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“Really?” Ciara hoped he hadn’t noticed how amazed she sounded.
“Yeah. So what I was wondering is... You promised we could get a dog. So can we go today? Please, Mom?”
Oh, Lord. She was never going to get anything done.
“Why don’t we wait for the weekend?” she suggested in an automatic delaying tactic.
He looked at her as if she had a screw loose. “But tomorrow is Saturday, and that is weekend. And I’m already going to Gabe’s.” He paused in apparent pleasure at the idea and then continued. “And they might not be open on Sunday.”
She supposed that was a distinct possibility. Ciara had done some research on animal shelters and rescue groups after she’d bought this house, and decided the Spokane Humane Society would offer the largest selection of dogs and puppies to choose from. Plus, she and Mark could be pretty sure they’d be saving an animal from euthanasia, although she didn’t plan to mention that to Mark if it hadn’t already occurred to him.
“I can check online—”
“But why not today?”
She leveled a look at him. Her tolerance for whining was low. The hope in his eyes was her undoing, though.
“Oh, what the heck.” She smiled. “Today it is.”
“Yeah, Mom!” He jumped, spun in what might have been intended to be a sort of breakdance, crashed into the door frame and almost fell down. “Ouch!”
Laughing, Ciara swept him into a quick hug, about all he’d tolerate in the way of physical affection, and said, “Let me change shirts, at least. We’ll have lunch while we’re out.”
“And we have to get dog food and stuff, too.”
“Right.” She reflected on that. “Before we pick out a dog. We don’t want one to have to sit in the car, all by himself, while we’re shopping.”
It had turned out that the one balmy day was pure trickery; late April in Stevens County was cold, not springlike at all. A new puppy would be more likely to freeze than overheat if left for any length of time in a car. There were other dire possibilities, though. She wouldn’t be thrilled if their new dog ripped up the upholstery of the van. Howling nonstop wouldn’t be great, either.
“Lots of stores you can take your dog in, you know,” he informed her, trailing her to her bedroom.
She could just imagine. Odds were he’d choose a puppy. One that didn’t know how to walk on a leash yet. Oh, and would piddle anywhere and everywhere. Part of her really wanted to insist they bring home an adult dog, but she’d already made up her mind to let Mark make the decision, within reason. He was a kid; kids were entitled to experience the fun of owning a puppy.
“Let’s shop first anyway,” she said.
* * *
CIARA SNEAKED ANOTHER look in her rearview mirror, which revealed the same astounding sight as the last peek had, ten seconds before.
She and Mark were going home with not one dog, but two. And it was her fault.
At least both were adults, she consoled herself, snapping her gaze back to the unwinding road ahead. Theoretically potty trained.
Horse trained, now that was another story.
Watson’s information suggested he was a Labrador retriever-hound mix. Read: mutt. He was short-haired, chocolate-brown, with a white chin, chest and three white paws. The history—or maybe it was a wild guess—said he was two and a half years old. In theory, past the chewing-everything-up stage. He clearly had plenty of youthful energy, though. The moment Mark was allowed inside the kennel with Watson, he’d leaped up high enough to cover Mark’s face with his tongue. Mark had erupted in giggles.
“He’s supposed to be great with cats and definitely is with other dogs,” the attendant told her encouragingly. “A little obedience training wouldn’t be a bad thing, but he really wants to please. I suspect if he’s told what’s not acceptable firmly enough, he’ll learn quickly. Our volunteers who walk the dogs have been pleased with his attitude.”
“What about horses?” Ciara had asked, remembering the steel in Gabe Tennert’s voice saying, Please make sure it’s one that won’t chase horses or cattle. No flexibility there. She wasn’t sure he’d understand the concept of a learning curve.
The attendant gazed at the same information Ciara could see. “I’m afraid we have no idea,” she admitted.
Ciara had retreated to let Mark get better acquainted with Watson, and shortly found herself back in front of a kennel where an elderly dog named Daisy lay with her chin resting on her front paws, her eyes, slightly clouded with cataracts, fixed on each visitor who stopped. Upon seeing Ciara back for a second time, she thumped her tail a couple of times but didn’t bother getting up. Ciara wasn’t sure whether that was because she’d lost hope, or because her obvious arthritis and excessive weight made heaving herself up more effort than she went to without a clear reward.
