Dare Me Again (Angel Fire Falls Book 2) Page 2

  Waddles settled into Elliott’s chest but kept cackling his unhappiness.

  Elliott pulled the game room door open to go knock out some of the tedious work he’d been putting off. If there were no shower caps and pillow mints in the rooms, this week’s guests might riot. But if he could get ahead on his regular workload tonight, then give the trainer one thousand percent of his attention when she arrived tomorrow . . .

  Scratch that. Two thousand percent. Because his driven personality required nothing less.

  And if the service dog camp was a success, it might bring him that much closer to going back to San Francisco where he belonged.

  Dog training and drinking strong coffee were Rebel Tate’s superpowers, and today was a three-cup kind of day.

  A buzz of anticipation raced through her as she leaned against the railing of the small ferry. It cut through the sapphire-blue water of the narrow channel separating Cape Celeste from the small vacation island. Showing up in Angel Fire Falls a day before she was due would give her extra time to set up before the dog matching boot camp started in a week.

  And might help her get over the earthquake of nerves that was shaking her concentration over seeing him again before the campers arrived.

  Time. Time—and a lot of it—had passed since she’d crossed the channel for what she’d thought would be the last time. Since she’d lost her mother and set out on her own as a homeless eighteen-year-old. Since she’d decided to end it with the love of her life because she knew he never would.

  Yet it seemed like yesterday.

  The furry shoulder of her retriever pressed into her thigh.

  She stroked the young dog’s head and adjusted his service vest. “I’ll be fine, Rem.” Besides the nest of angry hornets stinging her insides, she was as golden as the dog’s shiny coat. After ten years, she was returning to Angel Fire Falls a different person than when she’d left.

  Mostly.

  No more ratty clothes that had drawn snickers from the high school mean-girls clique. No more taking care of her mother, who was either strung out or passed out every day when Rebel had gotten home from school. No more living in her car or sleeping on park benches once she’d moved to Portland when her mother was hospitalized for a failing liver.

  The only things about Rebel that hadn’t changed were her flaming red hair and love of animals. Okay, she still loved mocha java chip ice cream like a girl gone mad. Coffee, ice cream, and dogs weren’t bad vices to have, considering her upbringing.

  Rem leaned heavier against her side.

  She gave his head a pat. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m not that nervous.”

  His whine told her he wasn’t any more convinced than she was. Obviously, his BS radar was just as sharp as his ability to detect rising cortisol levels.

  She chuckled and scratched behind his ear, thankful for the comfort he provided. “It’s just a town.” A small town where her mother’s humiliating lifestyle had overshadowed Rebel’s entire youth. “I doubt anyone will remember me.” She’d lived life on the fringe, never accepted by the cool kids. Except for one. Elliott Remington had taken an interest in her during a calculus class. They’d both been smart, tough survivors.

  No doubt he’d remember her.

  No one forgot their first love. Especially when one of them walked away with no explanation, asking to be left alone. For good.

  The ferry’s deep horn echoed through the light fog rolling in off the ocean. The rocky cliffs of Angel Fire Falls rose out of the mist in the distance, and the late-afternoon tide beat against the white sandy beach as the ferry drew closer to the terminal.

  She zipped her heavy windbreaker, pulled out her phone, and took a photo of Rem staring at the coast. Tapping on the screen, she uploaded the picture to her Instagram account, @WestCoastDogWhisperer. She stared up at the overcast sky before typing the caption Homecomings can be stressful, but my service dog is on it! Then she added the hashtag #ThreeCupKindOfDay and posted it.

  Social media had been instrumental in building her clientele as a dog whisperer. But not nearly as instrumental as the service dog matching camp would be in securing a training facility of her own. The accelerated schedule was definitely going to be a challenge, but the small fortune Down Home Dog Food had offered for stepping in at the last minute would fund her business plan and provide the down payment for a building. The media coverage the sponsor had planned for the event might help her solicit donations once she opened a nonprofit facility.

  The boot camp might’ve been last-minute, but the timing couldn’t have been better. The abandoned shelter she had her eye on wouldn’t stay on the market forever. Someone else would eventually realize what a hidden jewel it was and snatch it up.

