A Walk Along the Beach by Debbie Macomber Page 0,8

we’d met, Preston had been after me to adopt a pet.

“Hey, Sean, good to see you.”

I nodded. “You, too. I got a stray for you.”

“With you?”

“Nope. This dog is smart. I’ve seen him around town a few times. Watched him snatch a woman’s breakfast right out of her hand this morning.”

“Brown, long hair, medium size, and on the thin side?”

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the stray. “You talking about the dog or the woman?” I joked.

“Funny.” Preston had a quirky sense of humor. “The dog.

“I’ve been hearing about him,” Preston continued, grinning. “Keaton had a run-in with him last week.” His smile grew bigger. “The stray got one of his sandwiches right out of his lunch box. Clever, too. He managed to figure out how to open his container. He left the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich for Keaton and took the homemade meatloaf sandwich that Annie made him. Keaton was madder than a hornet.”

I couldn’t keep from smiling myself. This was one smart dog. “I saw him around the back of the pizza parlor and think that might be where he’s holed up. There’s a spot behind the dumpster that would be a perfect hiding place.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“You want company?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. I’ll give you a call later when I’m ready to head over.”

“Do that.”

Preston held his look. “A dog that smart could use a good home, you know. Seeing that you’ve taken an interest in him, you might consider keeping him for yourself. It’s clear he doesn’t belong to anyone. Mellie can check him out for you and make sure he’s healthy.”

I was sorely tempted and sadly shook my head. “I’m waiting on an assignment. Wouldn’t be fair to give him a home and then abandon him for a few weeks.”

“Last I heard you were waiting for an assignment and that was over a month ago. How much longer do you have to wait?”

“Don’t know. I’ve taken a few smaller jobs that require a bit of travel, but I can drive to those.”

“Take him with you.”

I rubbed the side of my face, considering it. “On second thought, maybe I could take him in.” The dog reminded me a bit of myself, not that I’d ever been homeless. When my baseball career ended, I’d been at a loss about what to do with the rest of my life. I floundered for a bit, paralyzed about facing a future that didn’t include baseball. I’d lived and breathed the sport from the time I was five years old and started playing T-ball with my dad as my coach. Briefly, I considered taking a position as a high school coach, but that meant returning to college. The appeal wasn’t there.

“First let’s see if we can catch him,” I said, forcefully turning my thoughts away from what I’d lost. If and when we managed to capture the dog, I would make that decision.

“Sounds good. I’ll give you a call later this afternoon.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

I left shortly thereafter and returned to the house. The more I thought about bringing home the stray, the stronger the appeal grew. When I did travel, and there were times when I was away three to four weeks at a stretch, I’d need to figure out what to do with him. Before I could leave, I’d need to make sure the dog understood that this was his home and he belonged to me. That might not be an easy task, especially since it was clear he’d been on his own for a good long while.

Once home I was curious to see if National Geographic had sent word about two possible assignments, one in Bolivia and another in the Philippines. I went to my computer to check my email. Quickly scanning my inbox, I saw there was nothing of interest. I would be a good choice for the Bolivia assignment because I spoke fluent Spanish. When my mother returned to work as an attorney, she’d hired a housekeeper from Mexico, and I’d picked up the language at an early age. Later, I’d majored in Spanish in college, although my real interest was baseball. It’d always been any- and everything having to do with baseball.

The only assignment I had on the books was from Seattle Magazine, asking me to photograph the murals of Washington State. I’d already gone to several towns in close proximity and had literally thousands of shots. There was a town in eastern Washington called Toppenish I wanted to hit that was