She selected a training lead and positioned it on Milo’s neck. Adding a handful of small treats to her pocket, she led the dog to the back door. “Okay, Milo. We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”
The dog panted up at her, ears perked. A glob of slobber dropped from the corner of his sagging lips onto the toe of her shoe.
“I’m not going to hold that against you. I have a very good friend named Cameron who does the same thing sometimes.” She rubbed the dog’s tawny head. “Now, I’m going to open this door. You’re going to wait and let me go through first. Understand?”
Pant, pant, pant.
“Sit.” She pressed his butt to the floor and mumbled, “Here goes nothing.”
Turning the knob slowly, she straightened, sending Milo every signal she could muster to indicate she was the alpha and he should stay behind her. But as soon as the door was cracked three inches, Milo bolted. Yanked by her leash-holding arm, Laina soared like a kite over the threshold, body flapping behind the massive canine. As he bounded across the pool deck, she leaped over chairs, limbs flailing until she could muster her inner wolf.
“Milo, stop!” she growled, giving the dog a sharp and firm correction.
Milo slowed to a stop at the edge of the yard. Panting, Laina took the mastiff’s slobbery face in her hands. “Why did you have to do it the hard way?” The dog’s tongue flicked out and up the side of her face.
“Ms. Whitehall, is everything all right?” the housekeeper called from the door Laina had left hanging open.
Laina waved. “Just fine.” She nudged Milo and adjusted the training lead. “Let’s try this again.”
The backyard was ideal for a large dog like Milo. It was easily two acres, fenced, with plenty of shade trees. The swimming pool Milo had flown past might offer him an excellent form of exercise if the pool cleaner didn’t protest the inevitable dirt and hair in the filter. Straightening, she began again, urging Milo to walk at her pace and correcting him when he tried to lunge ahead.
After a long afternoon of training, Laina concluded that Milo was further along than she’d expected. He could sit on command, as well as lie down, and, off leash, he came when called. He did not know the command to leave an object alone, and a ball she tossed for his amusement was promptly destroyed rather than returned.
But after several sessions around the yard, Milo followed her back to the house at an easy walk.
“I can’t believe it.” The housekeeper grinned from the door, her graceful gray chignon reminding Laina of a character from a children’s book. “I never thought anyone but Herbert would bring that beast to heel.”
“Herbert?”
“Kyle’s father.” She grinned, rubbing Milo’s head. “Kyle was right about you. You are the best. I’m Gerty.” The elderly woman held out her hand.
Kyle said I was the best? “Anna. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’ll call you Anna if you prefer. But ever since he brought Milo to see you at your clinic, he hasn’t stopped talking about you, Dr. Flynn.” She winked. “I can’t recall a woman ever having the effect you did on him.”
Laina narrowed her eyes on Gerty. So, the old woman knew her secret as well. “Did Kyle put you up to this? Half-naked supermodels twenty-four hours a day. Hundreds of pictures on the internet of his verybusylifestyle. I’m sure he has better things to talk about than a vet he met in New Hampshire.”
Gerty pressed her lips together, her face growing serious. She seemed to want to say something but stopped herself. “Well, you would know better than I would.”
Laina’s eyebrows knit together, but the old woman turned back toward the kitchen before she could say another word. Clearly, Gerty had known Kyle longer than Laina, and the twist of the woman’s thin lips would indicate her comment was sarcasm. But why? Why not address the realities of what Kyle did head on, one way or the other?
“Oh, Gerty?” Laina shifted her weight. “Is there a place nearby where I can order dinner?”
She clucked her tongue. “I should have told you that Chef serves dinner in the dining room of the west wing at six o’clock. I’m afraid you’ve missed tonight’s seating.”
“Seating?” She laughed. “Does he cook for the staff every night?”
She stopped dusting and looked at Laina as if she were dense. “Yes. For the others. You’re staying in Kyle’s private wing, but there are always around twenty employees living in the west wing on any given day. Models, waitstaff, writers.”
“Writers?”
“For the online magazine.”
“Oh.”
“I can make you a sandwich if you like,” she offered.
“Don’t bother, Gerty,” Kyle said as he entered the kitchen. His outfit had gained a sport coat, and he looked as polished as when he’d left. “We’ll fend for ourselves.”
