The Perfect Disaster Read online

  The Perfect Disaster

  Applebottom Matchmaker Society

  Abby Tyler

  Contents

  Meeting Minutes

  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

  Epilogue

  Gertrude and Maude’s Red Slice Pie

  About Abby Tyler

  Summary

  When a newcomer to Applebottom with an untrained Great Dane wrecks several businesses in Town Square, the old-timers know exactly what to do. Match the young woman with their only hope for controlling the lovable 150-pound four-legged disaster -- the hunky football coach with a soft spot for dogs.

  Copyright © 2019 by Abby Tyler. All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  * * *

  AbbyTyler

  PO Box 160116

  Austin, TX 78716

  www.abbytyler.com

  * * *

  Paperback ISBN: 9781938150852

  * * *

  Edition 2.1

  Meeting Minutes

  APPLEBOTTOM TOWN SQUARE PROPRIETORS

  Gertrude Vogel, secretary

  Because nobody else in town is literate.

  * * *

  Today we met at the Applebottom Pie Shoppe, owned by yours truly.

  Maude Lewis, my nasty old co-owner, tried to cross out the pe at the end of shoppe in my notes and got purple ink on the sleeve of my brand-new Walmart blouse.

  I told her to watch where she aimed that infernal pen, and she told me I shouldn’t have gotten all fancy with the word shoppe and named our store a normal shop like a regular human.

  I told her that our pie shop had been a shoppe since President Nixon and she just needed to get over it already.

  She said she wished she’d made me change it when she bought half of it.

  I told her I wished she’d just hush up about it.

  We’ve been having this same argument since 1997.

  Delilah Jones, owner of Nothing but a Pound Dog, butted in and reminded us to get back to the agenda. As if we had one.

  Maude went to get a Tide stick for my blouse, and we poured another round of coffee while we waited for her to get back.

  Our illustrious mayor T-Bone added a splash of whiskey to his coffee, but nobody said nothing about it, given that it’s five o’clock somewhere.

  I’ve been known to nip some of the bourbon we keep for the pecan pie any time that tall drink of water Alfred Felmont comes in to fetch a slice of lemon meringue, his favorite. Lord, that man makes me tongue-tied.

  Maude came back and took another peek at my notes and told me I was too old to be sparking over Alfred Felmont. I nearly smacked her with my good leather notebook, except I have a high regard for our distinguished group and don’t want to get blood on our minutes.

  Delilah cleared her throat and plumped up her beehive, which is supposedly vintage retro style, but the only beehives around here are out on Grant Nelson’s farm. With bees in them.

  Delilah went on to tell us what transpired in her dog bakery.

  A new girl named Ginny Page came trotting into town with a behemoth of a dog, a Great Dane she calls Roscoe. He outweighed the girl by a good bit, and she had zero control over him. Delilah had her door propped open to snatch some of the fall breeze (I told her she’s going through the change but she doesn’t believe me, they never do) and the dog dragged the girl right inside her store. He proceeded to ransack the place.

  Topher and Danny Smith-Cole, who own Applebottom Blossoms, about jumped out of their chairs, hollering something about twisted gut syndrome and had anybody checked on the dog after he ate all that. But Delilah shushed them and said the dog was fine and just yesterday was seen dragging that poor girl down Main Street and almost causing three car accidents when he cut through traffic.

  She insisted we had to do something, or she didn’t dare open the doors to her own bakery lest the dog eat her out of house and home. Maude said she was out of order since it was her business and not her place of residence, and Delilah got huffy and her cheeks turned red, which is not a good look for a fifty-seven-year-old woman. Especially since she’s obviously going through the change.

  Danny said it was a shame we’d just lost Horace Shillings, the only dog trainer in Applebottom. He moved to Arkansas to a cabin in the Ozarks proper and was rumored to be a fan of the Razorbacks now.

  Maude caught sight of my notes and tut-tutted in her ornery old way. But we were all in agreement that it’s a sacred sin to switch teams like that. Danny and Topher got a good chuckle when I said it, and I don’t know why, but I’m good for laughing when the laughing’s good so I jumped right in.

  Delilah insisted we do something, but nobody had any ideas. Maude asked who in town had any expertise in dogs, but most everybody we know has an animal they can control. Delilah suggested asking Savannah’s help, but Maude said no, that poor girl has enough to manage out at the animal shelter with Boone so far out of health.

  Danny said maybe we could just find someone strong enough to help her until she could teach it some commands. We all thought about it for a while, then Topher remembered that the football coach looked pretty strong and since he was single and all, he might have time to help her.

  Betty Johnson, who runs Tea for Two, said he was a total hunk, and it was a shame no local girl had caught his eye in the two years he’d been coach.

  And that settled it. Delilah said she’d send a book over to the girl on how to train your dog, and someone could call the high school and ask if the coach would help her out.

