He was beautiful and heartbreakingly thin beneath his thick white fur. The ruff around his neck was slightly matted, like he’d been lying in the same spots over and over instead of roaming the property the way a dog his size should.
He didn’t even look at her.
He went straight to the bed—Mabel’s side—and pressed his nose into the comforter, inhaling hard, once, twice, three times, dragging in whatever was left of her scent.
The dog stood motionless a second, waiting.
As if some part of him still expected her to answer.
Then he crossed to the oversized dog bed near the fireplace and lowered himself slowly onto the rug beside it—again on Mabel’s side of the bed. He collapsed with a heavy, defeated sigh.
He laid his giant head on his paws. Up close, Aubrey could see the tired red rims of his eyes and the faint shadow of ribs under his fur. He didn’t look cute-sad; he looked grief-stricken.
The dog lifted his head at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
A second later, heavy boots sounded in the hall.
Aubrey turned as Bennett appeared in the doorway.
“You have a key?”
“Mabel gave me one.”
“Of course she did.”
Neither of them said anything.
Then Bennett looked at the dog.
“There you are.”
The Great Pyrenees thumped his tail once against the dog bed but didn’t get up.
Bennett’s expression shifted. The hard lines in his face eased.
“He’s yours now,” he said quietly.
Aubrey blinked. “My what?”
“Dog.” He nodded toward the enormous white mass on the floor. “Moose.”
Moose lifted his head at the sound of his name, then let it drop back onto his paws.
“He belonged to Mabel.”
Aubrey looked from the dog to Bennett. “I don’t have a dog.”
“You do now.”
“I can’t have a dog.”
Bennett shrugged, the movement sharp and economical.
“That’s not his problem,” he said. “Try explaining it to him.”
Moose let out the saddest sigh Aubrey had ever heard.
“He hasn’t been eating much since the ambulance took her away. Had to sit on the kitchen floor with hamburger meat like he was a damn puppy to get anything in him.”