Feliz Naughty Dog - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,5
pulled her friend closer. “We’re not moving until we find out what team darling Darling is on.”
“Or, better yet, get him on ours,” Mira added in a giddy whisper.
Agnes caught sight of the teenage boy ambling over, stopping every few steps while his leashed dog sniffed the grass. Of course they’d be all over Mr. Swoony. And if he didn’t have a partner…
“Move along, girls. There’s a line forming,” Agnes said, gesturing for them to step away.
Mira narrowed her eyes at Agnes. “There’s no line. And we’re not ready to leave yet.”
Oh, really? She shot a sideways look at Finnie, who already had both her brows raised at the insolence. Giving a fake smile of her own, Agnes sneakily reached down without taking her eyes off them and unclipped Gala’s leash.
Instantly, the little dog did what Agnes knew she would, taking off in the direction of her beloved Pru.
“Oh dear,” Agnes said, pretending to be shocked.
“Your dog got away,” the one named Mira said coolly.
“Go get him!” Finnie ordered with a rare edge in her voice. “Girls! What’s wrong with you? Help an old lady out.”
Agnes let the “old” comment pass as the two started—rather slowly—after the dog. “Gala won’t get far,” she told Finnie.
“Neither will those nasty creatures,” Finnie added, then her smile brightened as a certain young man reached the table. “What a glorious greyhound, lad. What’s his name?”
His eyes widened, as if he hadn’t been expecting the greeting, and Agnes saw they were as dark and dreamy as the eyes of the Greek man she’d married.
“Uh, it’s Tor,” he said.
“And what team are you on, then?” Finnie beamed at him.
“Um…” He shook his head, making a lock of dark hair brush his forehead.
Oh yes, this young man was a looker.
“I’m not going to be on that list,” he said. “I don’t have a team.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Agnes grabbed the team list. “I know just the teammate for you.”
“I don’t need a team,” he said, one hand on his dog’s head. “Just a list of those…rack things.”
Behind him, Agnes could see that the girls had caught Gala and were trying to get her back to the table. She’d have to move fast.
“Everyone needs a team, young man. RACKing cannot be done alone if Bitter Bark High is going to win this.” She reached her hand, palm up, out to Finnie. “Glasses, please, so I can get this nice young man on the perfect team.”
She braced for a surly look from him, the same one she’d just gotten from the girls. But he gave her the slightest hint of a smile, which made those dark eyes just a little darker and dreamier. Oh yes. Pru would thank her for this.
“Thanks, but I have Tor.”
Just then, Pyggie stepped out from under the table to inspect Tor, startling the bigger dog. Tor rose up with a bark, snapping his jaws and snagging the glasses Finnie was holding out to Agnes. Shocked, the boy dropped the leash to try to free the glasses from Tor’s teeth, but the dog took off with his prize, tearing toward the sleigh.
“Hey, Tor, no!” the boy shouted, suddenly in hot pursuit of a dark brown head and a snow-white body that had obviously been trained to do one thing very well—run. “Tor! Stop!”
“Oh my word,” Finnie exclaimed. “My glasses!”
“Quick, let’s get him on the list with Pru,” Agnes said, grabbing a pen.
“Pru’s coming with us to the mall.”
“Lucas Darling,” Agnes said, frantic to accomplish her goal. “On a team with Pru.”
Finnie frowned and shook her head. “No, Agnes! He’s a wee bit…unknown. And maybe best kept that way.”
“Finola Kilcannon,” Agnes chided. “Did you hear Pru’s voice when she told us she’d been ditched by her friends? Did you see her staring at Hot Stuff? Do you not want Pru to have some fun on Christmas Eve? For heaven’s sake, are we not the Dogmothers? This is child’s play for us after the matches we’ve made.”
It was easy to see the doubt in Finnie’s eyes, especially without her glasses. “I don’t think that’s the kind of lad I’d choose for our sweet Pru.”
“How do you know?”
“Just by the looks of him, I think—”
“Finnie! Did you take my judgy pills instead of your calcium this morning?”
She didn’t laugh, but squinted as the boy came back, the leash in one hand—Tor attached—the glasses in the other. What was left of the glasses, that was.
“Man, I’m really…” He glanced at the mangled specs. “Wow. Sorry.”
He held the glasses out.