  T-Bone pointed out it was football season and the coach might be busy, but then everybody laughed because our team hasn’t had a winning season since 1985 and they can’t be practicing all that much.

  We assigned the call to Topher, since his mother Sadie is the school secretary, and everybody got a slice of our newest creation, a cranberry-plum pie in honor of the coming season. Maude and I call it Red Slice.

  Meeting adjourned.

  Chapter 1

  Ginny Page knew it would only be a matter of time before she got kicked out of town.

  She gazed over at the source of all her problems.

  He was handsome. Sweet. Adorable. And totally chill as he lay next to her on the grassy hillside of the public park. To make matters worse, every so often he would glance up, his gentle eyes meeting hers as if they were soulmates.

  They sort of were.

  He was so beautiful. Ginny’s heart squeezed.

  Except.

  He wasn’t always this great.

  Looking at him, you would never know the incredible amount of destruction he brought upon Town Square just a few days ago. He’d become a crazed maniac. Tables overturned. Glass shattered. His brazen dash through traffic almost caused three car accidents.

  Ginny had moved to this tiny community
of Applebottom, Missouri, only two weeks ago, yet she was already the talk of the town.

  Maybe she’d make a mistake bringing him with her. She barely knew him.

  Ginny stared too long at him, and he noticed. He lifted his snout and gave her a little woof.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s nobody here to bother us.”

  She’d no more said it when a lanky teen boy approached their spot. Earbuds snaked from a hidden pocket in his jacket. He gave Ginny a nod. “Nice dog, lady.”

  Roscoe lifted his head as if considering whether or not he should pounce.

  “Thank you,” Ginny said carefully. She’d already learned not to sound too excited or that would set Roscoe off.

  “What is he? A Great Dane?”

  “Yes,” she said. “About two years old.”

  “I think he’s bigger than you.”

  “He outweighs me by a bit.”

  His gaze paused on the harness circling Ginny’s waist and followed it up the line connecting it to the one around Roscoe’s chest. “I sure wouldn’t want to be strapped to him if he took off.”

  Ginny murmured noncommittally. She knew how it looked. She wouldn’t have used the body harness if she could have safely taken Roscoe outside any other way.

  The boy moved on, cresting the hill and disappearing over the other side.

  Ginny let out a sigh. She never knew when she encountered a member of this small town if they’d already made a judgment about her and poor Roscoe. Ever since their disaster, she’d stayed away from Town Square and the shops.

  But the job Ginny had moved for would start in two days, and the thought of meeting other people in town filled her with dread.

  All because of her dog.

  Roscoe was new to her. A month before she left Chicago, her best friend Celia found the emaciated Great Dane in a gutter behind her apartment complex. Celia had snuck the big dog inside. With the help of a vet, they got Roscoe cured of worms, free of parasites, and his back leg braced so it would heal properly.

  Ginny had visited Roscoe several times while he steadily improved. He was such a sweet and gentle dog. Ginny would lie beside him in his big sheepskin bed, and he would sigh against her shoulder. Sometimes he whimpered a little if his pain medication had worn off.

  Unfortunately, Celia’s landlord discovered the dog. She gave Celia ten days to find it a new home or she would be evicted.

  Ginny felt a deep connection to him and panicked when Celia said she had to find him a home, or she would have no choice but to call a shelter. Ginny was moving within the week and paced her apartment, trying to decide if she could take him.

  Her rented house in Missouri had a solid fence in the backyard, and it seemed like fate that Roscoe would come to her just as she made this big move.

  So she’d brought him.

  The wind kicked up another notch, lifting tendrils of hair from her forehead. It felt good in Applebottom. The weather was perfect, gentle and nourishing. The town was nestled at the foot of the Ozark mountains on the edge of Table Rock Lake, so the views were incredible.

  It felt like home.

  Or at least it had, until Roscoe trampled half of Town Square.

  Ginny looked over at the dog. He slept again, an occasional snort breaking the quiet. He really was sweet. He just couldn’t control himself. He hadn’t been microchipped, so Ginny and Celia weren’t sure how long he’d been on the streets or if he’d ever had a home.

  Ginny’s parents had never allowed her to have a dog growing up, so she had very little experience. Between packing, driving, then unpacking, she’d done the best she could to watch videos on training a dog to sit and heel and obey. The thing was, most of those dogs were normal size. Roscoe, to put it mildly, was huge.

  Ginny hadn’t known he was so excitable when she loaded him into her car for the three-day trek from Chicago to Missouri. In Celia’s apartment, he’d been sleepy and cuddly, although his limp was quickly going away, and he was putting on weight in a hurry. Ginny had this false sense that he was calm and easygoing all the time.

  A few hours into the drive, she’d stopped at a roadside rest spot so that Roscoe could do his business. She gave him a nice big meal and planned to walk him on the edge of the woods.

