“I’m going to borrow him until Saturday morning. I’ll bring him back bright and early. I might even knock.”
He grins at the glare I shoot his way. When I move to stand, he quickly downs his espresso and hisses when it burns his tongue.
I pause. “I’m just going to grab him and his stuff.”
“I’ll come out back with you. Oh, and don’t worry about food anymore. Red keeps the pantry stocked for him.”
I huff a laugh. We’re coparents to a fucking dog.
Arden adores Wanton, and I promised her she can take him whenever she wants. Even if she wanted him for a month—I’d let her. I trust her, and Wanton absolutely adores her. She makes me keep her updated on his vet appointments, on any food changes, and on any abnormalities. I once got yelled at because I failed to mention he got stung by a bee. I’m not surprised Wanton has his own pantry at their place.
Forker and I enter The Penthouse, which he named the sunroom I renovated for the dogs. Toke and Clover both raise their heads from their nap, glance at us, and then immediately go back to sleep. Those two are retired sled-dogs and seem to have completely refuted that lifestyle. They will choose naps any day of the week. I half expect to see Wanton lounging on the chaise, but he’s outside with the rest of the dogs.
“I still don’t know how you do it,” Carter says as we make our way onto my land. The sounds of my own little world take over. Cows grumbling about one thing or another, the dogs barking, chickens clucking, and ruffling their feathers. Carter glances down at the coop. “This is so much work. And it smells like fucking shit.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. Fork isn’t one to get his hands dirty, unless it’s to scrap. I couldn’t imagine him tossing a baleof hay or cleaning up shit of any kind. Even owning one dog full-time would probably send him into a spiral.
I bring my fingers to my lips and whistle as we trudge into the field. We slow to a stop at the door of the dog run. It’s really more of a yard. It’s where they can go to play in peace without bothering the other animals. With Wanton in the mix, separation is needed.
You know how much it costs to fence a yard this big? Tens of thousands. It was worth it.
I throw my arm over the door of the gate, watching the border collies chase each other methodically. A certain, crazy mutt is trying to run faster than all of them. They do this to him. Constantly. He’s become their sheep. Poor guy doesn’t even realize he’s being herded.
All four of them freeze and glance our way at my whistle.
A smile pulls at my lips. They’re good dogs.
“The triplets and the imposter.” Forker laughs, shaking his head at the look of Wanton between them. He’s truly the best dog. When he’s with the border collies, he thinks he’s a working dog; when he’s with the cows, he thinks he’s able to produce a glass of milk at a moment’s notice. He’s my little cameleon. Bad at transforming, but he tries.
“Come on now!” I shout.
Immediately, the triplets take off toward us. Daphne, Dingo, and Dune. They run with purpose, because I gave an order, and their favourite thing in the world is working. Wanton, on the other hand, chases his tail for a few more seconds before realizing his friends are leaving him behind. He jumps into action, running almost crookedly, snapping at Dingo’s tail to try and catch it as he does.
The triplets stop at the gate and all promptly sit. Wanton smashes right into it. When he shakes his head and jumps back, his eyes land on Fork, and he lights the hell up.
Forker breaks into a smile, glancing down at him. “Hey, Cujo! How’s my boy?”
Wanton shakes his ass, tongue hanging out, and starts jumping at the fence, trying to climb it, whining at the top of his lungs. The border collies stay seated, eyes on me, being the little angels that they are.
I slide the gate open and Wanton storms through. Fork drops to his knees and lets the fiend jump all over him, licking his face and crying with excitement. While Wanton is distracted, I toss a few treats at the triplets, then make a clicking noise that tells them to go back to their business. In a second, they’re taking off again.
I look down at Forker, who is laughing and scratching Wanton’s short fur, hugging him to his chest without ever being able to really capture him and keep him still.
“His harness is by the door. No letting him walk anywhere beyond this property without it. Got it?”
Forker glares up at me. “It’s almost like you say that to me every single time I take him. I’m aware of the rules, Boss. No harness? No walks.”
“Not even to?—”
“Get to the car. I know,” he says, rising to his feet. Wanton takes off toward the house, knowing he’s about to go see his favourite redhead. “That dude is all wheels and no GPS. He’ll take off and get lost. He doesn’t have the best survival instincts. Blah, blah, blah. Between you and Arden, I swear you both think I am incapable of listening.”
We start toward the house, and I look sideways at him. “Youdidmiss Lowesy’s poker night.”
Fork throws his head back, groaning at the sky. “It was one time!”
CHAPTER FOUR
boston
