Bayou Christmas (Cypress Cove #2) - Suzanne Jenkins Page 0,6

mystique alive between the two of them.

“I have a surprise,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

“I’m intrigued,” he said. “What more could there be? This was a great meal.”

“Don’t open them,” she said, taking the dish towel off the pie. It was done to perfection. She held it up for scrutiny. “You can look.”

He opened his eyes and cheered, seeing the pie. “The perfect ending to a wonderful meal!”

“We’ll see,” she said, laughing.

She took it back to the counter and cut two pieces, one small for her and a generous one for him.

“I hope it’s edible,” she said, tasting a small piece of apple.

Then she screeched and ran to the sink, spitting it out. “Don’t eat that!” So much for mystique, she thought. “Oh, crap that’s awful. What did I do?”

“Are you sure? Should I taste it?”

“No! It’s pure salt.”

She opened the cupboard door, and there in front of the yellow bag of sugar was a yellow bag of pickling salt.

“Great! I just wasted six bucks’ worth of apples and two hours of my time.” She held up the bag.

Justin couldn’t help it. He got up from the table and hugged her, chuckling. “It’s okay.”

“What if this had been the real Thanksgiving? How could I make such a mistake?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Come here. Thank you for a delicious meal.”

“I’ll put the pie out for the deer. They’ll like the salt.”

They stood together for a long embrace, Justin smoothing her hair with his hand, kissing her, her arms tightening around his waist. He was ready for love.

Then he pulled back, looking over her shoulder.

“Wait. Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Listen.”

They were quiet, holding their breath. Only Brulee licking her paw disturbed the peace. Then she heard it. A very slight squeal.

“What is that?”

“Where’s it coming from?” he asked.

“Brulee, stop it,” Maggie hissed.

There it was again, and this time, Brulee heard it, too, her ears popping up to attention, her hackles up.

“What is that?”

“I don’t think it’s inside,” Justin said. “It sounds like it’s coming from outside the cottage. I’ll get my flashlight. Brulee had better stay inside.”

Maggie followed him out, and they stood on the porch, listening.

“I bet it’s a fox or coyote, and that’s their cubs crying,” Justin said.

“It sounds like pups,” Maggie said, looking around in the dark. “Wait! It’s coming from under the cottage.”

The cottage was up on concrete pilings to prevent flood damage. Justin opened the box in back of his truck and got out a super-duper flashlight. They walked around the porch, and he shone the light under the cottage.

There she was, a skinny replica of Brulee, her eyes shining in the light, the sound of squealing puppies crawling on her, looking for a teat.

“Oh no! Is it a wolf?”

“No. It’s a shepherd.”

“What do we do now?”

“Can you spare some turkey?”

“Of course!”

“I’ll lure her out with food, and then we can get the pups, and I’ll take her and her family back to the clinic.”

“Thank you so much, Justin,” Maggie cried, beside herself.

She ran back in the cottage and piled a paper plate with turkey.

“Not too much,” he said. “I don’t know what she’s been eating, and something rich might make her sick.”

He threw a piece under the cottage, and she stood up right away, babies hanging off her, and gobbled up the meat. Leaving the plate on the ground outside the crawlspace, he gave Maggie the flashlight.

“Just aim it at the food. I’ll crawl under and get the pups while she eats.”

It worked, and in two minutes he backed out with a basket of puppies.

“Do you want to come back to the clinic with me while I get her situated? Afterward we can try to salvage what’s left of our night.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Justin placed the basket of pups in the back cab of his truck, and without hesitating, the mother hopped right in and got in back with them. She had definitely been someone’s pet. Back in the cottage, Maggie soothed Brulee, who was a little put out that she wasn’t involved in the puppy rescue, and then locked the cottage up. The food from dinner would be okay left out for a while.

Climbing in the front seat, she glanced in back. “They are perfectly at home,” Maggie said.

“I think that’s Brulee’s mother, Johanna,” he said, his voice a little angry, clipped. “Johanna was almost completely black. So is this dog.”

“I thought you’d found homes for all the pups and their mother.”

“I did too, but it looks like someone might have decided they