  Unless she made an offer on it first.

  There was just one little catch that had Rebel’s anxiety soaring as high as the rocky cliffs that were drawing closer. One tiny problem that could derail her focus on the camp and send the emotions she’d learned to keep in check spiraling.

  The camp was hosted at the one place she’d never been able to forget because of the fond memories. Memories she’d held on to for years, locked away in her heart because they were the only good things she had from her life on the island. She’d worked at the resort to spend time with Elliott, and his family had become hers. The Remington had been her refuge.

  And he was there. She’d perused the resort’s website and social media pages, her breath catching on the pictures of Elliott.

  She glanced down at Rem as the foghorn echoed through the mist.

  He pressed into her like he was trained to do when she got upset. The tightness in her chest eased.

  “How ’bout we call you Buddy while we’re on the island?” Coming face-to-face with the guy she’d walked away from was going to be hard enough. If Elliott found out she’d named her service dog after his family’s resort, that she’d named every service dog she’d owned after the Remington, he’d probably start asking questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer because there was no sense dwelling on the past.

  Rem lifted his head to pant into the breeze, allowing the cool air to blow back his ears.

  The loudspeaker crackled to life. “We’ll dock in five minutes,” the ferry captain said, as though he couldn’t have turned around and spoken to her, since she wasn’t more than ten feet away and the only passenger on the two-car ferry.

  Rebel drew in a deep breath, letting the fresh, salty air of the Pacific Northwest fill her lungs. The first signs of the shifting seasons added a crisp edge to the atmosphere, and she pulled the neck of her windbreaker over her chin.

  As if to hide.

  When she’d accepted the job, she knew returning to the island would be hard, but why did she feel like she was returning to the scene of a crime?

  Anxiety bolted through her, and Rem looked up at her with a whimper.

  Probably because she was returning to the scene of her mother’s crime. Mom dying before she could fess up to what she’d done hadn’t eased Rebel’s conscience or brought justice to the other family who had been destroyed.

  With Rem’s leash in one hand and her suitcase in the other, she nodded to the captain and walked down the ramp. Her bag thumping behind her, she glanced at the sign at the entrance of the open-air terminal that said WELCOME TO ANGEL FIRE FALLS.

  Her heart stuttered.

  As she passed through the entrance, Ms. McGill’s familiar profile and supersize backcombed hair greeted Rebel from behind the scratched acrylic ticket booth window. Half a dozen vacationers stood in line with their bags, obviously booking passage back to the mainland.

  Rebel glanced at the shuttle schedule hanging on the wall next to the booth and stepped to the back of the line to pay for a ride. While she waited, she turned and took in the rocky shoreline to the left and the white sandy beach to the right. Her gaze landed on the small country road that led inland. Led to the Remington.

  She swallowed hard.

  Rem leaned harder and wedged
the top of his head under her palm.

  She moved up another space in line just as a scraggly mixed-breed dog that was missing a front leg hopped over to them. Rem growled playfully.

  “Settle,” Rebel said.

  The three-legged dog seemed to like the attention and wanted to play. He sidled up to Rem, who proceeded to lick the dog’s face.

  “Rebel Tate? Is that you?”

  Rebel jumped at Ms. McGill’s scratchy voice and swung around. Rebel eased up to the window as the other passengers disappeared through the exit, ferry tickets in hand.

  Mabel McGill hadn’t changed one bit. Coral lipstick still bled into the deep lines around her mouth. Both bony hands lifted to her cheeks in surprise, and her sparkling blue eyes filled with warmth.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rebel greeted her with a smile. “Good to see you, Ms. McGill.”

  “It’s been an age. You’re all grown up now, so you might as well call me Mabel. What brings you back to the island, hon?”

  “I’m . . .” The reality that she was going to be living at the Remington for a little more than a month made her throat close. “I’ve been hired to work on an event at the Remington,” she managed to choke out.

  One of Mabel’s penciled-on eyebrows lifted.

