town shoot had just been canceled, and she’d already been feeling unsettled, trying to figure out whether she wanted to stay in New York. Gram’s injury had felt like a giant flashing sign from the universe pointing her toward Pine Hollow. The perfect chance to spend the holidays with her only remaining family, soak up the too-adorable-to-be-real small-town Christmas charm, and figure out what she wanted to do next, all while helping out around the shelter.

  Except her grandparents seemed morally opposed to her pitching in.

  Gram frowned at the camera resting on the bench beside Partridge’s pen. “You don’t have to do that, dear.”

  “I want to help.” Ally set the Milk-Bones at the entrance to the main storeroom and turned back to her grandmother. “I know you don’t want to change the website because somebody made it for you as a favor ten years ago, but trust me, this is how a lot of people look for pets now. They want to see pictures and cute descriptions.”

  “People don’t fall in love with pictures. Do they, Partridge? No, they don’t.”

  “Pretty much my entire job is making people fall in love with things by taking pictures of them,” Ally argued, picking up her camera. “But even if you’re right and people won’t adopt because of a picture—that picture might at least get them in the door. Or maybe some cute videos—we could start a Twitter account or Instagram. It could let people know what kind of dogs we have here. Maybe there’s someone who’s searching for a bulldog or a wolfhound on Petfinder right now. We have to get our dogs on there, which means bringing the website into this decade.”

  “All that webby nonsense is too complicated for your grandpa and me. I know you want to help, but the way we do things has always worked perfectly well, and it’ll find these pups their forever homes in due time.”

  “But if having an updated website could help them find homes faster, what’s the harm?”

  “It’s just too much for us to manage. And you should be enjoying your holiday.” Gram linked her good arm with Ally’s, tugging her back toward the front of the shelter. Colby heaved to his feet with a sigh, padding at their heels. “Weren’t you talking about walking into town and getting some pictures of the town square before the latest snow gets all trampled?”

  “I was,” Ally admitted, “but I can do this, too. I’m happy to help, and not just with the website. I want to be useful.”

  “And you are, darling.” Gram patted her arm. “In fact, I was just coming out here to ask if you can help us this afternoon by keeping an eye on things around the shelter.”

  Ally had a feeling Gram had just invented the request for help to placate her, but she wasn’t going to argue with a chance to sneak a few more photos on the website while she was in charge. “Of course I will. Are you going somewhere?”

  “Your grandfather wants to join a poker tournament they’re having out at the Estates. We won’t be late. Everything out there runs on early-bird hours.”

  The Summerland Estates retirement community on the edge of town looked, at first glance, more like a posh country club than a home for the elderly. But in addition to the golf course and swimming pools, they also had nursing and assisted-living amenities for residents who needed them—or would in a few years.

  Her grandmother had always loudly proclaimed that she wouldn’t be caught dead in a nursing home and planned to stay in her house until they carried her out of it, but so many of her grandfather’s poker buddies had moved up there in recent years that he now spent almost as much time at the Estates as he did at home. It was a beautiful place, but Ally was relieved her grandparents didn’t seem inclined to move out there. She already felt untethered enough, and their place was the closest thing to home she had.

  Ally grabbed her coat from a peg by the front door and pulled it on. She held the door for Gram and Colby, and together they crunched across the snow-covered gravel driveway toward the house.

  The big white farmhouse had been thoroughly doused in Christmas cheer, with twinkle lights on the covered porch, garland on the banisters, and a wreath on the door—though Gram kept insisting they needed to decorate the barn, too. She’d thrown herself into Christmas the second Thanksgiving was over, and Ally and her grandfather could only do their best to keep up—and keep her from overusing her shoulder. Gram had always loved the season, but she seemed even more fanatic this year. Or maybe it just seemed that way because Ally was here to see it firsthand.

  Not that she was complaining. She could use an infusion of Christmas magic. It had been too long since she’d had that holiday feeling. The warmth and peace. She loved Christmas in the city, the lights and excitement, but she always felt more centered somehow when she made the trek up to Pine Hollow to spend Christmas with her grandparents like she had when she was little. She’d thought this place was magical back then, and that feeling had never quite gone away.

  “You go get your photos,” Gram encouraged. “Get out and enjoy the town a little bit. We’ve been monopolizing you here.”

  Ally squeezed her grandmother’s arm where it linked with hers. “I like being monopolized by you.”

  When she arrived in Vermont, she’d just wanted to soak up the time with her grandparents an
d look after the dogs. The last few years she’d been working freelance and traveling whenever the job demanded—which meant a lot of time on her own. It got lonely. She’d missed having someone to share the day-to-day with.

  But Gram was right. If Ally wanted the full Pine Hollow Christmas experience, she couldn’t get that hanging around the shelter all the time. It would do her good to get out into the town.

  Fifteen minutes later she headed down the long driveway with a scarf wrapped around her neck and her camera in her hands.

  Pine Hollow was the foundation for every fantasy of small-town life she’d ever had. Every block looked like another Christmas card. If she headed one direction she’d find covered bridges and the winding road that led out to the ski resort. In the other direction lay the adorable town square, complete with a gazebo at one corner, all of it covered in snow and the peaceful hush of winter.

  Lifting her camera to shoot as she walked, Ally wandered toward the square, taking everything in through the filter of her lens. The historic town hall. The cute little inn. There were a few pedestrians, townspeople going about their daily lives, but the December morning still felt marvelously still, the air crisp and clean and cold in her lungs.

  The lyrics of Christmas songs ran through her head, and she found herself humming as she wandered toward the heart of town. As she grew closer to the square, she heard voices shouting instructions before she even turned the corner and spotted the bustle of activity.

  A group of people was directing the delivery of a giant pine tree for the tree lighting next week. Ally moved along the street opposite to get a better angle, framing the shot—and right on cue an actual horse-drawn sleigh rounded the corner, gliding toward the square. Did a moment get any more classically Christmas?

  Ally grinned and backpedaled to get the shot before the sleigh moved out of position. She hadn’t brought her wide angle, but with just a few more steps…

  Jingle bells jangled over her head. Ally focused entirely on the viewfinder as she scrambled back—

  And slammed into something hard.