Great. Bear. He’s probably a pit bull or German Shepherd. Something bred for fierce loyalty, protection, and eating punks named Cooper Kellogg.
I brace myself as the growling grows louder. The house is dark, and with all that beeping and now afreaking guard dog, I’m counting my final moments.
I open one of the lockers and try to fit inside of it, but I’m too big, so I hide behind the door, instead.
I did not want to go out like this!
The growling reaches a frenzy. I’m forcibly reminded of that movie with Leonardo DiCaprio where he gets attacked by a grizzly.
But Leo got off easy only getting mangled and shredded like that. Papa Bear—or his dog surrogate—is going to end me.
There’s a loud sniff, and then Liesel says, “There’s my big boy.” Next thing I know, my locker door is pulled from in front of me, and I see Liesel and … a purse pet.
It’s an actual Teacup Yorkie, dark brown, from what I can tell from the built in wall lighting.
“Give him a kiss,” Liesel says, holding up the dog—Bear.
“I’m not giving him a kiss.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she says. She shoves Bear into my face, and I turn my head so the dog’s cold nose hits my cheek. Then she snuggles the tiny creature and sets him down. After he gives my shoe a couple of sniffs, he returns back to wherever he came from.
“So that was Bruce Fischer’s dog. How old is he?” He has to have belonged to Liesel’s mom, right?
“One.”
“One? I assumed?—”
“That he was my mom’s?”
“Yeah.”
“My brothers got him for Dad last Christmas.”
“And your dad kept him?Yourdad?”
“My dad’s a sweetheart!”
“Your dad could beat The Rock in an arm wrestle.”
Liesel grins. “Are we going to stay in the mudroom all night?”
“Yes. This is the closest exit.”
“Come with me,” she says with a quiet laugh. She grabs her purse, I grab my suitcase, and I let her tug me through a spacious kitchen, a formal dining room, a living room of some kind and into a …
Bedroom.
“I’m not sleeping here,” I say.
“I know you’re not, goofball.Iam. I’m getting the spare linens from the closet so you can sleep on the couch.”
I want to protest. I’d rather try my luck in the garage or the gazebo I spotted through the kitchen’s bay windows. But I’m exhausted and my elbow hurts, and I need the sleep.
Liesel takes me through the dark house and into a family room with a long, low electric fireplace and a recessed niche above it where a wall mounted TV hangs. Across from it is a bigplush sectional. I put a sheet down and she tosses a pillow and quilt on top of it.
Then she leans into me, bats those gorgeous baby blues up at me, and I sigh and wrap her in my arms.
Her hair is falling out of her ponytail, her mascara is smudged, and her lids are heavy. Her red blouse is wrinkled from wearing a parka over it all night.