  Rebel glanced away from that knowing look and eyed the cawing seagulls hovering for scraps of food. She chewed her lip before she said, “It’s a service dog boot camp.” She lifted Rem’s leash. “I’m a professional trainer.”

  Mabel’s eyes glittered. “That should be interesting.” The way she stressed the last word said she wasn’t just talking about Rebel’s profession or the camp. No, she was talking about her long history with the middle Remington brother and the way Rebel had slipped away from the island right after Elliott went off to college.

  The dog rolled onto his back in submission, and Rem nuzzled him. Rebel had enough experience to recognize the signs of a puppy, and she figured he was probably two years old or less.

  Mabel leaned closer to the glass to look at the dogs. “He showed up on the island a few months ago, and no one has claimed him. I named him Bogart.”

  “He’s not chipped?” Rebel asked.

  Mabel shook her head, and not one backcombed strand of hair moved. “I took him to the only vet on the island, and Dr. Shaw couldn’t find a chip. No tag either. So I feed him and let him stay in the booth at night for shelter.” She paused. “Can’t bring him home, though. My grandkids visit every weekend, and one has asthma.”

  Rebel had seen it a thousand times. Someone didn’t have the compassion to bring him to a shelter, so they dumped him off and made him someone else’s problem.

  Rebel retrieved her wallet from the small fanny pack under her jacket. “I’m here a day ahead of schedule, so the Remingtons aren’t picking me up. I need a lift to the resort.”

  Mabel punched a few buttons on her register and out popped a ticket. “Next shuttle should be here in a few minutes. It’s running more often even now that tourist season is over on account of how busy we’ve been.”

  Rebel handed her a bill. “Thanks.”

  “We’ve also got bicycles and giant trikes if you want to take a ride around the island while you’re here.” Mabel slid the ticket across the counter. “Next summer we’ll have scooters to rent out.” Mabel shrugged. “Just FYI for next time you visit.”

  The chance of there being a next time was about as good as, say, Rebel living down her awful name. Thank you, Mom.

  Mabel waggled her brows. “Business is good thanks to the Remington hiring that new hospitality manager. The whole island is flourishing again.”

  Rebel nodded. Lily was the one who’d contacted her about the job. She’d been persuasive and persistent, and Rebel couldn’t have said no to her any more than she could’ve turned down Mother Teresa on a mission to save orphaned children. Even after she found out where Lily worked.

  Rebel picked up the ticket. “Thanks. I’m afraid I couldn’t bring Re—” She stumbled over the dog’s name because one of Mabel’s artistic eyebrows wouldn’t just arch. They’d both disappear into the hairline of her large ’do. “My dog couldn’t ride on a scooter.” She let a playful smile settle on her lips. “Unless you’ll be offering one with a sidecar.”

  Mabel picked up a deck of cards so worn the edges were frayed and started shuffling like it was her way of thinking. “Not a bad idea. I never thought my adult-size tricycles would be in high demand.” She stopped shuffling long enough to wave a hand toward the beach.

  Rebel turned to glance at the row of bikes and trikes chained to a bike rack, their blue-and-yellow flags swaying in the breeze. Half the slots were empty.

  “I could hardly keep them in stock during the vacation season. Even now that summer’s over, they’re still popular.” The zip of the cards made Rebel turn around again. “I bet scooters with sidecars would go over big.”

  “If the sidecar doesn’t work out, I’ll bring my own car over on the ferry when I—” Rebel hesitated. “If I visit again.” She’d driven to the Cape but had left her car in long-term parking for fear the small ferry might capsize with an actual car on it.

  “Good to see you again.” Rebel grabbed the handle of her luggage and turned toward one of the wooden benches to wait for the next shuttle. She stopped and angled her body back toward the booth. “Um, Mabel . . .” She wasn’t sure how to phrase the question she desperately wanted to ask.

  Did you give Elliott the Dear John letter I was too chicken to deliver myself? How did he take it when he came home for the holidays and realized I’d abandoned him? Has he hated me all these years for dumping him even though it was for his own good? Or worse. Maybe he hadn’t given her a second thought.

  Her stomach did a flippity-flop.

