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The dog feels like mine now. I don’t want to turn him over to an animal shelter.
On Saturday after lunch, Arthur seems to be lingering, so I tell him I’m going to take a walk.
“You want some company?” he asks, eyeing me with a discreet kind of scrutiny.
“No, I’m good.” I give him my best smile. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“It’s Saturday. I don’t really have to work.”
“But you don’t have to hang out with me.” When it looks like he’s going to object, I hurry on. “I like taking walks alone. I’m good.”
He frowns and opens his mouth to launch into more questioning, but I don’t give him the chance. I stop in the bathroom to give Arthur time to give up and move on, and then I walk outside by a side door and head for the stables.
It rained this morning, so the ground is muddier than normal. I have to test every step to make sure I don’t slip in the mud puddles at the entrance of the stables.
The dog gives a happy yip when he sees me approach and runs over for hugs and pets.
He’s dirtier than ever despite my attempts to get him clean. He really needs a good bath.
Eventually I’m going to have to do something. Tell Arthur. Ask if there’s any way I can keep him.
The Worthings never had any pets, not even in the historic portraits in the third-floor gallery. Nothing but horses, and those were mostly an investment and for recreation. Not for emotional bonding.
Arthur isn’t going to want to bring a stray dog into his beautiful house.
“What are we going to do?” I ask with a smile, sitting on a crate and scratching behind the dog’s ears. “If I have to, I guess I can try to find my own place and then I can adopt you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
The dog’s brown eyes are excited and adoring, gazing up at me unwaveringly. His tail is wagging slowly.
“I don’t really want to leave. I kind of like it here. But I will if I have to.”
The dog appears to be listening, cocking his head like he’s trying to understand what I’m saying. But suddenly he whirls around and growls low in his throat, pointed toward the entrance of the stables.
I stand up, startled and worried.
The dog suddenly lunges. There’s some sort of scuffle, so quick I have no idea what’s happening. I hear growling and muttered cursing and gasps. By the time I come around the corner to look, the dog is poised victoriously over his captive.
Arthur.
Flat on his back in the mud.
Shocked and breathless, I call the dog off and lean over to check on Arthur.
He’s glaring up at me with narrowed eyes. “What the hell, Scarlett?”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, he didn’t hurt me. He just knocked me over in the fucking mud and wouldn’t let me up. What the hell is even happening here?”
“I’m sorry. He must have thought you were a threat. He didn’t bite you?”
“No, he didn’t bite me.” Arthur lifts his head and gives the dog a cold glare. “What is he doing here?”
“I don’t know. He’s a stray who somehow ended up here. What areyoudoing here?”
“You’ve been up to something and wouldn’t tell me what it was. So I came to find out what was going on with you.” He hefts himself to a sitting position, shooting the dog a wary glare. The back of his hair and shirt and pants are coated with mud.
“You followed me?” Maybe that’s an irrelevant detail, but I fixate on it. “Why would you do that?”
