Dog days of summer, p.1
Dog Days of Summer, page 1
Praise for The Dog Days of Summer
When country music star Trina Potter returns to her hometown of Brenham, Texas, she finds herself caught up in a mystery that makes everyone look like a suspect. Her high school rival Bitsy is about to divorce her hairdresser husband and gets a tad jealous of Trina being back and getting cozy with lawyer Wyatt Chastain. Because Trina is worried about her mother and her niece Mari, who runs the local animal rescue shelter, she decides to buy land in Brenham and let Mari have a building to renovate and use for the Second Chance Ranch rescue clinic. And there is Blue Bell ice cream. Soon, strange things start happening–pipe bombs, her dog getting hurt, the BBQ obsessed neighbor threatening to shoot first and ask questions later, and she’s falling for Wyatt. How can she keep up when her record company wants her to stay in Nashville. This book has all the feels–Texas, ice cream, dogs, and a fun family, all wrapped up in quirky small town package. You’ll woof you way through this one. It’s fun!!
–Lenora Worth, New York Times bestselling author of The X-Mas Club
Y’Barbo takes you on a fun visit to small town Texas where you can practically smell the barbeque cooking (and the apple pie). She creates a cast of characters that shine, each with their own wonderful personalities. As you read, you wonder ‘who done it?’ right up until the very end. Steller writing, fun characters, and a caper so good you just can’t put it down!
–Kari Trumbo, USA Today bestselling author
Kathleen Y’Barbo’s The Dog Days of Summer is a fun tale set in little Brenham, Texas. Dog-loving, country-music-star heroine, Trina Potter’s first-person narration gives the story an authentic Texas twang to go along with all the mystery, sweet romance, and small-town schemes a reader could want.
–Julianna Deering, author of the Drew Farthering Mysteries
Kathleen has done it again! Steller writing, relatable characters, twisty plot, and rescue dogs … who could want anything more? You don’t want to miss Dog Days of Summer.
–Robin Caroll, author of the Darkwater Inn series
Oh, my goodness, I loved this story! Take a plucky yet compassionate song-singing heroine. Add a swoon-worthy hero, secondary characters who provide spice and mischief, and a whole cast of lovable canines. Place them in a small-town atmosphere and then stir in an intriguing mystery wrapped around doggy-rescue. End result? A must-turn-one-more-page story from beginning to end. I’ve loved every Y’Barbo book I’ve ever read, but Dog Days of Summer is at the top of the list. Treat yourself to this entertaining, heart-touching, soul-impacting tale of healing old wounds and crafting new beginnings.
–Kim Vogel Sawyer, bestselling author of Freedom’s Song
The Dog Days of Summer ©2022 by Kathleen Y’Barbo
Print ISBN 978-1-63609-394-9
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63609-395-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the publisher. Reproduced text may not be used on the World Wide Web.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., 1810 Barbour Drive, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to inspire the world with the life-changing message of the Bible.
Printed in the United States of America.
DEDICATION
For as long as I can remember, I have dreamed of moving to Washington County, Texas, and living close to the bluebonnets, my favorite restaurant and pie shop (Royer’s Café and Royer’s Pie Haven in Round Top), the rolling hills, the Junk Gypsy Company store (also in Round Top), the twice yearly Antiques Weeks shopping extravaganza, and well … you get the idea. I love that place!
However, my feet are firmly planted some sixty or so miles away from my version of heaven on earth.
For now.
But someday …
In the meantime, this book is dedicated to my favorite Washington County, Texas, women authors, creatives, and entrepreneurs:
Tara “the Pie Queen” Royer Steele, author of Eat, Pie, Love and the owner of Royer’s Pie Haven and All Things Acres; Amie and Jolie Sykes (aka the Junk Gypsies), authors of Junk Gypsy: Designing a Life at the Crossroads of Wonder & Wander;
and
because she’s my inspiration for Trina Potter, Miranda Lambert, who with her mom, Bev Lambert, founded MuttNation Foundation in 2009 to ensure that as many dogs as possible would have a safe and happy place to call home.
Also, I write this in memory of my sweet English springer spaniel, Bandit, who is gone but definitely not forgotten, especially when I eat popcorn. He was the bestest boy.
And finally, I give all the glory to God and all the thanks to Janice Thompson for coming to me with the brilliant idea of writing about dogs.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
CHAPTER 1
A few minutes before 6:00 p.m.
on the first Saturday in December
The Brenham, Texas,
Annual Lighted Christmas Parade
When I told Mama that I was fine with whatever Christmas plans she had, I had no idea I would arrive in my hometown of Brenham, Texas, to discover I’d been named grand marshal of the annual Lighted Christmas Parade. And I certainly didn’t expect I’d end up on a glow-in-the-dark float made from a flatbed trailer loaned for the occasion from Bubba’s Haul-It-Fast, Inc.
