carrying a puppy crashed into the room and jumped on their bed.
He lowered his head to whisper in her ear as he rolled to his side, “I don’t want you going back to Switzerland, but maybe the boys would like to visit their grandfather once in a while.”
Epilogue
Andrew Coleman walked through the door of the feed store in Cowboy Crossing, his new canine companion, adopted from the shelter in nearby Trumball, following.
“I hope that’s a meat tray. No one else has brought anything,” Preston, one of the regular single dads who never missed a meeting, said.
“I told them to load it up,” Andrew said, tilting the tray a bit to show Preston, who raised his brows – there really was a lot of meat on it – and grinned in anticipation.
From his own experience as a single dad, he knew exactly what that look meant – thank goodness someone else was providing supper. Cooking one’s own got old.
“Hey, what’s that?” Preston asked, looking at Andrew’s dog as he held his hand out for the meat tray.
Andrew held the meat tray up, knowing that if he took his eye off it for a second, his new companion would not hesitate to snatch it out of his hand and devour it, plastic parts and all.
“Looks like a cross between a German Shephard, a Husky and a jack rabbit,” Ransom said with a smirk. He, too, eyed the meat tray.
Andrew should have brought two. Meat trays, not dogs. The one dog he’d gotten had been way more than he had been bargaining for. And he’d only had her six hours.
“Does she have a name?” Preston asked, taking the lid off the meat tray with one hand and holding it with his teeth while he pulled about four rolled slices off the artfully arranged masterpiece and managed to shove them in his mouth while pulling the lid out, all with one hand.
Andrew might have taken exception to the lid being in his friend’s mouth, except, even if no one else showed up for the single dad’s meeting, there was no chance there would be any left overs.
“Gladys,” Andrew said, wishing he’d thought of a new name before he’d brought her. That’s the name she’d come with. He hated it, but hadn’t come up with anything better. He’d been too busy cleaning up the couch that she’d managed to destroy while he’d walked out to chat with the mailman and give him letters and money for stamps.
While he’d been cleaning up the couch, Gladys had managed to chew off the end of the most expensive pair of skis he owned, and while he was still lamenting the loss of the skis, she’d escaped from the brand new cage he’d bought before he’d gone to pick her up and chewed the nylon rope that he’d only used once – when he’d climbed Mt. Rainier four summers ago.
It had been his last mountain, but old dreams died hard and he’d been hanging onto his equipment and had done some less challenging climbs in the Ozarks. No rope work.
As he’d been expecting, his buddies burst into laughter.
“Gladys?” Ransom said, still chuckling. “Who names anything Gladys?”
Maybe that hadn’t been her original name. Maybe her previous owner had wanted to saddle her with a name that befitted her hideous personality.
Andrew tightened his lips, guilty.
From her perspective he’d brought her home to a completely new environment and then basically abandoned her for the mail lady.
Ransom reached out to pet Glady’s head. A growl rumbled in her throat just before her teeth snapped. Thankfully, Ransom had quick reflexes and her jaw closed on nothing but air.
Oh, great. She destroyed his house and now she was going to bite his friends.
“Testy,” Ransom muttered.
“Looks like she’ll be a great watch dog,” Preston said, taking a step back and adjusting his stance into more of a protective one – protecting the meat tray.
That was the first time Gladys had shown any aggression at all. Andrew wasn’t sure if he should be worried or not.
A wet nose shoved into his palm.
She was so affectionate. Almost needy. He appreciated the affection, needed it, really. Since there wasn’t anyone else in his life caring about him.
But, he was still harboring a grudge about his skis. The couch...not so much. He’d just shoved the foam back into the cushions and flipped them upside down so the rips didn’t show. It was still usable. Still had a lot of life left in it.
He turned his hand and scratched her ears. They were kind of big. She had the elegant face of a German Shephard, but ears only a mother would love.
And him. Andrew supposed he could grow to love her ears. If she didn’t chew any more of his skis. Or bite his friends.
“It’s not Christmas yet, man.”
Andrew turned. Reid and Deacon Hudson had just walked in together. He shook their hands.
“Six weeks left. Figured there wasn’t any chance of winning, so I decided I’d capitulate and adopt.”
“Weren’t you supposed to get two?” Preston asked, chugging a drink before shoving more meat into his mouth.
“No way.” Holy smokes, he wasn’t even sure he was going to be able to handle this one dog. Gladys. No way was he getting two. “That was you. Two cats.”
“I haven’t given up yet,” Preston said, his mouth full. “Some chick’s gonna meet me and beg me to marry her.” He swallowed. “I haven’t decided if I’m gonna say yes yet. Think I’ll ask to taste her sticky rolls first.”
“Pretty sure that’s sexist and will probably get you thrown in prison. That’s after she slaps your face good,” John said. He’d walked in after Reid and Deacon and already had both hands in the meat tray, which was more than half gone. Guess they were going low carb tonight.
They all laughed. John had been joking and they knew it. He was just acting arrogant and cocky to hide the fact that he didn’t have any prospects, none at all, and was probably going to lose the bet, too.
“Really, Andrew, you shouldn’t give up. There’s six weeks until Christmas. A lot can happen between now and then.” Deacon shoved a hand in his pocket, his stance casual, but his eyes sincere, even probing.
Andrew looked down at Gladys, with her sweet brown eyes that looked up at him adoringly. One would never guess she’d destroyed over a thousand dollars’ worth of stuff in less than four hours.
He didn’t want to disagree with Deacon. He also knew Deacon had been rumored to be a bit of a match maker.
Andrew hadn’t believed the rumors at first, but slowly each of Deacon’s brothers had gotten remarried, and there definitely were some interesting circumstances going on. An auction. A celebrity chef just showing up in Cowboy Crossing. Rumors of a couple being stuck in a bathroom, of all places, and another couple locked in a shed overnight. Scary stuff.
Andrew had vowed to keep his distance from Deacon. Adopting the dog had been one way to put some distance between himself and Cowboy Crossing’s preacher, who was apparently scrounging extra income by playing Cupid. As far as Andrew knew, Deacon had officiated at every ceremony – except his own – and he was probably making a pretty penny with all the weddings in town. The “bet” that Andrew would be married by Christmas was probably made in hopes that Deacon would have a little extra spending money around the holidays.
Andrew patted Gladys’s head and looked back up at Deacon. The other men had moved off, and Andrew glanced over at them.
His thoughts were uncharitable. If there was any matchmaking going on, Deacon only wanted the best, and, honestly, Reid looked about as happy as a man could look, which is the way the rest of Deacon’s brothers seemed nowadays.
Deacon wasn’t doing a bad thing.
“I think I’m happy with Gladys,” he finally said. Maybe they were happier with wives and companions. But Andrew already had an ex who lived two thousand miles away with his boys that he seldom got to see. Odds were good that if he’d screwed up once, he’d do it again.
He’d just be happy with Gladys. Although if she destroyed his house and bit his friends, she might end up being as big of a mistake as his ex.
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