Free Putting on the Dog by Cynthia Baxter Page A

screenwriter locked up in your basement?”
    “I think I’m beginning to understand what Jessie sees in you,” Shawn returned in the same cheerful voice. As he turned to lead Rufus away, he called, “Later, Jess.”
    “I don’t like him,” Emily muttered.
    “Me, either,” Nick agreed. “What’s he doing, Jess, stalking you?”
    “Why are you making such a big deal about Shawn?”
    “How about the fact that every time I see the two of you together, you’ve got your arms around each other? What am I supposed to think, when you act all...all gooey whenever he’s around?”
    “I’ve never acted gooey in my life!” I insisted indignantly. Deciding not to mention the mud bath his Ferrari had given me upon my arrival, I added, “Besides, Shawn has been very nice to me ever since I got here.”
    Nick snorted. “I’ll bet he has.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Just that I wouldn’t trust that guy as far as I could throw him.”
    “Are you the veterinarian?” a woman cradling a silky gray dog in her arms asked as she emerged from the crowd milling around the booth. “My schnauzer just started limping. I’m worried that he might have stepped on something sharp. Can you take a look at him?”
    I felt like hugging her. “Certainly. Just give me two seconds.” I turned to Nick. “Look, I don’t have time for this right now. Just trust me, okay? You have nothing to worry about where Shawn Elliot is concerned. We’re just friends. I’m not the least bit impressed by the fact that he’s a famous movie star. Look, it was really thoughtful of you to come by, and—”
    “There was a reason, you know.” He still sounded defensive, but his tone was softening. “I wanted to ask you if you had time to go to the beach later. When you’re done here, I mean.”
    I blinked. “ ‘The beach’?”
    “I thought it’d be...you know, romantic. That was the original idea in coming here, remember?”
    “That’s really sweet,” I told him sincerely.
    “Great. Then I’ll be waiting for you at the guesthouse at the end of the afternoon.” He leaned forward and kissed me lightly. “Hey, have fun today, Jess. And knock ’em dead. Let these snobby Bromptons folk see just how special you are.”
    At that moment, as I turned away and focused on the schnauzer with the bum leg, I remembered exactly why I loved Nick Burby.
    The morning passed quickly. While I’d expected things to be quiet, a steady stream of pet owners stopped by the “Ask The Vet” booth, looking for information or advice. I discussed flea collars with the owner of a black Lab and advised a pug owner on how to help her overweight dog slim down. One woman with a Scottie wanted me to look at her dog’s ears, which were constantly getting infected. A nervous young man was all atwitter about the safety of the chemicals in dog shampoos and the preservatives in food. I reminded him that just because something claims to be all-natural, that doesn’t guarantee that it’s safe.
    Lyme disease was a popular topic. Deer are as abundant on eastern Long Island as tourists—and as hard to control. They’re everywhere, even in people’s backyards, eating their flower beds. That means deer ticks are everywhere, and deer ticks mean Lyme disease. While it’s as much a problem for people as it is for animals, today’s crowd was much more focused on their dogs’ health than their own. The grotesque deer tick next to my booth turned out to be the biggest draw of the event. At least, after the booth selling collars studded with giant faux jewels and crocodile-skin leashes.
    After a long, intense hour of fielding questions, I decided to take a short break. I left Emily in charge of both my dogs and the booth, assuring her that I’d be back soon to deal with anything complicated that came up.
    I had to admit, the excitement was getting to me. Being exiled to the edge of the action, watching the dogs and their owners parade in and out of the tents from