But there I sat, shivering on a cold December evening and wondering how in the world a woman of my age with a long list of hit records and Miranda Lambert’s personal cell number on speed dial got herself into this situation.
Of course the answer was simple. My mother had always had a way of talking me into things. And my niece Marigold Evans, known by everyone as Mari, had inherited that talent.
I glanced around at my motley crew of companions on the light-covered float—a half dozen adorable, barking mutts in elf suits—and couldn’t help but smile. Every one of them was rescued by Mari and her volunteers and dressed by my mother.
Yes, my mother makes dog clothes. Trust me, I encourage this every chance I get. If I don’t, I’m afraid she will go back to insisting on making my stage costumes, and nobody wants that.
It was bad enough that Mama made a Christmas vest for me complete with lights spelling the words Merry Christmas that flash on and off. It was my fault though. I told her I absolutely refused to wear an outfit she made, and I may have let her think that I was contractually obligated to wear something chosen by my manager.
I mean, it’s probably written into the contract somewhere. Who reads the fine print on those things? So Mama made the vest—which she pointed out was technically not an outfit—skirting around the rules to find a loophole yet again.
In the middle of the Christmas-themed chaos, my niece sat cross-legged with a smile as big as Texas and a headband with lighted candy canes. Mari might be able to talk me into just about anything, thanks to my mama, but she got her love of animals from me and her mama.
Mari had made a career out of this by working as a vet tech at Lone Star Veterinary Clinic in Brenham. That evening, both veterinarians and the rest of the staff had lined up to greet me as I climbed aboard the float emblazoned with the words GIVE A PET A SECOND CHANCE on a lighted sign at the front and LONE STAR VET CLINIC—BRENHAM’S BEST, JUST ASK YOUR PET! on the back.
Mari’s description of that hunky vet Dr. Tyler Durham was not an exaggeration. He really is that handsome. And Dr. Keller—I’m supposed to call her Kristin—is sweet as pie.
And the vet tech who follows Mari around like a lost puppy? Parker something-or-other? I’ll never forget those gorgeous blue eyes or the way he looks at my niece.
And the way she returns that look.
I had met the others, but I am terrible with names. I sure hoped they’d all be wearing name tags at the clinic Christmas party after the parade.
Oh, but the fur babies? I knew all their names and would have taken every one of them home if I could have gotten away with it.
Bucky and Clementine were barking like crazy at the policemen on horseback up ahead, while Skipper, Sunshine, and Bella were alternating between exploring the confines of the picket fence wrapped in Christmas lights that held them in and rolling around playing.
They reminded me of my two, Patsy and Cline, who were cooling their heels—or rather their paws—back at home a
Any pet lover knows when a dog has decided you’re the one who ought to listen to him. Or, in this case, to her.
I gathered up the persistent puppy and tucked her under the blanket I’d thrown over my legs. The little girl—all or part Springer Spaniel, I guessed—instantly captured my heart with her glossy liver-and-white coat with beach waves of fur I never could manage, even with all the money I spend on hair products.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” someone called from up ahead, signaling a response from the drum line of the Brenham High School Band.
I glanced over at Mari, who was dividing her time between calming the dogs with toys she retrieved from her backpack and repairing the damage they caused to the arrangement of star lights that had been glued randomly to the picket fence.
As the drumbeat picked up, Mari stood and pulled a thick white ribbon out of her backpack and handed it to me. “I almost forgot. You’ll need to wear this sash.”
I eyed the length of cloth with the words Trina Potter Country Singing Sensation sewed on with glow-in-the-dark trim. “Oh no, sweetheart. I won’t be putting that on.”
Mari laughed. “Suit yourself, but Grandma Peach made it. Apparently, it was Tyler’s way of calming her down after he told her she couldn’t advertise her pies or her pet clothes business on his float or have your song about her playing on the float’s loudspeaker during the parade.”
I gave the sash another look. “So I either wear this or explain it to Mama?”
My niece nodded. “And good luck with that second option, because I guarantee she’ll notice if you don’t.”
I groaned as I shrugged into Mama’s work of art. “Are you sure you don’t want to join me up here on this bench?” I asked Mari. “You’re the real star here with your dog rescues. I just write songs and try not to forget the words when I sing them. I’m sure if these dogs could talk, they’d agree.”
Mari grinned. “It’s probably a good thing they can’t talk, Aunt Trina. Most of them weren’t too happy about the bath and the medical treatment they got when they were first rescued. And as to sitting up there? No, thank you. I’ll stay down here and make sure these crazy canines don’t jump the fence.”
“You never were one for the spotlight,” I told her. “Busier than a bee in the background but never wanting to take credit for the good you do. So much like your mama.”
