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“My cousin Rosamund makes her own and says even people can eat them.”
Dropping to my knees and unable not to gush over this animal, I say, “You’re just a little pudgy love muffin. I bet you love biscuits and tummy rubs and ear scratches.”
“You are such a sucker for dogs. Your profession makes so much sense,” Rosalie says.
“They’re unfailingly loyal.” And Ethan, my fiancé, wanted to get into the military working dog program in Texas after his first few rotations. That was the goal, anyway.
“His collar saysBoo, so I’m guessing...” Her gaze travels toward the dunes where someone calls for the dog.
“Boo?” I ask, knowing Ross’s brother Sean had a dog by that name.
A deep, velvety male voice repeats, “Boo,” from beyond the dunes.
“McGregor,” Rosalie repeats.
I give her a squint-eyed nod because we already established Magnus’s last name.
“McGregor,” she repeats.
“Rosalie, yes. Magnus McGregor.”
She points to the distance. “Do you mean that Magnus McGregor?”
My jaw drops at the sight of the tall man of strong stature wearing a nicely fitting T-shirt and dark denim. As the waves roll in, they cover my feet, keeping me locked in the sand.
“Move over Maverick. He’s the soldier of the bunch. A navy pilot who considers himself broken yet remains strong. Imagine if Jack Ryan, James Reece, and Jack Reacher retired from world-saving and formed one super-man. That Magnus McGregor.”
I incline my head toward Rosalie in shocked question as Magnus approaches.
“How do you know that—?”
“Robyn told me all about Isla’s interactions with the McGregor brothers. Plus, I’m a Nosy Rosy. I know things.”
And she’s proud of it too.
Whether Magnus recognizes me or wants to acknowledge our previous meeting is unclear as he focuses on the dog, eyes sharp. My senses confirm it’s him, especially with the pleasant gust of mountain air that comes my way.
“What are you doing with my dog?” Magnus asks.
I realize I’m holding Boo’s collar and recall Romy’s comment about me picking up strays. With an affectionate pat, I release the animal.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Looking for my dog. My dog,” he repeats as if assuring himself or getting used to the notion, I’m not sure.
“I mean what are you doing in Coco Key?”
“I live here,” Magnus says.
“I live here. Er, there.” I point to the beach bungalow over my shoulder.
“So, I take it you know each other. I’m Rosalie, and this is my dog Roo. You’ve met Lally and don’t forget about her dogs.” She gestures.
Madame and General each let out a perfectly timed bark.
“And this must be Boo, and you’re Magnus,” Rosalie says pointedly, eyes bopping between the two of us.
Boo doesn’t leave my side. Madame gives him a sniff by the tail and General sits next to him like they’ve got each other’s backs. Er, mine.
