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“Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Turning on his side table light, he looked at the clock. He’d managed three hours. He lifted the dog in his arms and lowered it to the blanket again. Lying back down, he picked up his book. An hour later, he wasn’t close to sleep and the dog was back on the bed.
“I thought I told you the floor was your place.”
He felt her warm body as she crawled closer. She was shaking, and he guessed she’d had a hell of a life, or at least days since she’d gotten lost or been dumped.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
It means Ford does shit like that. He rescues people and steps in when he’s needed.He remembered his brother’s words at the quiz night at AS.
He didn’t do it deliberately, but he did like to help out if he was needed. Who didn’t like to be needed?
The dog crept closer still, and then her chin was on Ford’s chest. He rested a hand on the soft head. Maybe it wasn’t bad to have a dog, someone with him in his bed when he couldn’t sleep. To his surprise, he closed his eyes and did just that.
He woke to whining. The dog was now standing on the bed, looking at him.
“What?”
The dog nudged him with her nose.
“You need to go outside or something?”
He got off the bed when she nudged him again and let her out the door he used when he came home late. She limped off to find some grass. While he was waiting, he picked up the letter and headed to the coffee machine.
His models were all around his room. Every shelf and space held one. Maybe he should start giving a few away. Would Autumn’s son like one?
Dismissing that thought because it reminded him that he was going to avoid her from now on, he opened the envelope. He knew what day it was today. Knew that like him, the family who’d sent him this letter would be mourning the loss of their son. A woof had him turning to find the dog in the doorway. He lowered the letter to the table—he could read it later.
“I don’t really have food in here, bud.”
The gray head tilted to one side. Opening the fridge, he found half a hamburger that he broke into pieces and put in a bowl. He needed to get some dog stuff today. He then filled up a bowl with water.
“Have at that while I dress.”
Once he was done, the dog was waiting for him in the bedroom. After pulling on his boots, he let himself out.
It was still early, the sun climbing in the sky but warm. His worn boots crunched on the path as he headed inside the stables to feed the horses. He’d been working awhile when he heard Nash’s pickup.
“There better be coffee.” Nash wandered in, looking rumpled—his usual look—with Monica trotting at his side. She looked way more put together. He stopped when he saw the dog sitting beside Ford.
“What is that?”
“A dog, I reckon.”
“I can see it’s a dog, but whose dog?”
“I bumped it with my pickup on the way home last night, and here it is. No big deal—we just need to find it a home now.”
Nash dropped down beside the dog and made a clucking noise.
“It’s not a chicken, bro.”
Monica stopped a few feet from the dog, which was now quivering and pressed to Ford’s leg.
“Be nice now, Monica,” he said as she stretched forward with her long neck.
“It’s cute,” Nash said, petting the scruffy head.