The attendant had trailed her. “Daisy is such a sweetie. But given her age...”
She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Daisy was a shepherd mix. At eleven-plus years, she wouldn’t appeal to many potential adopters.
Ciara found her gaze fixed on the card that said, Good with cats and dogs.
No, she told herself. The dog was for Mark, not her. He needed a pet that could keep up with him, that was fun.
Daisy’s tail thumped a couple more times, and she hoisted herself to her feet. Her gait was rather stiff when she came forward to allow herself to be patted.
“She’d do well on glucosamine,” the other woman said. “Her owner was elderly, and I suspect she didn’t have much chance for exercise.”
This is too big a commitment to make out of pity, Ciara told herself, with what she hoped was resolution.
“I want Watson,” Mark said, right behind her.
The attendant started. “Oh! Did you latch the kennel door?”
“Yes, but he didn’t like it when I left.”
A mournful howl rose, which started a sympathetic barrage of barks and howls from other shelter dogs. Daisy’s ears twitched, but she only wagged her tail a couple more times.
“Crap,” Ciara mumbled.
“Mom! You won’t let me say that.”
And that’s when the attendant suggested craftily, “You know, dogs are pack animals. They love having a dog companion as well as a human family. If you’d consider taking two, I’m sure we can waive Daisy’s adoption fee, given that she’s a senior and her chances—” She took a quick look at Mark and changed her mind about what she was saying. “Given her age.”
And so it was that Mark was buckled into the middle of the backseat and had not one, but two dogs draped over him. Watson had bounded into the car. It had taken two of them to lift Daisy so high.
A little late, it occurred to Ciara that they’d bought a reasonable amount of food for one dog. For two, they should have bought more. Plus, Daisy should probably be on a diet formulated specifically for seniors, and Ciara could already envision the hassle of getting each dog to eat his or her own food instead of the other’s.
She sighed.
Daisy’s tail thumped against the door. Or maybe it was Watson’s. Or both.
Mark laughed, and Ciara’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile.
Hey, on the good-news front: one of the two dogs crowded on the backseat wouldn’t be interested in tearing around the pasture chasing horses.
* * *
GOD DAMN IT.
The sharp sound of a whinny had brought Gabe out onto his back porch Saturday morning before he’d had more than a couple swallows of his coffee.
Both horses bolted across the pasture, manes and tails flying, and right behind them came a brown bullet.
A dog.
An expletive came out of his mouth even as he took off at a run for the pasture.
He didn’t bother with the gate, instead planting a hand on the top rail and vaulting over. Hoodoo and Aurora spun past him, the dog in close pursuit. He whistled sharply, and the dog actually hesitated then stopped. The animal’s whole body swung with its tail. A long, pink tongue lolled out.
“Come,” Gabe snapped, and to his mild surprise the dog obeyed. Gabe was able to wrap his fingers around what appeared to be a brand-new collar, from which two shiny, silver-colored tags dangled. One was the expected rabies tag; the other, bone-shaped, gave the dog’s name as Watson and his owner’s name as Mark Malloy. The phone number was now familiar to Gabe.
Not letting go of the collar, Gabe walked the dog out of the pasture, in the side door of his garage and popped him into the cab of his pickup. Hoping like hell the damn animal wasn’t still young enough to want to chew whatever was in front of him—say, the seat upholstery—Gabe hurried back to the house to grab his wallet and keys.
When he returned to the pickup, Watson barked happily, slopped a big kiss on his face before he could evade it and thrust his nose out the window when Gabe lowered it a few inches to entertain him during the short drive.
His jaw ached from clenching his teeth by the time he pulled up in front of the neighboring house. Ciara burst out the front door before he could get out.
“Oh, no!” she said. “Watson went to your house?”
Despite his severe aggravation, he couldn’t help noticing how gracefully she moved, and how much he liked her long, slim body in tight jeans and form-fitting T-shirt.