  How long had it taken him to realize she was an albatross who would’ve held him back from the bright future he’d had ahead of him? As smart as Elliott was, he’d likely figured it out before she had. His sense of duty, the way he’d looked out for her, was probably the reason he hadn’t broken up with her first.

  When Rebel couldn’t speak, Mabel’s expression softened. “I made sure he got your letter, hon, but I wasn’t around when he opened it.”

  The buzz of an engine drew their attention, and a shuttle bus came over a rise in the road.

  “That’s your ride,” Mabel said. “I hope your stay on the island is pleasant.”

  She wasn’t the only one. Even if Rebel would be reporting to Lily, her path would cross with Elliott’s. How could it not?

  Rebel couldn’t muster more than a half-hearted smile. “Thanks, Mabel. I owe you one.”

  She shrugged and shuffled. “I get that a lot. Don’t mention it, hon. I’m here to help folks however they need.”

  The shuttle pulled to a stop in front of the terminal. Rebel lifted her chin and inhaled a cleansing breath, trying to relax. It might be the last time she could until she completed the camp and went on her way with the nice payday she needed to fulfill the dream that would finally give her the sense of purpose she’d been looking for her entire life.

  Because she was not leaving this island a failure. Again.

  Chapter Two

  #EPICFAIL

  Rebel peered through the shuttle window as it slowed along the circular drive and stopped under the covered portico of the Remington. Her former teenage sanctuary looked good. Fresh paint on the wood trim framed the stone facade, and double doors at the entrance shone with new varnish.

  No one was waiting to greet her, just the way she’d intended. She’d wanted to arrive under the radar. Give herself a little time alone to adjust. Seeing the resort again was nostalgic. Sentimental.

  Terrifying.

  She drew in a breath and stood. As she led Rem down the aisle, she glanced out the front windshield. Two groundskeepers were busy manicuring a grouping of Oregon holly shrubs that were tinged with deep red. The island was technically part of Washington, but since it was right on the Oregon state line, Angel Fire F
alls captured the charm of both.

  She stepped off the shuttle with Rem at her side while the driver fumbled to unload her luggage. The way the nautical uniform swallowed his youthful frame said he was barely old enough to qualify for a commercial driver’s license. The way he struggled with her suitcase said he was as inexperienced as he looked.

  He gave her a nervous glance through the open door of the shuttle.

  “Push the button on top of the handle.” She smiled, hoping to reassure him.

  Rem strained toward the kid, his keen ability to detect stress kicking in. Unfortunately, a service dog was supposed to respond only to its companion, not to everyone experiencing anxiety. Which was why he’d been rejected from a previous matching program and abandoned.

  “Settle,” Rebel said to him in a calm, low voice.

  Rem plopped onto his haunches.

  The driver knocked the bag over, and it tumbled down the steps of the bus, lodging in the open door.

  “Need help?” she asked. The kid’s driving had been stellar. Everything that had happened after the bus was in park was another story.

  “No, ma’am,” he insisted.

  Ma’am? She looked old enough to be a ma’am? Fanfreakingtastic. No one wanted to reunite with old friends and acquaintances—and ex-boyfriends—looking like a ma’am. She stopped herself from frowning. Didn’t frowns cause more wrinkles than smiles?

  Rem got up and pulled toward the side of the bus, whining.

  Rebel didn’t move, waiting for the tension in his leash to relax. Rem was still young and a little jumpy, but she wasn’t giving up on him like his previous trainer had. Giving up on a dog usually meant their time would be short. Without a supportive trainer, it was hard to find them a home.

  That’s what made her future facility so unique. She didn’t plan to use pedigreed dogs specifically bred for service programs. She also didn’t plan to use training handlers who spent two years with a dog before pairing them with a companion in need of a service dog. She planned to use rescues and match them right away with victims of traumatic brain injuries and anxiety disorders similar to the veterans who’d be attending this camp. She’d train the human, and the human could train the dog. Suffering people shouldn’t have to wait years for a match, and the traditional training process excluded a lot of homeless dogs just because they were born into unfortunate circumstances. Both the rescue dogs and their recipients needed someone in their corner rooting for them, believing in them, willing to take a chance on them.