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“Hell yeah,” Shelly said, and she stood up, scooping Channing into her arms where Channing settled comfortably under her chin. I hated that dog, and I was jealous as hell that she was cuddling up to Shelly when I’d been trying to buy the dog’s love for the past three years. “Lead the way,” she said.
We went into the kitchen, where MeeMaw sat at the little table watching a portable television set.
“You make her sit in here all alone?” Shelly whispered, her eyes wide as two saucers.
“He doesn’t make me do anything,” MeeMaw replied, without taking her eyes off the little TV. “I can’t figure out all the buttons on that monstrosity of a TV in the living room.”
“I told you I could teach you, MeeMaw,” I reminded her.
“I’m too old to learn. And I like my buttons and dials,” she said, motioning toward her tiny TV.
I leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to MeeMaw’s forehead and she finally looked up. “Why do you have my dog?” she asked Shelly when she saw Channing cuddled up quietly in Shelly’s arms.
“I think she likes me,” Shelly replied with a shrug.
“MeeMaw,” I said, “this is Shelly. She’s a…” I looked at Shelly and she waggled her brows playfully at me. “Friend,” I finally said.
MeeMaw patted the table with her fingertips, making a ticking sound. “This is the one…?” She finally looked at me, with a question on her face.
“I’m the thorn in his side. The tear in his beer. The pain in his ass. Also known as the office assistant.”
“I heard you’re crazier than a whole bunch of bedbugs.”
Shelly grinned, blushing only slightly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She looked over Shelly’s shoulder at me. “Why is she here?”
“Well, it’s a long story,” I began, reaching to rub the back of my neck again.
“Then you had better get started.”
Shelly and I explained the situation, and I watched the pain flash across MeeMaw’s face at the mention of Marley, and then anger when we showed her the video of the fight at the gym, and told her about Mason and Lynn’s baby and the break-in.
“Well, it’s a good thing you brought her home,” MeeMaw said at the end of it. She reached over and turned her tiny TV up—loud—and I knew that conversation was at an end.
“Did you cook tonight, MeeMaw?” I asked over the noise of the TV, hoping against hope that she did.
“Don’t I always?” she replied, motioning toward the refrigerator. “You can walk Channing while I heat it up.” She looked Shelly up and down. “I made enough for a crowd.” She always did.
“Does she have a leash?” Shelly asked.
“MeeMaw or the dog?” I replied.
Shelly glared at me.
I retrieved the leash from its hook in the mudroom and Shelly hooked it to Channing’s collar, since Channing tried to bite my finger off when I did it. Then we went out the front door.
“So, your MeeMaw is pretty amazing.”
I smiled, not even meaning to. “I know.”
“You love her a lot.”
“I do.”
Shelly jumped when I grabbed her left hand in my right hand and laced our fingers together. She immediately tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice quavering slightly.
