Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers #5) - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,17
in-depth conversation they’d had in two decades, and he didn’t want to ruin that. “You like faculty work?”
“Well, I do admit I miss the unique thrill of being licked by a Saint Bernard and scarred…” She lifted her hand to show a pale white line on her skin. “By a hungry hedgehog.” She fluttered long fingers that could play the piano and operate on a tiny animal’s brain with the same grace.
“You never could resist an animal in need.”
“I still can’t, but running a department is a great job, and we have one of the best neurology programs in the country. Plus, the dean is a good friend of mine, and she gave me this semester-long sabbatical without blinking an eye.”
“You’re here for a whole semester?” He was the one who blinked an eye. In fact, he had to fight to keep all the reaction out of his voice. Here for months meant…more casual contact like this.
He might as well write off the possibility of a good night’s sleep until next year.
“You don’t have to look like I announced I’m moving into the fire station,” she teased.
“Did I? I’m surprised and…” Ridiculously pleased at this news. “Hey, there’s always an extra bunk there if your grandfather is driving you crazy.”
“He’s not,” she assured him. “The house is a little bit of a headache, but…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down.
Because that freaking house would always crush any chance of reconnecting.
“My parents are trying to figure out what to do with it eventually,” she finished.
“They don’t want to keep it?” he asked, keeping his gaze direct and his voice level.
He might have his personal reasons for hating Gloriana House, but the classic Victorian was one of Bitter Bark’s most impressive landmarks, attracting tourists with all those windows and gables and a three-story circular tower.
“Well, you know Dawn Hewitt, my mother the artiste and true hippie, currently living on a forty-foot sailboat somewhere in the Caribbean, where she is quite content.”
“But it’s your dad’s family’s house, so…”
“Well, my father’s wind blows whatever way Mom wants it to.”
“Helpful on a sailboat,” he joked.
“Good one.” She pointed at him and laughed lightly, and it was like someone played a song he hadn’t heard in years. His laughter and hers, at a play on words. Man, it had been a long time since he’d heard that.
“But, truth is, they’d be happy to sell Gloriana House when the time comes,” she said.
Which left the obvious question. “What about you? I know you always loved the place…” He didn’t know how to finish that.
She took a few seconds, sipping coffee before answering. “I have mixed feelings,” she finally said. “I do connect with the long line that came before me, including that remarkable great-grandmother I’m named after. But…” She shrugged. “My life is in Raleigh.”
Her life had been in Raleigh for the past twenty years, a thought that always gave him a thud of disappointment. Maybe if they’d had more chances to talk… But when he’d shut down—and he sure as hell had shut down—she’d gone back to school and rarely returned. And he’d stayed shut down long past the statute of limitations on friendships.
“Sure, sure,” he said with forced casualness.
The table suddenly wobbled as the dog pushed up, finished with the chewy treat he’d been gnawing. He plopped his head on the table, eyes on Evie, because where the hell else would anyone with a beating heart want to look?
“And you, handsome Husky, are a big gorgeous goofball.” She stroked the dog’s head. “When did you get him?”
“He’s not mine,” he said. “He was left at the station, and I’m taking him to Waterford Farm to hand him over to my cousin Garrett, who’ll put him up for adoption.”
“Really?”
“Are you interested? I’m sure you have a dog or six, every one of them with a special need.”
“You know me too well.” She gave a warm smile. “I actually don’t have a dog right now,” she said on a sigh. “I’ve lost a few a little close together, as happens when you have a weakness for the unhealthy ones, but lately…” She trailed off again. “This guy is beautiful.”
Declan reached over and gave Lusky’s ear a rub. “Fair warning, he’s a howler.”
“You are? Howl you do that, doggo?”
He shook his head, laughing. “Here come the howl puns.”
She leaned closer to the dog. “Howl-lelujah, he remembers my bad jokes.”
“Who could forget them?”
“Because I’m howlarious, right, bud?” They both gave the dog a head rub at the