The puppy lifted his head from where he'd been sleeping on the couch, one ear flopped over, the other standing at attention. He blinked at me sleepily.
“Come here, buddy.” I scooped him up, his body warm and soft against my chest. “We're going to find your new mom.”
The word caught in my throat.Mom.
My eyes burned. I blinked hard, burying my face against Pudding's soft fur for a moment.
This puppy had been abandoned, terrified, nearly died from eating trash just to survive. And Rosie—who'd been hurt, who'd rebuilt herself from scratch—wanted to give him a home. Wanted to love him.
She deserved something special. Something that showed her what she meant to me.
What they both meant.
I set Pudding down gently. “Wait here.”
I headed for the kitchen, yanking open drawers. Takeout menus, rubber bands, batteries—nothing useful. On the third drawer, my fingers caught on something silky. Red ribbon, still wrapped around a cardboard spool. A Christmas decoration Doc Hammond never bothered taking when he sold the practice.
Perfect.
I crouched beside Pudding, who'd followed me into the kitchen. “Hold still.”
He sat, tilting his head as I looped the ribbon around his neck, tying it into a lopsided bow. The moment I finished, Pudding twisted, trying to bite the ribbon. His teeth caught fabric, pulling.
“Easy.” I gently redirected his attention, scratching behind his ears. “You look very handsome.”
Pudding pawed at the bow, whining softly. His amber eyes looked up at me, trusting and innocent.
My chest tightened. For weeks, this little guy had been my shadow. Following me around the house, curling up on my feet while I worked at the kitchen table, sleeping pressed against my pillow every night. I'd told myself it was temporary—that I was just fostering him until the right family came along.
But somewhere between his first tentative tail wag and the way he'd learned to greet me at the door, Pudding had wormed his way under my skin. The house would feel empty without him.
This is right,I reminded myself. Rosie would give him everything she had to give—a real home, someone who'd be there during the day, someone who'd teach him to trust the world again.
Someone who understood what it felt like to start over.
I cupped Pudding's face in my hands, his soft fur warm against my palms. “You're going to love it there. Big yard to explore, goats to befriend, chickens to chase.” My voice caught slightly. “And Rosie... she's going to take such good care of you.”
Pudding's tail gave a tentative wag, as if he sensed the emotion in my voice.
“She needs you, too,” I whispered, pressing my forehead gently to his. “You'll be good for each other.”
He licked my nose, and I couldn't help but smile despite the ache in my throat.
I clipped on his leash, the metal clasp clicking softly. “Come on, let's go find your mom.”
The market was only a few blocks away. Pudding trotted beside me, his small paws clicking against the sidewalk, occasionally stopping to investigate interesting smells.
Main Street came into view, vendor tents lined up along the sidewalk. Voices carried on the breeze—laughter, conversations. Saturday morning in Alder Creek, the market was in full swing.
Pudding's ears pricked forward. His steps slowed as we approached, the crowd suddenly overwhelming. Too many people, too much noise. He pressed against my leg, uncertain.
“It's okay,” I murmured, shortening the leash. “Let's find Rosie.”
At the sound of her name, his ears perked up.
We wove through the vendors, past the bakery booth and other farm stands. Pudding's nose twitched at every new scent—fresh bread, kettle corn, someone's coffee. His steps grew more confident as we navigated the crowd, though he still pressed close to my leg.
And then I saw her.
