Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers #5) - Roxanne St. Claire Page 0,25
appreciate it,” she added, yanking him from his way-too-close examination of her eyes.
“You’re the one doing me a favor, E,” he said quickly.
Those eyes shuttered when he used the nickname he bet—he hoped—no one but him ever called her.
“What I appreciate,” she said, “is you…talking. Giving me a chance. Coming up here. And…” She added some pressure on his arm. “Just you,” she finished on a whisper.
How did she do that? How did she say those things so easily?
“S’okay.” He gave her a tight smile and turned back to the dog, not trusting his voice or his ability to ever have the right words.
Once, years ago, he’d have had those words. He’d have teased her or punctuated the conversation with a tap on the tip of her nose. He might have even leaned down and kissed her once they’d broken that barrier.
But that guy disappeared a long time ago. Now, he barely managed a lame s’okay.
“Got him,” he said, turning with his hairy bundle. She walked with him, snagging a giant dog bed from the back of her SUV and leading the way up the three steps to the front door.
It opened before she could even fish out a key.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the good Captain Mahoney himself.” Max Hewitt stood in the doorway, wearing crisp cotton pajama pants, a loose T-shirt, and a Navy baseball cap at a jaunty angle over his feathery gray hair.
Once a staple around Bitter Bark—usually when he was being feted for his generous donations, including a hefty annual sum to first responders—Max Hewitt had spent the better part of the past ten years since his wife died inside this house. That was obvious from his complexion, which was pale but for a few oddly shaped splotches the EMT in Declan recognized as purpura.
His shoulders were narrow to the point of bony, and he had a sunken chest and probably pronounced ribs. Still, he gave a big denture-heavy smile, and Declan half expected him to salute.
“Special delivery, Mr. Hewitt.” Declan hoisted the dog an inch higher. “We’re bringing a guest.”
“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, stepping back into the oversize entry to allow them in.
“Let’s put him here for the moment,” Evie said, laying the bed to the side of the stairs. “When he wakes up and feels ready to move, I’ll take him out and then let him get the lay of the land.”
Declan eased the big guy onto the bed, making sure he was fully cushioned and comfortable before standing up to properly greet the older man, who instantly stretched out his arms.
“You give me a hug, Declan Mahoney.”
Declan reached down to embrace a man he remembered as five-ten or so, but who’d shrunk to more like Evie’s five-six.
“So great to see you, Mr. Hewitt.”
“Please, son. It’s Max for you.”
Evie stepped a little closer, putting a gentle arm on her grandfather’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t navigate those stairs alone, Granddaddy.”
He grunted and shot her a look. “I’ve been up and down those steps ten million times in my life, young lady. There are nineteen of them, the sixth one from the bottom creaks, and the second one from the top has a nickel under the carpet that I put there when I was nine.” He added a toothy grin. “I didn’t want to greet this important guest from my bed.”
Declan smiled at him, admiring the effort that this old man had taken. “Thank you, Max. And I’m sure if he were awake, this boy, who we’re calling Lusky, would thank you.”
“Lusky? Not in this house.”
“Oh, Granddaddy, you’re not going to insist on the Thad tradition of dog names, are you?”
Declan frowned. “Did you have a dog named Thad? I remember…” He dug into his memory, coming up with a border collie Evie had adored. “Oh, yeah. Taddy.”
“And Jude, Faddei, and yes, Taddy,” Max said. “All of them forms of Thaddeus, which is the only name a dog who lives in this house will ever have. It was the original owner’s personal rule.”
Evie rolled her eyes. “Well, this dog isn’t going to live here, and he doesn’t look like a Thad.”
Max took a few steps closer and looked down at the dog, who lifted his head a bit and sniffed. He blinked and slowly started to push up.
“Easy.” Declan stepped closer, not wanting the dog to hurt himself or greet Max with paws to the chest.
“I think he’s a little too hammered to jump,” Evie said.