Do not get distracted, he ordered himself.
“What was the one thing I said?” It came out as a roar. “Don’t get a dog that’ll chase livestock!”
“Oh, no,” she said again, more softly.
Watson, still in the cab, barked at her.
She tore her gaze from the dog and fastened it on Gabe. “The thing is the shelter doesn’t know how most of the dogs do with horses or cows. When I asked, they gave me blank looks. Probably Watson has never seen a horse before. I...I’m sure he can learn.”
She kept talking. There was something about a potential obedience class, and a learning curve—he tried to imagine how that would work—and she concluded by saying maybe she could pay to have wire mesh fencing added to his board fence along their property line.
He shook his head. “That’s a mighty long property line. Unless you’re made of money...”
The alarm that widened her eyes was answer enough.
They both fell silent for a moment, looking at each other. Her expression was oddly defenseless. Maybe because it was so early in the morning. At least she was dressed, but the hair he’d so far seen captured in a braid hung loose and was tousled enough, he had to wonder if she’d brushed it yet. Sunlight caught fire in the curls.
“I didn’t think,” she admitted at last. “I let them out when I first got up—”
“Them?”
He swung around, expecting to see another dog tearing through his pasture. The Hound of the Baskervilles.
“You won’t have to worry about Daisy.” She turned, too. “I wonder where she is.”
A second dog toddled around the corner of the house. Her legs were stiff, and the effect with her too-well-rounded body was more of a waddle than a walk. As she got closer, Gabe saw the milky film in her eyes that went with her graying muzzle.
He crouched and held out his hand. “Here, girl.”
Her tail swung a few times, and she came right to him, accepting his scratches and soft words.
Finally, he straightened. “Her, I’m okay with.”
Ciara’s face became mutinous. “You’re not telling me we have to take Watson back. That would kill Mark!”
Gabe groaned and let his head fall back. This was every bit as bad as he’d imagined. No, there weren’t little kids next door running around screaming, but the one kid who was here didn’t disappear daily to school, either. Instead, he wanted to be friends. He wanted lessons. He’d be calling every damn day if Gabe didn’t shut him down. And now a cheerful young dog with no manners at all had been added to the mix.
He lowered his head to see Ciara watching him anxiously.
“If he attacks one of the horses or Henry Beem’s cattle, you have to either find him a home where there’s no livestock around, or you’ll need to have him put down. Do you understand?”
Her chin trembled a little bit. “I understand.”
The foundations of his anger began to crumble. Damn it, he thought again. This felt like kicking a puppy, too, even though she was now glaring at him.
“All right,” he said abruptly, wheeled and opened his door.
The dog exploded out, jumping and barking in delight because he was free, and now there were two people to love him. No, the front door was opening. Mark came out on the porch, and now there were three. Jubilant, Watson leaped up the steps to greet his boy then sprang back down and headed for Gabe.
“Sit!” he snapped.
The dog looked astonished, but his butt did momentarily touch the ground. Didn’t last long—next minute he was jumping on Gabe, trying to kiss his face again.
“Sit,” he repeated, this time laying his hand on the dog’s head to quell his quivering desire to spring back up.
“He knows how to sit.” Mark grinned in delight. “See, Mom? He’s already trained.”
“Do you have a leash?” Gabe asked grimly.
He looked puzzled. “Yeah.”
“Go get it.”
While her son was gone, Ciara said, “I’m so sorry. I did ask.”
“You ever think of checking in town? Somebody around here probably has puppies that have been raised around animals.”
“No-o.” She drew the word out. “I researched shelters. We got Watson and Daisy at the Spokane Humane Society. I meant to get only one. You know, for Mark. But I was afraid nobody would take Daisy, and I thought maybe she’d have a calming influence on Watson.”
Daisy had planted herself at Ciara’s feet, appearing completely content.
“They already have those names?”
“Yes. I asked if they’d been named at the shelter, but those are the names they came with, so I thought...”
Gabe nodded. “It’s something familiar. They should be able to keep them.”