  But being out of the city seemed to energize him. He took off running, trying to race the cars flying along the freeway. Ginny was caught surprised, and Roscoe managed to jerk the leash right out of her hands. She’d sprinted a good half-mile behind him before he finally paused for a breath, and Ginny was able to tackle him.

  Just thinking about all the disasters she’d endured in their short time together made her cheeks burn, and Ginny was glad for the breeze to cool them down.

  Roscoe let out another little woof, and her anxiety peaked. His head was up, his ears pricked.

  “Steady, boy.”

  His nose sniffed the air. Ginny inhaled too, trying to figure out what might be interesting him. She kept her hand on the leash that connected them, her heart hammering painfully. This big lakeside park was the only place she would risk taking him after what had happened last week in town.

  But maybe this had also been a mistake.

  Finally, the smell hit her. Hot dogs. There was a vendor somewhere in the park. Roscoe lifted his boxy snout and sniffed again. Ginny got to her knees to brace herself in case he bolted.

  “Let’s go home, Roscoe,” she crooned.

  She slid her backpack over her shoulders. Roscoe stepped off the blanket, and Ginny slowly bent down to grab it. The trick was to talk calmly and make no sudden movements.

  “Let’s go home and get you a treat.”

  At the word treat, Roscoe leaped forward, tongue lolling out. He definitely understood that.

  Ginny snatched up the blanket and turned toward home. Her rental house was only six blocks from the park. “This way, Roscoe. Come on. Let’s go home.”

  Roscoe ignored her. His entire body vibrated. He was like a homing device, straining for the signal, locking in the coordinates of this luscious scent.

  Ginny knew the moment he had it. He leapt like a racehorse coming out of the gate. For a split second, the leash remained slack between them. Then Ginny jerked forward.

  “Roscoe!”

  But there was no stopping him. He hurtled up the hill.

  Ginny dropped the blanket, needing to be unencumbered as she tried to keep pace. Roscoe’s run was slow and loping, so she managed to stay with him. When they reached the top, he slid to a halt. Thank goodness. Ginny bent over and sucked in a breath.

  “Roscoe. Let’s go home.” She tugged on the leash to lead him away.

  His nose remained lifted, four paws firmly planted. Ginny turned to survey the scene. A few parents sat on a bench, watching their children climb the monkey bars.

  Then she spotted the problem. A man stood behind a folding table by one of the small grills that dotted this part of the park. A big white sign taped to it said, “Support the Eagle Band.”

  Roscoe and Ginny saw it at the exact same time. He strained forward. Ginny grasped the leash tethered between them and pulled him back.

  The man forked a wiener and placed it inside a bun. He stuck it in a small white tray and passed it to a mom, who was managing twin toddler boys. For a moment, Ginny thought maybe it would be okay. Roscoe seemed content to observe the scene.

  The mother squirted ketchup on the hot dog and passed it to one of the children. She accepted a second one, struggling with her bag and the boys as she got money to pay him.

  Then the worst happened.

  The boy dropped his hot dog on the ground.

  Roscoe dipped low in front and let out an excited bark.

  Oh no.

  He took off down the hill, aiming straight for the hot dog at the foot of the upset boy. Ginny reached for the leash to brace herself against his weight, but the dog had too much momentum. She flew forward, arcing through the air as if she had just taken a dive into a pool.

  Right as sh
e was about to face plant into the grass to be dragged across the park, strong arms encircled her body. While one held on to her, the other deftly wrapped itself around Roscoe’s leash and pulled.

  The two of them clasped together outweighed her dog. The harness held, and Roscoe jerked to a stop partway down the hill. He planted his back paws and tried to leap forward again, but they had him.

  Roscoe turned to look at Ginny as if to say what gives?

  The man holding Ginny said, “He’s a wild one. I see why Delilah sent me.”

  “Someone sent you?”

  The stranger released her and used the leash to slowly reel in the dog. Roscoe seemed to recognize that he was outmatched at the moment. He gazed longingly back at the table. The seller, blissfully unaware of the near disaster, had given the young boy a new hot dog. As the mother walked away, he circled the table and picked up the one that had dropped.

  “Let’s get away from that tantalizing smell,” said the mystery man. He kept his arm wrapped around the leash between her waist harness and Roscoe’s. Together they wrestled Roscoe over the hill to the safer side.

  “That yours?” he asked as they passed the blanket.

  “Yes.” Ginny still felt a little dazed by the events of the last ninety seconds. Her head wasn’t screwed back on yet.

  The man leaned down and scooped up the blanket. Who was this guy?

  Now that they were more or less settled, Ginny really took him in. He was a whole head taller than her. Light brown hair. A ridiculously muscular build. He must spend a lot of time at the gym.