Mari’s face softened, and I wished I could take back those words. She and I didn’t talk about my big sister much, but when we did, it was never planned. Nor was it easy.
And it generally ended with both of us in tears.
I miss Vanessa more than life itself. I’d have given up every one of my gold records and moved back home if it had kept her alive.
But none of that would stop what the cancer had started. And it only took one trip to Brenham to see that Mari ought to be the one to care for her mama. Not because I couldn’t or wouldn’t do it but rather because my niece wanted to do it.
She needed to.
So I made the difficult decision not to come around too much lest Mari think she ought to step back and let me take over. I tend to take over things—again I blame my mama for this—and I have no doubt I would have done exactly that.
In the end, it had been Mari who had stayed with her mama until she was gone. Mari who delivered the news to Mama and me that Vanessa was gone.
I sighed as I tried hard to keep my smile in place. Mama was here, so it wasn’t like Mari was without family, but the girl shouldn’t be walking the grief road alone.
The float jerked forward, and my little companion let out a bark. At the same time, the marching band struck up a rousing version of “Jingle Bells.”
“It’s all right.” I scratched my new best friend behind her ear. “It’s just a bunch of noise. Don’t let it bother you, honey.”
At that last word, that little dog stared up at me with the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. She was giving me a look that said I’d spoken the magic word.
“Oh, I see. Your name is Honey.” The pup cuddled against me, and I gave her ear another scratch. “Well, that was a good guess. I’ll be sure Mari knows. Now hang on, because we’re about to go for a ride.”
Mari glanced up at me. “The dog you’re holding is a little jittery around loud noises, so hold on tight. She was the closest one to the …”
Her voice trailed off. I knew instantly that Mari had said more than she’d intended. But about what?”
“Closest to what?” I demanded.
She looked away.
“Marigold Evans. What aren’t you telling me?”
My niece swiveled to face her. “A few days ago, there might have been an explosion at the rescue.”
“Might have been?”
Honey yipped at my outburst. I smoothed her fur and her rising tension with a sweep of my hand.
“Okay,” Mari admitted, “so there was an explosion, but no one was hurt because the police came and detonated the device before it blew up next to the rescue.”
“What kind of device?”
“Some kind of homemade bomb.” She shook her head. “That’s all I’m saying. Now smile and wave, okay? This is a Christmas parade, not an inquisition.”
CHAPTER 2
“You never mentioned anything about an explosion at your rescue facility,” I said to Mari, feeling as though the breath had been knocked out of me.
“It’s not a big deal, Aunt Trina,” my niece told me, irritation crossing her face. “Just an isolated incident. Probably someone’s idea of a joke. No one was hurt.” She paused to gather up a squirming pup into her arms. “I promise I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
“I see nothing funny about this.” I pasted on my best pageant-girl smile. “You’ll tell me tonight after this parade is over, and then I will decide whether to worry or not.”
Mari made no response. She’d turned her full attention back to her furry charges. I tucked Honey closer to me and resolved to get to the bottom of this explosion thing as soon as possible.
In the meantime, I’d smile. And wave. And maybe even enjoy myself a little.
But I would know everything I could about a homemade bomb at a place where my niece visited regularly. And where precious pups like Honey called home, albeit temporarily.
In the meantime, I forced my attention back on the smiling and waving.
I’ve been in a parade or two during my lifetime. I mean, I did my fair share of pageants and such, and I might have won the honor of being senior class prom queen—we won’t talk about how long ago that was!—Miss Cotton Gin, Bluebonnet Queen, and a few others. I have to say that this one, with all of Brenham’s finest trailing down the main roads lit up like Christmas trees, was the most fun.
Poor Honey spent most of the route hidden inside the fur-trimmed red blanket that covered my lap. Mama had produced the blanket at the last minute, and I suspect it was because she didn’t approve of me wearing jeans with holes in them, even if I’d bought them that way.
“Faded and holey makes no sense,” she’d said when we were discussing my wardrobe that morning at the breakfast table. “Don’t you want baby Jesus to see you in your best?”
I was sorely tempted to argue that baby Jesus had grown up to be the very same adult Jesus who taught His followers to judge folks by their hearts instead of their appearance.
Then I saw Mama beaming down at me from her seat in the VIP box, and my heart melted. Oh, how I love that woman, even if I will never understand her ways.
I looked over at Mari. Now her, I understand.
Just like music is my solace, hers is animals. I wanted to do more to help her reach her goal of having a permanent home for her rescue operations. I made a mental note to speak with her about this before I left.
As if she felt my attention on her, my niece glanced back at me. “Are you doing okay, Aunt Trina? We’re almost to the end of the parade route.”
I figured we must be since I’d lost count of how many times I’d heard the marching band play “Jingle Bells.” Still, when I responded, my smile was genuine.
